The Pawn's Awakening
Isabella's point of view
Kyle's words clung to me, sharp as glass, cutting deeper the longer I stood there.
"You were never the prize."
A chill ran down my spine, the weight of her gaze pressing against my skin. The hallway felt narrower, the dim light casting elongated shadows that danced over the walls. My throat tightened as I forced myself to swallow.
Kyle tilted her head, her smirk never faltering. "Poor thing," she murmured. "You really thought George was different?"
My fingers curled into fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms. "You're lying."
She sighed, shaking her head. "Am I?"
A flicker of doubt wormed its way through me, poisoning every memory I had of George—his kindness, his patience, the way he always showed up right when I needed him. Had it all been calculated?
Kyle leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. "Think about it, Isabella. Why would a man like George waste his time on a broken woman like you?"
