Chapter 201
The following two weeks became a media feeding frenzy.
Every detail of the upcoming wedding was dissected and analyzed.
From the design of the engagement rings to the choice of wedding gown designers.
The selected five-star hotel venue. The floral arrangements. The guest list.
Nothing was spared from public scrutiny.
One bride was the nation's wealthiest heiress. The groom was universally hailed as the 'Ideal National Husband,' a devastatingly handsome business titan.
Their union was the most anticipated social event of the decade.
Amidst this whirlwind, Victoria Kensington's private social media account quietly began trending.
She had posted roughly twenty videos on a new profile.
Each clip was meticulously crafted, rich with subtext and meaning.
Some showed her single-handedly organizing a cluttered, neglected space, transforming chaos into a minimalist sanctuary.
Others featured her gardening, hands deep in soil, planting organic vegetables.
There were videos of her visiting impoverished rural communities, working alongside local women harvesting crops.
She performed every task herself.
Her clothing was simple, unassuming, often plain linen and cotton.
She appeared entirely without makeup, her face bare, projecting an image of genuine, girl-next-door innocence.
Within a month, her follower count skyrocketed to seventy million.
'My Fairy Victoria' became the top trending hashtag. Her account exploded in popularity.
Comments flooded every post.
[I can't believe this is Victoria Kensington! She seems so humble and genuine!]
[This is nothing like those other celebrities who stage everything for attention. She's actually doing real work with her own hands!]
[Look at her face, glistening with honest sweat. This feels completely authentic. There's no way this is faked.]
[She's only doing this because her scandal ruined her career! This is just a calculated PR move to rebrand herself!]
[Oh, shut up. If you think it's so easy to fake, why don't you go try it for a month straight?]
[She's clearly remorseful. Why keep attacking her? Does destroying her life bring you joy?]
The court of public opinion had shifted.
Skeptics were quickly drowned out by a wave of supportive defenders.
Victoria's public persona was successfully reborn. She had shed the skin of the manipulative socialite.
She was now the pristine, relatable, 'earth-goddess' fairy.
Time accelerated, bringing them to the eve of the grand ceremony.
Eleanor Kensington personally went to collect Victoria from her retreat.
They also summoned Isabella Montgomery back to the family manor to finalize wedding arrangements.
Alexander Whitmore had been Isabella's designated chauffeur for weeks.
She always returned to Rosewood Manor each night, carefully concealing her cohabitation with Nathaniel Blackwood.
Alexander watched her in the rearview mirror.
Despite their increased proximity this past month, she never sat in the passenger seat.
She never initiated physical contact. Not even a casual brush of hands.
A simmering frustration gnawed at him.
"Tomorrow is the wedding," he finally said, breaking the tense silence. "The entire elite of high society will be watching. Are you absolutely certain you're prepared?"
Isabella gave a noncommittal hum from the back seat, her eyes closed.
He detested her cold, detached demeanor.
She was the one who had begged for this marriage. She had demanded a spectacular, public wedding.
She had no right to act so aloof and superior around him.
He swallowed his irritation. Just one more day.
Tomorrow night, she would be his. She would be pleading beneath him. She would learn her place.
The car arrived at the grand Montgomery Manor.
Alexander exited and moved to open her door, extending his hand in a performative gesture of chivalry. He needed to maintain appearances in front of her family.
Isabella hesitated briefly.
Then her gaze caught a familiar silhouette through the living room window.
A subtle, knowing smile touched her lips.
She accepted his arm, looping hers through his in a formal, detached manner, the kind seen at galas between business partners. It conveyed zero affection.
Yet, it was enough.
Inside the opulent living room, Victoria held court.
She was the center of a concerned family huddle.
"Victoria, my dear, you promised you would take care of yourself," Eleanor fretted, her voice thick with maternal worry. "Look at these calluses on your hands! And that faint scar on your cheek! You are a Montgomery heiress! How could you subject yourself to such hardship?"
Richard Montgomery's face was a mask of paternal anguish. "We have cherished you since the day you came to us. I've always handled you like the most precious porcelain. The thought of you alone in some remote village, doing manual labor... it breaks my heart. Did you even consider how this would make your mother and I feel?"