Ryan's Point of View
I slammed the door hard, the sound echoing off the walls, thickening the air between us. My breaths came in harsh, heavy draws as I turned to face her. Isabella stood in the center of the room, completely unbothered, acting oblivious of what she was doing, her posture straight, her chin high in the air.
Her dress clung to her curves, teasing me, in a way that got me flared, I clenched my fingers, feeling irritated at the sight of her, Her skin glowed under the dim lighting, accentuating the delicate line of her collarbone, the way the material hugged her waist before cascading down her hips.
I wondered which game she was trying to play, what had my father told her.
The woman I had thrown out, the woman I had discarded, had walked back into this house looking like that. And she knew what it would do to me, it would make me hate her.
