…I slid my phone across the table to my brother, who was seated beside an oblivious Isabella. The screen displayed a series of messages that would upend our family dinner, revealing the sordid affair between Isabella and Damian Hayes.
My brother’s eyes widened as he scrolled through the texts, his face shifting from confusion to disbelief, then solidifying into a quiet rage. He looked across the table at his wife, who was still reveling in her supposed victory over me.
“Isabella,” he said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with an uncharacteristic edge, “Care to explain this?”
