Cassian's POV
The room was loud with laughter. Glasses clinking. Music drifting through the polished atmosphere.
It all felt like noise to Cassian.
Useless noise.
Cassian stood near the edge of the ballroom, a half-finished glass of champagne in his hand, his gaze fixed on one person alone.
Isabelle Quinn…
No—her.
His eyes were trained on her even from across the room, catching the moment when she smiled.
It was flawless…measured. Elegant. Controlled.
Her every movement was precise, as if she were on autopilot… Every word placed exactly where it needed to be.
To anyone else, she was perfect.
To him… She was wrong.
His gaze sharpened slightly as she tilted her head at something an elderly woman said, her lips curving just enough to be polite, not enough to invite familiarity.
Calculated… Too calculated.
The Isabelle he remembered wasn't like this. She was a people pleaser even at a young age… What changed?
His fingers tightened slightly around the glass.
