The crowd hushed before Isabella even had time to blink. The whisper that had carried across the firelit square silenced laughter, silenced music, silenced even the hiss of meat fat dripping into the flames.
"Oh my," Zyran said, his voice dripping satisfaction, "it compliments your curves beautifully."
Of course it was him.
Of course.
Isabella turned, and there he was—Zyran, leaning lazily against one of the tall posts strung with lanterns, a smirk carved across his handsome, infuriating face. His long hair was swept back, glinting in the firelight, his eyes holding that reckless sparkle that told everyone he was about to cause trouble.
"Zyran…" Isabella muttered under her breath, clutching the jewelry closer to her chest. She didn't even get the chance to finish before he was already moving toward her.
