The luxury of the five-star hotel in downtown São Paulo stood in stark contrast to the tension thickening between César and Isabela. As soon as they entered the suite, Isabela tossed her purse onto the sofa and walked straight to the minibar, pouring herself a glass of red wine. César, always composed and calculating, removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie, his eyes fixed on her with quiet intensity.

“Thor and Celina are back,” Isabela said casually, swirling the wine in her glass.

“I already know,” César replied flatly, unbuttoning his cuffs.

She moved closer, her nimble fingers undoing his tie with deliberate slowness before pulling it free and letting it fall to the floor.

“I think we should take advantage of that,” she murmured, running her hands over his chest. “This might be the perfect time to break them apart.”

“What are you talking about, Isabela?” he asked, his tone sharp. “Do you actually have proof, or are you just playing your little games again? I’m tired of your s