ADRIEN'S POV
The night air was crisp, cutting through the scent of expensive cologne and celebratory dinner. I watched, my jaw tight, as the car carrying Isabella and her family pulled away, their taillights vanished at the corner, leaving only the quiet hum of the restaurant's private drive. Their departure was the formal closing of the public performance, the final act in the grand charade of the engagement party. But for me, and more importantly, for my mother, the real battles were just beginning.
My mother's voice broke the silence.
"Oh, dear," she murmured, her tone a carefully constructed note of frailty. "I seem to have left my purse inside. I'll just pop back in to retrieve it."
Before she could even take a step, Mrs. Gable, one of her ever-present attendants, a woman whose stoutness seemed to amplify her already formidable sense of duty, moved forward. Her face was a practiced tableau of professional concern. "Madam, allow me—your maid will fetch it instantly."
