He had barely walked away when Isabella's call came in.
"Dante, why aren't you here yet? I'm waiting for you to cut my cake!"
Her voice was as coquettish and gentle as always, but now, as it fell upon Dante's ears, his mind flashed back to the despair and sorrow in my eyes as I knelt on the floor, begging him to save my mother!
A sharp pain shot through his heart again.
On the other end of the line, when Isabella didn't receive a reply, she asked feigning innocence:
"Is it Stella? Is she putting on another act for you so she doesn't have to apologize to me? I've told you before, she has a wicked heart and always bullies me!"
Isabella had often made such passive-aggressive comments in the past, but Dante had never seen anything wrong with them.
But in this moment, he suddenly wondered if he had been wrong all along.
That the one who truly loved to act, the one with a venomous heart, wasn't me. It was Isabella.
At this thought, Dante's face darkened as he spoke into the phone: