Isabella’s hand trembled as she reached for the wine bottle.
She poured half a glass, her movements stiff and uncertain.
Wine had always been a comfort, a familiar ritual.
But tonight, it felt like a betrayal.
Her stomach fluttered with nerves.
She was pregnant.
Every pair of eyes in the room felt like a laser.
They were watching, judging, waiting.
Sophia observed from across the table.
Her chin rested on intertwined fingers.
A sly smirk played on her lips.
Her eyes glittered with cruel amusement.
Ryan Cooper’s forehead creased with worry.
He hesitated, clearly torn.
Julian Hayes watched with eager anticipation.
He looked like a spectator at a show.
Isabella drew a sharp, steadying breath.
She tipped the glass back.
The wine vanished in one determined gulp.
It burned.
A fierce, scorching heat erupted in her throat.
She bent over, coughing violently.
Her body shook.
She gripped the edge of the table for support.
“Oh, Isabella,” Sophia exclaimed, voice dripping with false concern.
She covered her mouth delicately.
Her eyes sparkled with malice.
“Is that all you can handle? Surely you’re not faking?”
Ryan’s expression softened.
“Are you alright?” he asked gently, voice low.
Isabella waved a hand weakly.
Words wouldn’t come.
Her stomach churned.
“Miss Scott,” Julian’s voice turned cold.
His displeasure was palpable.
“If you didn’t want to drink, you should have refused. This display is unnecessary. Are you testing me?”
The air in the private room grew heavy.
Tension thickened the silence.
Sophia cleared her throat with an uneasy giggle.
She turned to Julian with an apologetic smile.
“Mr. Hayes, I apologize. It seems my team needs better discipline. Please, don’t be offended.”
Then she turned sharply to Isabella.
Her demeanor shifted to stern reproach.
“What is wrong with you today? You’ve never acted like this. Apologize to Mr. Hayes immediately. He is a key client!”
Her words were sharp.
They cut through Isabella’s composure.
After fighting down nausea, Isabella steadied herself.
She lifted her pale face.
Her eyes narrowed.
She caught the smug satisfaction in Sophia’s gaze.
A cold, mocking sneer formed on Isabella’s lips.
“Sophia,” she said, her voice soft but icy. “Is this really the best you can do? Petty schemes?”
The smugness vanished from Sophia’s face.
She looked stunned, speechless.
Ignoring her, Isabella pushed herself up.
She had to leave.
Now.
Her steps were unsteady.
Each one echoed her resolve.
She moved toward the door, escaping the suffocating room.
Isabella rushed toward the elevator.
Her mind raced like a storm.
But one thought stood clear.
She would not be bullied anymore.
Not by Sophia.
Not by anyone.
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
In her haste, she collided with a man exiting.
The impact jolted her.
Through his shirt, she felt the firm contour of muscle.
Strength.
The man frowned.
An irritated grunt escaped him.
He was about to scold her.
But his words died.
His eyes locked on her.
Isabella.
The woman who was supposed to be at home.
Frustration surged within him.