Chapter 1838
No.1
“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.
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.
No.2
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.
‘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.’
No.3
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.
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.
No.4
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.
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.
No.5
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.
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.
No.6
“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.
This very room… five years ago… Wasn't Isabella present then?
The thought that the plain, awkward girl from back then had transformed into this stunning woman was staggering. She cautiously took a seat. “What is it you wish to know, Ms. Montgomery?”
“Valentine’s Day. Five years ago. Who was in this suite?”
This was a presidential suite. Its guests were always notable, leaving impressions. Yet, Beatrice merely chuckled nervously. “My dear, I’m an old woman. How could I possibly recall details from so long ago?”
“Valentine’s Day is memorable. Events of that day would surely stand out, even more than usual,” Isabella countered, her voice steady. “Furthermore, you were responsible for the breakfast service to this room that morning. You accidentally broke a vase in the hallway. The compensation was five thousand dollars. A significant sum for you. I’m certain you remember that day perfectly.”
No.7
Isabella spoke with methodical precision. She retrieved a bank card from her bag. “This holds half a million dollars,” she stated. “It’s yours. All I require is accurate information.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. She had never seen so much money. It represented over a decade of her wages!
Isabella’s intense gaze locked onto her. “Think carefully, Beatrice. Five years ago. Who entered and left this room?”
Her voice was low, persuasive. She slid the card across the table.
The temptation was overwhelming. Beatrice finally capitulated. She wet her lips nervously before speaking. “Ms. Victoria Kensington and Mr. Alexander Whitmore… they brought you in. I was delivering a supper tray next door. I saw them assisting you inside. It struck me as odd. Usually, it was couples. A trio of two women and one man was… unusual.”
Isabella’s brow furrowed. Victoria and Alexander? Five years ago, she had overheard their conversation. Had Victoria masterminded the entire incident?
This story felt wrong. Beatrice was lying.
A cold chuckle escaped Isabella’s lips. “The half-million is for the truth. Do not attempt to deceive me.”
“I wouldn’t dare!” Beatrice blurted. “Even without the money, I wouldn’t risk misleading someone of your stature. I remember them helping you. I remember the childish black dress you wore… Ahem. Forgive my bluntness, but it was… a peculiar, funky-looking garment. It was rather memorable, you see.”
Isabella’s frown deepened. Beatrice’s tone carried a ring of truth. The description of the dress was painfully accurate. She had been a laughingstock that night.
It seemed Beatrice wasn't lying.
How did Alexander and Victoria manage to bring her to this hotel?
Alexander must have been involved with Victoria. But if he was present that night, how could he have allowed Victoria to make such a critical mistake?