Isabella turned slowly, eyeing the four men like someone inspecting vegetables at the market—and finding them overripe, underwhelming, or oddly shaped. Her expression was unreadable, all cool detachment and faint curiosity, like this entire event was just another errand that dared interrupt her day.
The first man—shirtless, tan, and visibly trying to flex despite holding nothing—straightened as soon as she looked at him. His chest puffed like a rooster. He even tossed his hair back like he was in a romance drama.
"Ma'am," he greeted with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness.
Isabella blinked at him once, then turned to Ophelia. "Why is this one glistening like an oiled ham?"
The man faltered.
Ophelia's eyes widened. "I—I think he was chopping wood before I got there! That's probably just sweat! And maybe some animal fat—someone was roasting something!
