General Serrano And Carlos Silva

The air in her father's office was thick with anticipation. The assembled figures represented the fragile coalition Isabella had worked tirelessly to bring together in the days since her father’s passing. Each one brought influence, expertise, or loyalty—qualities she could not afford to squander. But their presence also reminded her of the delicate balance she had to strike, the competing interests she had to keep in check.

Her gaze lingered on each in turn. Her mother, Emiko, stood with the quiet grace that belied her sharp mind and political acumen. Isabella had relied heavily on her these past days, drawing from her mother's vast network and understanding of Montesoro’s elite circles. Next to her, Uncle Sato was a pillar of steadiness, his nervous expression betraying the turmoil that Isabella knew he felt. His role as a behind-the-scenes lobbyist had been invaluable, though the effectiveness of the bribes is yet to be seen.

Minister Valdes, the expressionless Interior Minister and head of secret police, stood stiffly, his face a patchwork of bandaids and bruises. Isabella had personally delivered the beating, taking satisfaction in each blow that broke his skin and tore his flesh. It was a message, a warning not to underestimate her, not to forget her wrath. She knew he understood, and desired desperately for more.

General Serrano, in his sharply pressed uniform, radiated an imposing authority. He was a man accustomed to order and control, and Isabella knew he was watching her closely, gauging her readiness to lead.

And then there was Carlos Silva. Dressed impeccably in a tailored black suit, he exuded the same blend of charm and menace as always. His presence was both a victory and a threat—a reminder that while she had secured his support for now, it had come at a price.

Isabella stepped forward, her posture commanding but her voice calm and measured.