Ross stepped closer, his voice low and soothing, but it carried the weight of command.
“Issy, stop it, okay? You know everything I do… It’s for us.”
Before I could even respond, he reached for my hand.
And the next second, he yanked the ring off my finger.
The sharp edge of the band sliced through my skin. Blood welled along my knuckle, bright against my pale hand.
I gasped as pain shot through my fingertips.
His movement faltered slightly. For an instant, his gaze lingered on the bleeding cut—hesitant, conflicted. He looked like he wanted to say something.
But then that flicker of softness vanished, swallowed whole, as if it had never existed.
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, he turned away and gently slipped the ring onto Zamora’s finger instead.
“My fiancée,” he said softly but firmly, “is Zamora. Issy and I have nothing beyond a professional relationship.”
When he finally looked back at me, his expression was so detached it was almost cruel.
“Issy, if you’re not feeling well, go home and rest.”
The room fell deadly silent. Even the air seemed to freeze.
I stared at him, unable to breathe. The pain in my chest pressed down so hard it hurt to inhale.