Chapter 1083
No.1
She had chosen to believe the spectacle over the person.
Guilt began to prickle at her.
She turned to Victoria. “Let’s go. You need dry clothes.”
“You believe her, don’t you? Mommy, I can’t even swim! Why would I do this to myself?” Victoria’s voice was a desperate, pitiful whine.
“I know you wouldn’t, darling. But I don’t think she meant to push you. If she truly wanted to hurt you, she had far worse options.” Eleanor’s tone was firm, final.
She took Victoria’s arm and led her away quickly, avoiding the growing crowd.
Victoria seethed internally.
Eleanor’s faith in her was crumbling.
Isabella was winning too easily.
Rage burned hot and vicious under her skin.
At home, Penelope helped her change.
“The video! Show me the video now!” Victoria demanded the moment Eleanor was out of sight.
Penelope flinched, handing over the phone with shaking hands.
No.2
The footage showed Isabella brushing cake off Victoria’s dress.
The crucial moment—the push—was completely missing from the angle.
Her perfect plan was ruined.
She needed that clip for social media. For Eleanor.
Nothing.
“You useless idiot!” she screamed. “These angles are worthless! Get out! Get out of my sight!”
Blind fury took over.
She hurled a vase against the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces.
She grabbed a lamp and threw it next.
The room became a target for her uncontrollable rage.
Penelope shrank into the corner, terrified and small.
Shards of glass sliced deep into her palms.
Crimson blood immediately welled from the lacerations.
No.3
A searing, fiery pain shot up her arm, forcing tears to her eyes.
Victoria watched the whimpering with pure annoyance.
Every bit of her planning had been utterly wasted.
If Gabriella were here, this disaster would never have happened.
She could no longer depend on Gabriella.
Her assistant was nothing but a liability now.
‘I’ll handle this myself.’
A cruel, calculating smile twisted her lips as she considered Isabella’s vulnerabilities.
[Proceed with the plan at The Ritz-Carlton.]
She sent the text, abandoning the sobbing Gabriella without a second glance, and strode toward her wardrobe.
Across the room, Gabriella trembled, cradling her injured hand.
She tried to hide the bleeding wound, wincing from the throbbing agony.
Hobbling away, she nearly collided with Isabella, who had just returned home.
No.4
‘Isn’t that Victoria’s assistant? Why is she crying?’
Isabella’s curiosity was piqued, but she asked no questions.
She simply minded her own business and continued on her way.
After Eleanor had finally left Rosewood Manor, Isabella allowed the mask of lonely vulnerability to drop from her face.
‘Hmph. You think you’re the only one who can act?’ she thought, a smirk playing on her lips. ‘I might not be as disgustingly theatrical as you, but a little performance is hardly a challenge.’
She had walked away and remained silent entirely on purpose.
It was a calculated move to garner sympathy from Eleanor.
And it had worked perfectly.
With this, Victoria would find it much harder to manipulate her in the future.
She had returned to the hotel after concluding her sunset photoshoot.
“Ms. Montgomery, your room for the evening,” an assistant said, handing her the keycard for Room 909.
Isabella’s face darkened the moment she took the card.
This was the very room she had stayed in five years ago.
No.5
What an unbelievable coincidence.
The assistant noticed her sudden shift in demeanor. “Is everything alright, Ms. Montgomery?”
“It’s nothing. Everyone, get some rest,” she dismissed them coolly and headed for her room.
Walking down the corridor, each step made her heart pound harder against her ribs.
Even though five years had passed, the memories held a visceral power.
She had believed herself brave and mature enough to face anything, including this.
She was wrong.
A deep-seated insecurity and anxiety took hold whenever she was near this place.
To quell the rising panic, she tried a different thought. ‘Maybe… maybe I can find a clue about what happened that night here.’
She drew a slow, steadying breath and pushed the door open.
The Presidential Suite was immaculate, radiating an aura of opulent luxury.
Bottles of fine wine were arranged in the living area.
The bedroom was adorned with lavish European-style linens.
No.6
Everything looked exactly as it had five years ago, yet it felt completely different.
If only she could turn back time.
She would give anything to see that man’s face clearly.
Creak!
The door swung open.
A middle-aged woman entered, pushing a food and beverage cart.
“Good evening. A complimentary meal from the production team,” the woman announced politely.
Isabella snapped back to the present.
Her eyes widened, a spark of desperate hope igniting within her.
Recognition was instant.
Her entire body went still as her mind raced.
It was her.
The same woman who had delivered the food to them five years ago.
No.7
She might know something.
She had to know something about that night.
Isabella Montgomery suppressed her rising anticipation as the woman entered.
She gestured toward the empty chair opposite her. “Please, join me.”
Beatrice Holloway pushed the dining cart forward, carefully arranging each dish on the table.
“How long have you been employed here?” Isabella began coolly. “There’s something familiar about you.”
“Oh, indeed! Over a decade now. Please don’t mistake my age for incompetence. I’m far more reliable than some of these flighty young girls, no matter how pleasant they seem,” Beatrice replied, her smile radiating pride.
Isabella noted the woman’s genuine and amiable demeanor. She decided to play along. “Reliability is a quality I value greatly. Would you sit with me? There’s something I wish to discuss.”
“Oh? Of course, ask anything,” Beatrice answered, visibly flattered and pleased by the attention.
She knew Isabella was the renowned Diamond Boss, a superstar here for a major campaign. Offending such a powerful figure was unthinkable.
“My questions concern an event from five years ago,” Isabella stated, getting straight to the point. “Please, sit. I need you to think back carefully.”
Five years ago?
A flicker of anxiety crossed Beatrice’s face as a specific memory surfaced.