Chapter 370

No.1

Nathaniel’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, noting the change. He said nothing, simply starting the engine and pulling away.

Inside the car, Oliver was curled against Isabella’s side. He peeked at Nathaniel in the front seat, then at Isabella beside him. Deciding to play asleep, he closed his eyes tightly. Soon, soft, rhythmic snores escaped him, like a contented little kitten.

Isabella gently brushed the hair from his forehead, her heart aching with a familiar sorrow. If her own child had lived, he would be about Oliver’s age now. How wonderful it would be to watch him grow. To be his mother.

But would Nathaniel ever be able to accept her past?

She caught herself. Cough. What was she thinking? Wanting Nathaniel’s acceptance? What was wrong with her?

The car came to a stop at a red light. Nathaniel glanced up, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “Julian threatened you today?”

Isabella gave a noncommittal hum, not really wanting to discuss it.

Nathaniel’s voice was steady, his gaze intense even through the reflection. “No matter how difficult the situation,” he said, “you can always come to me.”

Nothing in this world was beyond Nathaniel Blackwood's reach. Isabella Montgomery only needed to speak the words.

As the memory of the incident replayed in her mind, Isabella leaned back into the plush seat, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. "It's a trivial issue," she stated flatly. "I'll handle it myself." She closed her eyes immediately after, a clear dismissal. She wanted no further discussion on the matter.

Nathaniel's gaze darkened, a flicker of concern shadowing his features. He hadn't seen her this visibly perturbed in a long while. Yet, if she chose not to confide in him, he would wait. He had infinite patience for her.

Meanwhile…

Victoria Kensington was locked in a bathroom stall, her voice a tense half-whisper into her phone. "What do you mean they all ran? They refused the money?"

"Yes," confirmed Penelope Sinclair on the other end. "They claimed Boss Blackwood intervened to save Benjamin."

Victoria's fist slammed against the cold marble sink. Damn it! While Alexander Whitmore was making a grand, public spectacle of proposing to Isabella, Nathaniel was quietly solving her problems in the shadows. What had that woman done to earn such unwavering devotion from two of the most powerful men?

The sheer injustice of it was enough to make her blood boil. To make it worse, Alexander wasn't even answering her calls anymore. The distance he was putting between them was painfully obvious.

She forced her voice to steady. "Did you acquire the perfume as I instructed?"

"Yes, but the final bid at auction escalated to ninety million. Are you absolutely certain you wish to proceed?" Penelope's tone was cautious.

Ninety million for a bottle of perfume! It felt like daylight robbery.

With Isabella having seized the majority of her assets, Victoria's financial reserves were critically low. This perfume, however, could be the key to turning everything around…

No.2

"Purchase it. At any cost!" she commanded, her voice sharp. "I'll arrange the transfer. Just secure it."

"Understood."

The moment the call ended, Victoria's heart ached with the financial blow. She was forced to liquidate a significant portion of her remaining luxury—a collection of over ten limited-edition handbags and several jewelry sets—selling them at a steep discount to a wealthy socialite acquaintance just to scrape together the exorbitant sum.

Once the transaction was confirmed, a vicious, calculating smile twisted her lips. The sting of the cost was real, a physical pain. But she would make this perfume earn its weight in gold, and then some. She picked up her phone again, her fingers swiftly searching for Nathaniel Blackwood's private contact details.

That evening, the aftermath of the Celestial Gala ignited fierce debates across social media. Seraphina Delacroix's conspicuous absence. Arabella Fontaine's shocking ascent to claim the title of No.1 Supermodel and the Award for Most Commercial Value. And, most explosively, the swirling rumors concerning Isabella Montgomery and Alexander Whitmore.

#AlexanderWhitmore-Proposed

#Isabellas-3-Demands

#Was-Alexander-Sincere

#The-Incident-5-Years-Ago

These hashtags dominated the trending lists. Of course, topics like #Isabellas-Gown, #Phoenix, and #D.K also fought for attention high on the charts.

Even though Isabella had only received a relatively minor award, her presence and the scandals surrounding her completely overshadowed nearly every other attendee.

In a sterile hospital room, Seraphina Delacroix seethed, scrolling through the online frenzy from her sickbed.

"That conniving little opportunist, Arabella! She capitalized on my absence! That top model title would never have been hers if I were there!

"And that gown! Someone paid a fortune for it. How did that wretch Isabella get her hands on it? What did she have to do to wear it?

Fury contorted Seraphina's features as she viciously pummeled her pillow.

"Ms. Delacroix, the doctor stressed the importance of rest and calm for your recovery," her assistant ventured cautiously, trying to soothe her. "This anger isn't helping. The company's current crisis is the more pressing matter. Numerous artists are threatening to terminate their contracts. Arabella, in particular, has become insufferably arrogant since winning that award tonight. She's publicly slandering our company, calling us fraudulent and manipulative, claiming we forced her into unethical situations."

"Hmph! She owes her entire career to this company. Dreaming of leaving? She can rot first!" Seraphina snarled, her teeth gritted.

After a moment of fuming silence, she looked up, a malicious glint in her eyes. "Wait. Weren't there persistent rumors about Arabella and Director Hue?"

"Yes, they were substantiated. I personally witnessed them together on one occasion…" the assistant confirmed.

A slow, cruel smile spread across Seraphina's face. "Let her terminate her contract. She can leave only after she pays the full termination penalty in blood! And then… let her scurry off to Isabella's new little venture."

No.3

"To GoldenPhoenix? Ms. Delacroix, are you sure? That seems…" her assistant trailed off, bewildered.

"You're the one who's lost your mind! Didn't Isabella want to challenge a giant with a pebble? Didn't she boast about poaching my artists? Fine. Let her have them. This time, I will ensure her precious GoldenPhoenix is buried for good."

Pure, unadulterated malice shone in Seraphina's eyes, mixed with a cold, calculated evil.

Isabella’s phone buzzed early the next morning.

It was Julian Hawthorne.

“SilverPeak just terminated contracts with several artists,” he informed her. “Arabella Fontaine is among them. They’re all demanding to see you. They need your signature to finalize the termination. The compensation amounts are massive—these are top-tier supermodels. My assistants can’t handle them.”

“Understood,” Isabella replied. “I’ll be there soon.”

She turned and glanced at the bed.

Nathaniel and Oliver were both still asleep.

They must have stayed up late.

Oliver hadn’t woken early to paint.

He was curled in the middle of the bed, breathing softly.

Nathaniel lay on the inner side, one arm draped protectively over the boy.

Their profiles, one strong and one delicate, looked like carved jade in the soft morning light.

A warm smile touched Isabella’s lips unconsciously.

She slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to disturb them.

Shortly after she left, Nathaniel’s phone vibrated on the nightstand.

His eyes opened instantly.

A message glowed on the screen.

[Good morning, Mr. Blackwood. This is Victoria Kensington.

No.4

I believe you should know what happened five years ago.

Has Isabella told you? Probably not.

She prefers to handle things alone.

She’s always been fiercely independent.

But Alexander Whitmore has gone too far lately.

He left me, and now he’s threatening Isabella with evidence from that night.

He’s trying to force her to marry him.

What he has… it tortures her.

It could make her do anything—even things she would never choose.

If he becomes desperate, he might drag her down with him.

Destroy her completely.

You’re the only one who can stop this.

Meet me at The Ivy at 2 p.m.]

Nathaniel’s gaze turned icy.

He had never wanted to pry into Isabella’s secrets.

But this message changed things.

How severe was the incident five years ago?

It seemed he had to find out.

He pulled up Dominic Sterling’s contact.

“Clear my afternoon schedule,” he ordered.

No.5

Meanwhile…

Victoria grinned when she saw her message had been read.

She was officially discharged from the hospital.

Though a patch of her hair had been shaved, it was easily hidden with a wig.

No one would notice the scar.

And she had the perfume.

That special perfume.

Created by an expert, it stripped away a person’s self-control.

Made them act on impulse.

If a woman with a child could seduce Nathaniel Blackwood, so could she.

Anything Isabella could have, Victoria would take.

Once she slept with him, she would have leverage.

Even if he didn’t want her, she could demand a massive settlement.

Enough to buy Jordan family shares if her father refused to give them to her.

She needed to seize control before Isabella exposed everything.

And…

She placed a hand on her abdomen.

She was in her fertile window.

If she got pregnant with his child…

The Jordans’ disdain wouldn’t matter anymore.

No.6

She’d be set for life.

With renewed excitement, she began selecting her outfit.

Isabella arrived at GoldenPhoenix.

Only Arabella Fontaine was waiting in her office.

Arabella was known for her gentle demeanor.

She was SilverPeak’s second most valued artist.

Her voice was soft, almost melodic.

She gave off the aura of moonlight—calm and serene.

But SilverPeak had marketed her as a foodie.

At every event, she had to eat.

And eat.

And keep eating.

All to win audience approval and build her brand.

Arabella despised the persona.

But she had no choice—the company enforced it.

That character won her the Most-Likeable Supermodel Award.

It brought endorsements and customer loyalty to SilverPeak.

Last year, she received the ‘Most Commercial-Valued’ award.

This year, she was crowned ‘No. 1 Supermodel’.

Isabella studied her with a curious frown.

No.7

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Did you manage to terminate your contract? Is SilverPeak really letting you go?”

Arabella shifted slightly, a flicker of unease crossing her features before she quickly composed herself.

“I heard Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Sinclair mentioned GoldenPhoenix doesn’t force personas on artists. Does that mean we can be authentic?”

“Correct. I reviewed your portfolio. Maintain your elegant, intellectual style. You’ll lead the Celestial Gala this year.” Isabella’s tone remained strictly professional.

“Seriously?” Arabella gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The Celestial Gala was a massive annual tradition. Thousands paraded through heritage sites in historical attire, a spectacle known worldwide. Victoria Kensington always held the lead position—no one else ever got it. Even when Arabella participated before, she was relegated to second or third row. They even forced her to sneak snacks during the event, drawing harsh criticism from traditionalists.

Now she would lead?

Isabella responded with practiced calm. “Yes. No need to worry. We won’t force binge-eating antics. Drop the ‘foodie’ persona entirely. Ask if you have further questions.”

A sudden thought struck Arabella. “Does this apply to all models?”

“Equal treatment for everyone.” Six words, delivered with crisp efficiency.

Isabella handed her several files. Arabella accepted them, scanning the detailed plans for herself and other top models. Each plan eliminated forced personas and tailored opportunities to their natural strengths. Far superior to SilverPeak’s proposals!

Arabella stayed behind, representing the others, to review GoldenPhoenix’s full strategy. Every detail was meticulously crafted.

She stood, extending her hand. “President Montgomery, I look forward to our collaboration.”

“Likewise.” Isabella shook her hand firmly. “Remember to inform the others: if these high-value contracts fail, I stand to lose the most.” A faint, confident smile touched Isabella’s lips as she exited.

The reminder hit Arabella. The termination clauses were nearly a billion per model. Isabella paid them all upfront. If they underperformed, her losses would be staggering. Yet she invested massively, offered bespoke plans, and took minimal commission. What was her real goal?

Watching Isabella leave, Arabella realized she was different. Not like other models. Not like any manager she’d ever met.

After the meeting, Isabella headed to another office to meet Julian Hawthorne and Adrian Sinclair. Julian was absent, but Adrian’s face lit up upon seeing her. “Isabella! Finally free to visit?” he greeted warmly. “Has it really been five years?”