Chapter 11

Desperate to salvage her career, Victoria Kensington lunged forward and seized the manager's wrist. Her voice trembled with manufactured tears. "We had an agreement! That image was digitally altered—it's not even me! I would never engage in such behavior. How dare people accept it as truth without consulting me first?" She let perfect tears trace down her cheeks, a performance meant to evoke sympathy. Instead, her feigned innocence only sharpened the memory of what everyone had witnessed on screen.

"Deepest apologies, Miss Kensington. Perhaps we can revisit this another time." The manager extracted her hand from Victoria's grasp with visible distaste. "Security, please escort Miss Kensington out. And ensure she receives the invoice for the screen damages."

Several security guards advanced, their expressions a blend of mockery and contempt as they gestured toward the exit.

Victoria seethed internally. As the Kensington heiress, she was accustomed to reverence and deference. This public humiliation was unprecedented.

Though every fiber of her being resisted, she had no choice but to depart, shielding her face with her hands. The moment she cleared the ballroom doors, her pitiful mask dissolved into something venomous and deadly.

Who had done this? She would uncover the culprit and make them pay.

As her thoughts spiraled into dark calculations, a figure emerged from the shadows. Draped in an emerald gown that swayed with each step, the woman moved with lethal grace. Her crimson lips curved into a subtle smirk.

Isabella Montgomery.

Recognition ignited in Victoria's eyes. Of course. It all made sense now.

"You," Victoria hissed, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "You engineered this. You manipulated me into sending those photos, didn't you?"

"Is it significant if I did?" Isabella's laugh was low and unapologetic. She stood tall, hand resting on her hip, not even attempting denial.

Rage ignited within Victoria, burning through her composure. Isabella had orchestrated her downfall—hacked her privacy and orchestrated this very public ruin.

Forgetting her surroundings, Victoria snarled, "You're my sister! How could you be so vicious? I'll expose you. Everyone will know the monster you truly are!"

"By all means, proceed." Isabella scrolled through her phone, utterly unfazed. "You tried to kill me. I discovered it. You offered nudes instead of an apology. I have every media contact in the country—take your pick."

Victoria stood speechless, trembling with fury.

Isabella had unearthed her secrets and weaponized them. The truth would ruin her.

Noticing approaching footsteps, Victoria's expression instantly softened. Tears welled in her eyes anew. "I don't understand why you're saying these things... I've never harmed you! Why fabricate such lies?" Her voice broke as if wounded. "I know you've always envied me. You leaked that photo to steal my opportunity. Had you simply asked, I would have gladly stepped aside! Why destroy my reputation?"

Veronica—now Isadora Vasquez—appeared at Victoria's side. "Exactly. Victoria has a heart of gold. How dare you treat her this way?" She glared at Isabella. "The Montgomerys raised a viper!"

Isabella laughed softly. No wonder Victoria dominated the entertainment industry—she could spin falsehoods into convincing truths. Bored by the theatrics, she replied coolly, "You're absolutely right. I do want to ruin you. What will you do about it?"

She tossed her voluminous hair over her shoulder. "Must you always repeat yourself? How tedious." With that, Isabella turned, her emerald dress flowing behind her as she walked away.

Victoria trembled with volcanic rage. This was not the timid, fragile sister she had once controlled. Isabella had transformed into someone bold, untamed, and infuriatingly arrogant.

She would not accept this. "Watch your back, Isabella Montgomery. This isn't over."

Inside her limousine, Victoria turned to Isadora. "Use every Kensington resource. I want her destroyed."

...

Back in the ballroom, the audition resumed once order was restored.

The manager announced, "Our final contestant: Isabella Montgomery."

The heavy doors swung open. Every eye turned toward her—including three watching intently from the mezzanine. Isabella moved with effortless grace, her simple heels clicking against the marble floor. The emerald gown complemented her fierce beauty, her red lips a statement of intent. She was, in a word, mesmerizing.

A wave of unease swept through the models. "Who is she? I've never seen her before."

"Isn't she the adopted daughter? She has no modeling experience. What makes her think she belongs here?" Sophia Kensington sneered.

Others sighed in disdain.

"How embarrassing. Does she believe anyone can audition for Chanel?"

"The ambassador must embody grace and beauty. She's overdressed—probably mistook this for a Victoria's Secret casting."

"Can someone remove her? She's wasting everyone's time." Complaints rippled through the crowd.

The manager regarded Isabella with open contempt. "Why is there an extra name on the list? Security, escort her out."

"One minute is all I need," Isabella stated calmly, continuing her path toward the stage.

No one believed her. Security moved to block her advance.

"Leave! Don't waste our time. We have actual careers—unlike you."