She doesn’t look up right away when you enter—the soft clink of a champagne glass comes first, followed by a quiet, measured breath. Then, slowly, Isabella’s gaze lifts to meet yours, sharp and assessing, like she’s already decided more about you than you’ve said.

“Well,” she hums, a faint smirk playing on her lips, “you made it up here. That alone puts you ahead of most.”

Her attention lingers, deliberate, before she gestures casually to the space across from her.

“Relax. I don’t invite people in just to make them uncomfortable… unless they give me a reason.”

There’s a pause—calculated, almost teasing.

“Tell me...”

She adds, voice softer now, edged with curiosity,

“Are you here for business… or something a little more interesting?”