Chapter 802

No.1

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.”

“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.

No.2

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.”

No.3

“Even Sophia Kensington might have done better. The title of ‘Number One Top Model’ fits Victoria less every day,” a third person added. Though Victoria couldn't hear the words, she saw the disdain on their faces. Frustration boiled inside her.

She wouldn't be here if she had any other endorsements. This style was completely wrong for her. The leather felt awful against her skin. But the thought of Isabella Montgomery’s impending humiliation kept her going. This temporary disgrace was a small price to pay for that satisfaction.

Time moved quickly. Eleven spectacular new cars had been showcased. Following the plan, all the models froze in their final poses. The music shifted, growing more vibrant and energetic. It swelled, building the atmosphere to a fever pitch.

At the center of the stage, a new runway began to rise. It was immense, at least 100 meters long and half a meter taller than the others. It was a truly impressive structure.

At its end sat a shimmering gold race car. It rested there, gleaming with an exceptionally eye-catching luster. The audience gasped, utterly astounded. This car was the coolest thing any of them had ever seen. Its hard exterior utilized visible cutting-edge technology. Every detail screamed distinction and extravagance.

But where was its model? As murmurs about the missing model spread, a sharp alarm blared through the hall. Then, the gold car roared to life.

With a deafening VROOM!, it accelerated, flying down the short runway at high speed. Panic erupted. The crowd was terrified. Those in the front rows scrambled, ready to bolt for their lives.

A race car on a 100-meter runway was insane! If it flew off the end, countless people would be injured. No one moved to stop it. The car raced on. 10 meters from the edge. 5 meters!

People in the direct path looked ready to faint from sheer terror. The less brave were already fleeing their seats. But then, a miracle. The car screeched to a halt, its tires stopping precisely at the runway's very edge. One hair's breadth more, and it would have plunged into the crowd. The driver's skill was phenomenal. The technical precision was outstanding.

No.4

“Incredible!” someone shouted. “Who is that driver? Such amazing skill!”

“They’d win first place in any racing event!” another cried out.

“It must be a genius, a wizard behind the wheel! Show yourself! Let us see who you are!”

The entire hall waited, buzzing with rapt anticipation.

The entire audience was on the edge of their seats.

Anticipation crackled in the air like electricity.

Everyone was desperate to see the face behind the incredible driving performance.

Sebastian Blackwood had almost skipped the Auto Show entirely.

He had no interest in watching his brother Nathaniel chase after some woman.

No.5

These events were always full of desperate people doing shameless things for attention.

It was usually too cringeworthy to sit through.

But this year was shockingly different.

He had just witnessed the most breathtaking, thrilling driving demonstration of his life.

As a dedicated drag racing enthusiast, he felt completely energized.

He leaned forward with the roaring crowd, eyes fixed on the track.

The door of the gleaming gold race car finally swung open.

A heavy black Doc Martens boot hit the pavement.

Then another.

No.6

They were followed by a pair of incredibly long, sculpted legs.

Those legs were a masterpiece of muscle and grace.

They seemed to go on forever, showcased by a tight black leather skirt.

The rest of the driver’s form emerged from the vehicle.

It was Isabella Montgomery.

The phenomenal driver was Isabella.

She was clad head-to-toe in form-fitting black leather.

The suit hugged every curve and accentuated her narrow waist.

Her dark hair cascaded freely down her back in a simple, elegant style.

No.7

Her presence was utterly commanding.

Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes.

Every detail was mesmerizing.

The crowd exploded.

“Oh my god! She’s flawless!” a voice screamed.

“The racing queen is Isabella Montgomery!” another shouted.

“Since when does she know how to drag race like that?” someone yelled in disbelief.

“Those legs! I would worship those legs forever!”