Chapter 1556
No.1
By any objective measure, Isabella was no match for Seraphina. Seraphina was globally crowned the World's Sexiest Model. To men, she was the ultimate fantasy. Her beauty was considered peerless.
Every eye was locked on Nathaniel, waiting for his explanation with bated breath. He regarded Seraphina with an arctic coldness. "My selection," he stated, his voice resonating with absolute, unassailable authority, "is none of your concern." The finality in his tone was a physical force. No one dared to meet his gaze.
Seraphina Delacroix stood frozen in utter disbelief.
She never anticipated such a response.
As an internationally celebrated supermodel, she deserved respect. Yet Nathaniel Blackwood dismissed her outright in favor of that novice, Isabella Montgomery!
How could she ever show her face again after this humiliation?
Seraphina lifted her chin defiantly. "Mr. Blackwood, since you refuse to provide a logical explanation, I quit!"
Her resignation meant the Auto Show would be short one model. Finding a replacement on such short notice seemed impossible.
Archibald Worthington rushed to mediate. "Mr. Blackwood, Miss Delacroix, surely we can resolve this through calm discussion."
Isabella watched from her dressing table, frowning at the escalating conflict. She wanted to intervene, but Nathaniel was already on his phone.
"You have twenty minutes to find a replacement for Seraphina Delacroix," he commanded.
The room fell silent in shock. Seraphina was the industry's top supermodel, adored by millions of male fans. Her face paled instantly.
How could she have forgotten she was dealing with Nathaniel Blackwood of the powerful Blackwood Corporation? No one challenged him and emerged victorious.
She had just threatened Nathaniel Blackwood...
Seraphina's agent hurried forward with anxious apologies. "Mr. Blackwood, please forgive Seraphina's impulsive words. She speaks without thinking but means no harm. She was merely joking earlier. A generous man like you wouldn't hold this against her, would you?" He discreetly nudged Seraphina's arm.
Frustration boiled within Seraphina. She wanted to storm out immediately.
But the modeling commission was incredibly lucrative, and she had already received the advance payment. Leaving would mean returning that substantial sum.
Moreover, this was a prestigious luxury brand Auto Show attended by numerous celebrities. How could she miss such an event? Leaving now would make her the laughingstock of the century!
No.2
Clenching her fists, she lowered her head. "I apologize, Mr. Blackwood. I was wrong."
She thought, 'I'll endure this humiliation for now. I'll excel at the Auto Show, and my fans will support me while condemning Isabella for stealing my spotlight!'
Nathaniel's response was icy. "I detect no sincerity in your apology."
Sincerity? She had already humbled herself and admitted fault. Now he demanded more?
Seraphina nearly exploded with rage. She had never been so thoroughly humiliated in her entire career!
Seeing her struggle to contain her anger, her agent interjected desperately. "Mr. Blackwood, we deeply regret our mistake. As a gesture of our sincerity, we'll accept only ninety percent of the modeling fee and guarantee our performance will exceed your expectations!"
"Ensure there are no further incidents," Nathaniel stated imposingly, ending the discussion.
He turned and walked steadily toward Isabella.
Isabella watched his approach with disbelief. 'This man! What is he planning? He's made me a target for everyone's resentment, and now he's coming straight toward me. What does he want?'
Isabella’s assistants had finished dressing her in the outfit for the Auto Show.
She sat motionless in her chair, like a statue carved from ice.
Nathaniel strode toward her without hesitation.
He leaned in close, his presence overwhelming.
His fingers brushed against the zipper of her form-fitting leather top.
With one sharp tug, he pulled it all the way up to her throat.
The gesture was possessive, almost territorial.
Her slender neck disappeared beneath the black leather.
Nathaniel’s gaze was intense, his voice low and commanding.
No.3
“The Mercedes Auto Show is an elite event,” he stated coldly.
“There’s no need to reveal so much skin.”
A collective gasp swept through the room.
No one could believe what they had just witnessed.
Nathaniel Blackwood—the untouchable, ruthless billionaire—had just publicly claimed Isabella Montgomery.
His words dripped with jealousy and ownership.
This wasn’t just professional interest.
This was personal.
The rumors were true.
He was involved with her.
Isabella shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
Every other model was wearing revealing outfits—deep V-necks, tube tops, barely-there fabrics.
And here she was, zipped up like a nun.
Was he trying to humiliate her?
Or mark his territory in front of everyone?
Archibald Worthington sensed the rising tension.
If this continued, the other models would revolt.
He quickly stepped forward, trying to diffuse the situation.
No.4
“Mr. Blackwood,” he said nervously, “the show begins in twenty minutes.
The front stage is ready.
Everyone is waiting for you.”
He straightened up, his expression turning glacial.
His voice cut through the room like a blade.
“Isabella is under my protection,” he announced.
“Anyone who targets her will answer to me.”
The threat hung heavy in the air.
Without another word, he turned and walked away.
His entourage scrambled after him, relief and fear on their faces.
Isabella stared after him, stunned.
Why did he keep inserting himself into her life?
Why this constant, infuriating attention?
“He’s gone,” sneered Genevieve Laurent.
“Stop staring.
You think Nathaniel Blackwood actually cares about you?
He’s toying with you.
You’re just a passing amusement.”
No.5
Isabella snapped out of her daze.
She shot Genevieve a withering look.
“At least he’s amused,” she retorted.
“You can’t even get his attention.”
With that, she swept out of the room.
She had no patience for petty jealousy.
The other models seethed with envy.
Seraphina Delacroix in particular looked ready to claw Isabella’s eyes out.
But no one dared act.
Not after Nathaniel’s warning.
Not when she had his backing.
The backstage atmosphere turned icy.
Victoria Kensington felt her jealousy burning like acid.
She glared daggers at Isabella’s retreating figure.
Her agent, Isadora Vasquez, gave her a sympathetic look before heading out.
She returned moments later with twelve bottles of chilled juice.
“Ladies, let’s not fight,” she said soothingly.
“We’re all here to work.
No.6
It’s a hot day—have something to drink and cool down.
The show starts soon.”
She began distributing the drinks.
The models, still furious but momentarily distracted, accepted them.
Compared to Isabella, Victoria didn’t seem so bad anymore.
After handing out the juices, Isadora approached Isabella with a bottle of orange juice in hand.
She smiled warmly.
“Here,” she said.
“You look like you could use this.”
“Isabella, you should have some refreshment too,” Gabriella offered, extending a chilled juice bottle.
“The old proverb warns about Greeks bearing gifts,” Isabella replied coolly, not even glancing at the offering. “Nothing from you comes without strings attached.”
Gabriella’s smile tightened with visible discomfort. “Suit yourself. I’ll just leave it here for later, then.” She set the bottle on the vanity and made a swift exit.
Isabella narrowed her eyes in suspicion. ‘Since when does Gabriella show kindness? Victoria must be plotting something again. If she wants to play games, I’ll play along.’ With a calculated flick of her wrist, Isabella snatched the bottle and tossed it directly into the nearby waste bin.
Victoria maintained a neutral expression, but triumph glittered in her eyes. ‘Just you wait, Isabella. Your downfall is guaranteed.’
At that moment, Archibald Worthington’s assistant, Beatrice Holloway, entered carrying an elaborate fruit arrangement. “Ladies, a token of good fortune from the organizers,” she announced warmly. “A custom strawberry tower for everyone to share. Our lead model shall have the first selection.”
The structure was an artistic cascade of glistening red strawberries, meticulously stacked like a champagne fountain. A single crimson blossom adorned the peak strawberry for added luck.
A voice from the group sneered, “Archibald and his superstitions. Who does a luck ceremony for a professional event?”
“Last year’s fruit sculpture was the Eiffel Tower,” another model recalled nostalgically. “Far more imaginative than this.”
No.7
“What a waste letting a novice take the first piece. Ruins the entire tradition,” a third voice muttered bitterly.
Isabella ignored the petty comments and plucked the top strawberry with its decorative flower. As she raised it to her lips, an intense prickling sensation crawled up her spine—the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Her gaze snapped to the corner where Victoria sat, a predatory smile stretching across her face as she watched with barely concealed anticipation.
‘Did Victoria tamper with this?’ Isabella’s instincts screamed in warning. Knowing Victoria’s relentless spite, poisoning was entirely within her repertoire. To avoid offending Archibald while protecting herself, Isabella waited for Beatrice to turn toward the other models. In that split second, she discreetly dropped the strawberry into the trash.
Victoria’s glee became palpable. The stage was set. The show was about to begin. This time, Isabella would not escape.
The last strawberry vanished. Now, the grand Auto Show began.
This annual spectacle demanded perfection. Every model abandoned backstage drama, focusing entirely on preparation. The exhibition hall spanned thousands of square meters. It was immense. Yet, it was already packed with impeccably dressed men in sharp suits. Each attendee radiated extreme wealth.
Nathaniel Blackwood carried Oliver to their front-row seats. They waited silently for the show to start. Music swelled, filling the vast space. The dance floor began to ascend, revealing a central platform. On it sat the latest luxury cars. A supermodel stood beside each vehicle. Both the machines and the women were breathtaking.
The platform halted. The models began circling the cars. They paused at precise intervals, striking alluring poses. Each movement highlighted the car's design and their own beauty.
Every new car and model combination made the audience's eyes gleam with delight. Reporters raised their cameras, capturing every moment from every angle. The models offered their best angles to the flashing lights.
Victoria Kensington’s turn arrived. The ever-beautiful Victoria wore a tight leather skirt and a daring vest top. This outfit was a first for her. Her face was a mask of determined sophistication.
But she followed a parade of stunning supermodels. Victoria appeared painfully ordinary next to them. On adjacent platforms, blonde, blue-eyed models posed relentlessly. Their glistening, pale skin looked both sexy and refined, perfectly matching their bold stances.
Young and inexperienced, Victoria was instantly outclassed. Photographers eager to capture her took a few half-hearted shots before lowering their equipment in clear disappointment.
Hushed, scornful comments rippled through the crowd. “Victoria is an embarrassment to Aldovia,” one man muttered. “She’s completely out of her league here.”
“She’s lost all her star power,” another voice agreed. “She never should have agreed to this show. Now the world will think all of Westchester’s models are this terrible.”