Chapter 1010
No.1
Victoria herself was confused. She didn’t know anyone who owned this car. Maybe some billionaire had seen her viral scandal and sent for her?
A blush crept onto her cheeks. “I… I had no idea, honestly. I can’t believe he sent a car for me!” She turned to Isabella with fake regret. “Oh, Isabella, it seems I can’t give you a ride after all. My driver will take you. I have other plans now.”
She strode toward the Hypersport, chin high, proud as a peacock.
Her friends watched, green with envy. How was she so lucky? Born into the second-richest family in Westchester. Engaged to a perfect man like Alexander Whitmore. And now, a billionaire admirer? No one could ever compete.
But the driver’s brow furrowed. He raised a hand. “My apologies. I am here for Miss Isabella Montgomery.”
What? Isabella Montgomery? Not Victoria?
Victoria Kensington stood frozen in utter disbelief. Her face tightened as she struggled to contain the storm of emotions raging inside her. With immense effort, she forced a polite smile. "Sir, there must be some mistake," she said, her voice strained.
Isabella Montgomery had just returned to the country. Hardly anyone knew of her existence. How could some wealthy tycoon possibly know her and send a car specifically for her?
"No mistake," the chauffeur stated flatly. "I'm here for Miss Montgomery. Isabella Montgomery." He deliberately emphasized the name 'Isabella'.
No.2
All eyes slowly turned to Isabella, their expressions shifting to stunned silence.
This luxury vehicle was for her? She knew the owner? Impossible! Victoria's face contorted into a mask of pure revulsion. This couldn't be happening.
While everyone remained frozen, the man approached Isabella and gave a formal bow. "Miss Montgomery, your carriage awaits."
Isabella strolled over casually, her critical gaze sweeping over the car. "Hmm... Acceptable, I suppose. Though only seven of these exist globally. An unlucky number. Black also absorbs far too much heat for summer driving. And genuine leather seats?" She tutted disapprovingly. "Does your employer not realize how uncomfortable they become in warm weather?"
The crowd was speechless.
A HyperSport had been sent for her, and she was complaining? Criticizing the number as 'unlucky'? Complaining about the seats? The sheer audacity!
Dominic Sterling's eye twitched. This was classic Isabella Montgomery behavior. She had scorned Mr. Blackwood's diamond ring before, and now she was insulting his HyperSport? What was she even made of?
"Miss Montgomery, please," he said with a sigh, his brow furrowed. "Don't make this difficult. My master was very clear I must bring you. He also sent a gift." Dominic then presented her with an exquisitely crafted wooden box.
Isabella frowned. A young master? With a gift? Who could it be?
No.3
She took the box skeptically. Inside was a meticulously prepared breakfast. Rice was shaped into an adorable cartoon character, its eyes crafted from gleaming black pearls. In the bottom corner, a message was written in dark sauce:
[Good luck, Mommy! My Mommy will amaze everyone!]
It was from Christopher Blackwood.
A faint, almost invisible smile touched Isabella's lips as she pictured the boy's round, cheerful face. Her heart softened instantly. 'Fine,' she thought. 'For Momo, I'll go.'
Relief washed over Dominic. He hurried to open the passenger door for her before swiftly taking his place in the driver's seat.
Vroom!
The HyperSport roared to life and sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust and swirling leaves in its wake.
Victoria was sprayed with debris. Leaves tangled in her hair. Dust smudged her pristine white dress. The same so-called 'friends' who had been fawning over her moments ago now watched with barely concealed mockery. They wouldn't dare say it to her face, but she felt their scornful glances like physical blows.
She could no longer hold back her humiliation. She stood there, utterly mortified. The HyperSport was for Isabella, not her. The embarrassment was crushing, a feeling worse than any she had ever experienced.
No.4
Her plan had been to delay Isabella, to prevent her from reaching the show on time. Instead, not only had her scheme failed spectacularly, but she had been publicly and utterly humiliated.
No. This wasn't over. She refused to just stand by. Victoria wanted Isabella to fail. She wanted her ruined.
Snatching her phone, she fired off a reply to Sophia Kensington. Her eyes burned with pure, unadulterated malice.
'Just you wait, Isabella. You will be humiliated beyond repair. I will make you pay for this. Ten times over.'
At The Grand Mariner.
It was only 9:30 in the morning, but the venue was already packed. The high-stakes wager between Isabella Montgomery and Alexander Whitmore had drawn an unprecedented crowd. Everyone was desperate to witness the showdown. Ticket prices had skyrocketed from a few thousand to twenty thousand dollars apiece due to the frenzy. Even top executives, who were rarely seen in Westchester, had secured front-row seats. They were all there to support Alexander, eager to see what kind of woman would dare to challenge him so publicly.
A sleek black Hypersport pulled up to the service entrance. Dominic Sterling turned to Isabella. "Miss Montgomery, a message from Mr. Blackwood. He said to inform him immediately if you require any assistance. He will handle everything."
"That won't be necessary," she stated flatly. "This is a trivial matter. I don't need his help." Isabella stepped out of the vehicle. As she began to close the door, she paused. "Actually, do relay a message for me. Tell Mr. Blackwood to focus his attention on Christopher. He should stop wasting his time pursuing me. I lack for nothing, least of all male attention. He should abandon this pointless endeavor."
She turned and walked away, her posture radiating an unshakable, regal confidence.
No.5
Dominic was left speechless, his face pale. She doesn't lack men? Abandon it? How was he supposed to deliver that message to Nathaniel? He felt a cold dread. Would he be fired for this?
Isabella, however, felt no such hesitation. Her message was clear. She checked the time—9:30. The show started in thirty minutes. She quickened her pace, heading straight for the dressing rooms.
Backstage was pure chaos. Makeup artists darted between models. The manager, Mr. James, was pacing nervously. "Where is Isabella? Why isn't she answering her phone?"
"How unprofessional," Sophia Kensington sneered from her makeup chair. "She's always been arrogant. A nobody pretending to be a star. Mr. James, you never should have given her the closing spot."
"'Shouldn't have hired her'? And who would you suggest? You?"
A cool, cutting voice echoed from the hallway. Isabella strode into the room, her gaze landing dismissively on Sophia. "The model ranked third in all of Westchester... why are you speaking again?"
"You! I am ranked third! What are you? You have no ranking at all! How dare you use that tone with me!" Sophia shot up from her chair, furious.
Isabella let out a derisive laugh. "Precisely. A complete unknown like me was chosen for the finale. Doesn't that prove you're inferior to a newcomer? Are you certain you didn't simply purchase your ranking?"
"You—!" Sophia shoved her assistant and makeup artist aside, lunging toward Isabella.
No.6
"Enough!" Mr. James roared. "The show begins in thirty minutes! Everyone, get ready! Anyone who ruins my show will pay ten times the damages!"
The room fell silent instantly. Sophia sat back down, fuming. A makeup artist rushed over to Isabella and began helping her into her outfit.
Mr. James approached Isabella, his expression a mix of anxiety and awe. "Miss Montgomery, I must admit, your audacity is impressive. Because of you, this show is completely sold out. How do you feel? Do you truly believe you can win?"
If she failed, it would damage Chanel's reputation. The company would be criticized for hiring her. He knew better than anyone: a jewelry show wasn't like a fashion show. There were no elaborate costumes or wings. The focus was solely on the jewels. The models simply wore them and walked. How much spectacle could there be? How could one woman possibly stand out?
Isabella remained utterly composed. "Don't worry. I haven't lost to anyone in the last five years." Her tone was as arrogantly confident as ever.
The other supermodels shot her disdainful looks. She was beautiful, yes. But her arrogance was staggering. She was just a woman. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth. What made her so special? Did she think she could just walk out on stage and hypnotize the entire audience? With what? A handful of glitter?
Who did she think she was, going up against Alexander Whitmore, the son of the nation's second-richest man?
Sophia snorted at Isabella's retreating back, seething with impotent rage. Suddenly, her phone screen lit up with a new message.
[Sophia, this is your first major show. Double-check everything. Especially your heels—they can be faulty. Tripping on the runway is the ultimate humiliation for a model. It would destroy your career. Be careful!]
No.7
A vicious, calculating gleam flashed in Sophia's eyes as she read the message.
Hmph. Mock me, Isabella? I'll make sure you're run out of the industry for good. You think you can beat Alexander? Not a chance.
Time slipped away unnoticed.
It was nearly ten o'clock.
"Places, everyone," an assistant announced backstage to the models. "Line up by the stage. It's starting soon!"
The supermodels rose and arranged themselves according to their assigned numbers. Isabella Montgomery was scheduled to appear last, meaning she had at least thirty minutes before her turn. She relaxed into her seat, settling her mind.
Outside, within the vast expanse of The Grand Mariner, a tall T-stage constructed of semi-translucent colored glass dominated the space. Chairs surrounded it on all sides. The attendees in the hall were among the nation's wealthiest, each having paid a minimum of $200,000 for entry. Outside, standing room tickets had sold for thousands. The audience was abuzz with anticipation—some eager to see the models, others the jewelry. But the main attraction, the topic on everyone's lips, was Isabella Montgomery and her bold promise to 'stun the world.'
To the right of the T-stage, within a secluded area screened by green bamboo, three figures were seated: two adults and a young boy.
Dominic Sterling quietly entered the space. "Mr. Blackwood," he said with clear unease, "Miss Montgomery declined your offer of assistance. She also mentioned—"