Isadora stood firm, her feet planted resolutely on the ground. "I refuse to attend," she declared, her voice unwavering.
Maxwell's expression turned unyielding. "This isn't a request, Isadora. You're coming to the gala with me."
Isadora's protests continued, her hands gesturing emphatically. "With all respect, sir, I cannot accompany you. You have your wife or Marcus, your PA, to consider. And, I must confess, you know I'm pregnant – attending the gala is out of the question."
Maxwell's response was curt, his tone brooking no argument. "I've made up my mind, Isadora. You'll join me at the gala." With that, he turned and strode away, Marcus by his side.
Isadora threw up her hands in frustration, muttering under her breath as she retreated to her room. "This is just perfect..."