Chapter 130

No.1

Isabella brewed a cup of coffee, her movements steady. “Tell them to stop. Arranged marriages are archaic. If their project is stalled, they can wait for me to fix it. They don’t need to auction me off. If that’s all, I’m hanging up.”

She was ready to end the call, her patience thin.

“Wait, Boss Montgomery! One more thing! Victoria convinced Harrison to keep her secret. She visited Alexander again last night. They were together.”

Isabella’s brow furrowed. She quickly pieced together Victoria’s scheme. “Monitor her,” she ordered coolly. “But do not intervene without my direct order.”

“Understood. Oh, and Boss Montgomery, I sent Frederick Ashford’s photos to your WhatsApp. Please remember to look at them!” Maxwell spoke rapidly and hung up before she could react.

Isabella saw the notification but ignored it. She placed her phone aside without opening the app. She stood by the window, gazing thoughtfully at the forest beyond.

She had met Frederick three years ago during a joint research project. He was the ideal gentleman, every woman's dream. Exceptionally gentle, attentive, and a brilliant collaborator. Since then, he had maintained close ties with her mentors, persistently seeking information about her.

Isabella knew of his feelings. She had asked her mentors to disclose the incident from five years ago, expecting him to retreat. Instead, he had waited for her all this time.

She found it puzzling. Revealing her past to Frederick had been effortless. Yet, the thought of confessing to Nathaniel filled her with dread. If he discovered her secrets, would he accept her as Frederick had?

The phone buzzed insistently.

No.2

Isabella Montgomery glanced at the screen. She expected Oliver Blackwood calling about dinner, but Julian Hawthorne's name flashed instead.

She answered. Julian's tense voice filled her ear. "We have a situation. Arabella Fontaine's mistress scandal just broke. She's threatening to jump from the company balcony right now."

"Suicide?" Isabella's brow furrowed.

Adrian Sinclair's panicked voice cut in. "It's bad! Ms. Montgomery, you need to get here! This is my new building! She's our first major signing!"

"We paid one-point-five billion for her contract termination," Julian added grimly. "The Celestial Gala contract has a five-billion penalty clause if the artist can't perform."

Total potential loss: six-point-five billion. Plus incalculable reputational damage.

"Understood. I'm on my way." Isabella ended the call and strode from Violet Villa. She scrolled through news headlines while walking.

(Top Model Arabella Fontaine Exposed as Mistress!)

Several compromising photos accompanied the article.

(Arabella signed with SilverPeak seven years ago. She consistently received preferential treatment, better resources, and a carefully crafted public persona. The reason? A longstanding affair with SilverPeak CEO Harrison Winslow! Her contract buyout was orchestrated through their illicit relationship!

No.3

(Harrison Winslow is a married man. His wife, Genevieve Beaumont, was a beloved actress! Seven years ago, Genevieve won the Golden Eagle Goddess Award for her charming looks and stellar performances. At just twenty-three, she became a national treasure!

(Her future seemed limitless. Then, at her career peak, she suddenly retired and vanished from public life.

(Rumors suggested she married a billionaire. No one imagined she wed Harrison Winslow!

(Genevieve captivated audiences as the girl-next-door in teen dramas. Despite her seven-year absence, no one has ever taken her 'Sweetest Goddess' title.)

The internet erupted in fury.

(How dare Arabella wreck Genevieve's marriage!)

(My sweet Genevieve! She left for a quiet life! This is heartbreaking!)

(Arabella is disgusting! That gentle, foodie persona was a lie! She's a homewrecker!)

(She should die!)

Isabella pocketed her phone and mounted her motorcycle. Something felt off. Her first meeting with Arabella left an impression of clear, earnest eyes. A gentle, innocent aura. A mistress? The photos seemed authentic, though.

No.4

She needed answers. Fast.

Isabella revved the engine and sped toward GoldenPhoenix. The building had fifteen floors, each five meters high. Arabella perched precariously on the ninth-floor balcony railing.

A hostile crowd gathered below, hurling vicious insults.

"Not ashamed to sleep with a married man, but ashamed to get caught? This is just a performance!"

"Real suicide attempts aren't public spectacles! You're acting!"

"Jump! Stop wasting our time! Only your death can apologize to Genevieve!" The cruel shouts echoed upward.

Isabella Montgomery arrived on her motorcycle, a streak of black against the city skyline. She pulled off her helmet, her gaze icy as it swept over the security team. "What are we paying you for? To stand around and look pretty? Clear this mess. Now."

"Yes, Ms. Montgomery." The guards snapped to attention, fear evident in their hurried movements as they began pushing back the screaming crowd.

Voices rose in a chaotic wave. "Isabella! How could you support a homewrecker? Have you no shame?"

"After what your own sister did to you! Don't you understand Genevieve's pain?"

No.5

"That woman destroyed a family! A child is involved! She deserves worse than death!"

Isabella ignored the vitriol. Words were a waste of time. Action was the only currency that mattered here. Most of the mob had been contained, reinforcements were on their way.

She strode into the building, her heels clicking a sharp rhythm on the marble floor. Adrian Sinclair rushed to meet her, his usual composure shattered. "Isabella, thank god. What's the plan? The rescue team's vehicle broke down. They're saying thirty minutes. She could be... it could be too late by then."

He was her older cousin, but right now, he sounded like a panicked child.

Isabella remained unnervingly calm. She moved toward the elevator. "Get me a rope. Heavy-duty gloves. Now."

"Gloves? A rope? For what? To pull her back? She's completely lost it, Isabella! She won't let anyone near!"

Adrian, normally unflappable, was fraying at the edges. This was a crisis unlike any he'd faced.

The elevator doors slid open. Isabella stepped inside, pressing the button for the ninth floor. "Have them brought to me when they're ready," she commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Adrian immediately turned to carry out her orders.

On the ninth-floor lobby, Julian Hawthorne had evacuated everyone, desperate not to further upset the fragile woman on the ledge. He was trying to reason with her, but his words seemed to bounce off her. Arabella Fontaine sat perched on the concrete edge, a solitary, broken figure against the vast sky.

No.6

Isabella approached, but Julian quickly grabbed her arm. "Don't. She's not in her right mind. One wrong move... she could slip."

Isabella halted by the doorway, a frown etching her features.

If Arabella was truly the villain they painted her to be, she wouldn't be up here consumed by this kind of agony. The truth was always more complicated than the story.

Adrian arrived moments later, carrying a coiled rope and a pair of thick work gloves. "Here. Now what?" he whispered.

"Both of you. With me." Isabella took the items and turned toward the stairwell.

Julian and Adrian exchanged confused frowns. Follow her? That would leave Arabella completely unattended...

"Will staring at her make her step down?" Isabella's voice echoed slightly in the concrete stairwell as she began to climb.

They had no choice but to follow. The three of them emerged on the eleventh floor, two stories above the desperate scene.

Julian and Adrian frowned again, their confusion deepening. The eleventh floor? How in the world was this supposed to help Arabella?

Isabella strode directly to the balcony’s edge.

No.7

She swiftly secured the rope around her waist.

Her gloves were pulled on with practiced efficiency.

“Both of you will anchor the rope,” she commanded. “Maintain a firm grip. Do not falter.”

Adrian’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? Isabella—I mean, Boss! You can’t be serious! You’re going over? This is the eleventh floor! If something goes wrong, how do I explain it to your grandfather?”

Julian’s brow furrowed deeply. He stepped forward. “I’ll do it. You take the rope.”