Chapter 1537
No.1
She needed to savor the victory.
She glided over to the photographer, her voice sweet. “Mr. Delacroix, you’ve worked so hard. Might I take a peek at the results?”
“Of course, Miss Kensington,” he said, wary. “But please be careful. This equipment is very fragile. And very expensive.”
“I’ll be extremely careful,” she promised, stepping to the side.
She exchanged a quick, silent look with Isadora.
Isadora nodded almost imperceptibly.
She moved behind Victoria, pulling out her phone.
She pretended to scroll through messages.
Her real intention was to covertly photograph the camera’s screen.
No.2
They both expected to see Isabella’s disastrous shots.
They were prepared to mock her unprofessional hand movement.
The image on the screen stole the breath from their lungs.
Victoria was annihilated.
She was a blur of green, a background extra in Isabella’s stunning feature.
Isabella was the entire story.
Her red dress seemed to flow with its own life, capturing an invisible wind.
She was midsummer personified.
Every solo shot of Isabella was a masterpiece of raw, captivating power.
No.3
Victoria’s solo shots were pretty. Pleasant.
But next to Isabella’s, they looked cheap. Common.
The avocado green made her resemble a store mannequin.
Victoria’s nails dug into her own palms, her smile frozen.
How?
How was this possible?
Those clothes were meant to be her coffin!
They were heavy, ugly, stifling.
Isabella somehow turned them into a crown.
No.4
If these photos were released, Victoria’s career would be a joke.
Isabella would eclipse her completely.
She tapped Isadora’s leg with her shoe.
A silent command.
Isadora took a sharp, steadying breath.
She stepped forward, her voice overly bright. “Victoria, you and Isabella were amazing together! This issue is going to be incred— Ahh!”
She deliberately caught her heel on a loose cable.
She stumbled violently into Victoria.
Victoria, perfectly prepared, feigned surprise.
No.5
She crashed into the photographer’s outstretched arms.
The expensive camera was launched from his grip.
It sailed through the air in a horrifying arc.
Time seemed to slow.
Then, a sickening crunch of plastic and glass echoed through the studio.
The camera shattered on the hard floor.
Pieces skittered everywhere.
The memory card popped out.
It landed neatly.
No.6
Isadora’s heel came down on it with precise force.
A clean, definitive snap.
The card broke in two.
Gasps echoed through the studio.
Vincent Delacroix looked utterly devastated.
His custom-built camera was worth a fortune. Every shot from today's grueling session was stored inside.
He dropped to his knees, cradling the shattered equipment with shaking hands.
A thin trickle of blood marked Victoria Kensington's forehead. She ignored it completely.
Her head bowed in contrition. "This is all my fault! I'm so terribly sorry! It was a complete accident! Please, just tell me the cost. I'll cover every penny of the damages!"
No.7
"Money can't replace what was lost! That footage was priceless! A full day's work from the entire team gone!" Vincent's voice trembled with a rage he'd never directed at a woman before.
Tears welled in Victoria's eyes. She turned, offering frantic apologies to every stunned crew member in the room.
"I'm begging for your forgiveness! My manager wasn't watching her step... This is entirely on us. I'll reimburse the camera, the lost images, the advertising fees. I'll even cover three days of lost sales revenue. I promise my performance tomorrow will be even stronger than today's. Please, just give me another chance."
Her voice cracked with genuine-sounding distress. The display of vulnerability was masterful. It instantly softened the angry glares around her.
The production manager took a deep, steadying breath. "Fine. We reschedule for tomorrow," he finally grumbled, his tone resigned.
He knew recreating today's magic was nearly impossible. The perfect lighting, the model's energy—it was a fleeting alchemy. This was a compromise born of pure necessity.
Victoria bowed deeply once more. "Thank you! Thank you so much for your understanding. I won't let you down tomorrow!"
Her words were honeyed and meek. But as her head dipped, a fierce, triumphant fire burned in her eyes, unseen by anyone. Isabella Montgomery would not have a successful shoot tomorrow. She would make sure of it. Isabella's time here was over.
Just then, Isabella emerged from the dressing room.