Francis had lost every ounce of his confidence.
He watched the secretary leave, unable to utter a single word of protest.
Jordan watched he enter but didn't stand up to greet him as he normally would. He remained slouched in his black leather chair, slowly sipping the coffee the secretary had brewed.
"Jordan," Francis said, taking a seat uninvited.
Jordan set down his cup. He looked up at Francis, his lips tight, and his voice hoarse. "Francis. Has Natalie gone back to your house?"
"Yes."
"She brought The Georges to Isabella's cafe to cause a scene again yesterday."
Francis was quiet for a second. "The conflict between her and Isabella is beyond repair."
Jordan let out a dry, bitter chuckle.
Last night, he hadn't gone home or slept well. He had gone straight to Malvina's place. After an intense, frantic night with her, he had stood on the balcony chain-smoking, his mind racing.
He thought back to when Cynthia and Isabella first joined the Lane family. He had genuinely liked Isabella, treating her like a real little sister. She had been a beautiful, porcelain-doll of a child, adored by everyone.
How had he grown to hate them so much?
Through the haze of cigarette smoke last night, he finally remembered. It was Natalie. She was always whispering in his ear about how evil stepmothers were, comparing Cynthia to the wicked queen in Snow White, warning him not to fall for her gentle facade.

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