Chapter 120
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.
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.
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.
Her presence was utterly commanding.
Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes.
Her lips were painted a dangerous, seductive crimson.
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!”
“This is insane! Unbelievable! My heart is pounding!”
The cheers swelled into a deafening wave of sound.
Isabella remained perfectly still, utterly unfazed by the frenzy.
Her expression was one of cool, detached arrogance.
She slid off the car’s hood and removed her sunglasses.
She casually leaned against the golden vehicle.
She looked like a champion racer savoring a hard-won victory.
Her entire posture was relaxed, confident, and utterly free.
The excitement in the room skyrocketed.
The audience couldn't stop cheering.
“Heavens! She’s a goddess! Absolute perfection!”
“This is a world-class show! She’s a world-class model!”
“Her presence dwarfs every other blonde model here! She represents us all!”
Reporters frantically snapped pictures, their cameras clicking nonstop.
The other supermodels had been working hard with elaborate poses.
They were trying desperately to capture the crowd’s attention.
Isabella had barely moved a muscle.
Yet, in under ten seconds, she had completely stolen the show.
She hadn't even changed her position.
She just lounged against the car, sunglasses in hand.
The photographers still swarmed her, circling for the perfect shot.
They were desperate to capture every angle of her stunning beauty.
Nathaniel Blackwood’s gaze was locked on her.
The normally unshakable man showed a flicker of pure astonishment.
He had watched Isabella practice her walk many times.
Each time, he was captivated.
It was no wonder she was the woman he loved.
Oliver was even more ecstatic.
He threw his hands in the air, shouting with all his might.
“Mommy is the best! She’s amazing! The number one model in the world!”
His cheers ignited the crowd.
Soon, everyone was chanting along.
“Number one top model! The world’s best model!”
The atmosphere reached a fever pitch.
Isabella had stunned them all once again.
Victoria Kensington’s face was a thundercloud of fury.
‘I am the real number one model! That title is mine!’ she seethed internally.
But her position was at the very back of the stage.
She was almost completely hidden behind the other models.
Standing in that dark corner, she felt invisible.
Seeing everyone adore Isabella was unbearable.
‘What right does she have?’ Victoria thought bitterly. ‘She’s just a rookie! An unwed mother! She shouldn’t be here!’
The other supermodels were pathetic for letting a newcomer overshadow them.
This had never happened before.
Isabella showed them no respect as her seniors.
She just ruthlessly outshone them all.
But with all the cameras pointed their way, none of the models dared show their anger.
They held their poses, looking bland and ordinary next to Isabella’s radiance.
Suddenly, a pitiful wail cut through the noise.
Genevieve Laurent crumpled to the floor in apparent agony.
She clutched her stomach, her face twisted in pain as she screamed.
The audience frowned in confusion.
What was happening? Was she having a fit?
Then, like dominoes, the other models began to fall.
One after another, they dropped to the ground beside the luxury cars.
They rolled around, clutching their middles, moaning and crying in distress.
The hall descended into chaos.
The air was filled with the sounds of suffering.
Isabella watched the models fall around her.
A deep frown etched onto her face.
‘This isn’t good,’ she thought. ‘Trouble is here.’