Chapter 23
Isabella wanted to retaliate but Victoria had already swept past her. The sharp staccato of silver heels echoed through the hallway. Every line of her retreating figure radiated unshakable arrogance.
Click. Clack. Click.
Isabella stood frozen, watching until Victoria disappeared from view. Only then did she fumble for her phone. “Sophia, we almost had her! Why did we back down? You should’ve seen her attitude. She demanded I pay for her new door. Claimed we wasted thirty-five minutes of her precious time. She wants three hundred and fifty thousand!”
Three hundred and fifty thousand?
Rage boiled through Sophia. But the memory of that recorded call made her vicious. “This is your entire fault! Why did you call me back? She has the whole conversation! You’re utterly useless.” Her voice was a shrill whip. “The money comes from your salary. Ten thousand a month until it’s paid.”
A monthly deduction of ten thousand? Her entire salary was only twenty! Sophia hung up before she could protest. Arguing was pointless. She was trapped.
Fuming, Sophia quickly typed a warning to Victoria. [She’s dangerous. Got a recording of my call. Tell Alexander to be careful. She’s planning something.]
Victoria read the message, her face darkening. She had manipulated Sophia last night, fueling her hatred, using her as a weapon against Isabella. This defeat was infuriating. If Isabella made it to the show… if she actually won… Would Alexander be forced to humiliate himself live?
Never. She needed another plan.
A cruel idea sparked in her eyes. She turned and strode away without another word.
…
Isabella stood by the roadside outside her manor, waiting. Her booked car had canceled during the confrontation with Lillian. Rush hour meant scarce availability. She was going to be late. Walking was her only option, hoping to flag down a passing car.
The roar of engines interrupted her thoughts. A fleet of luxury sports cars screeched to a halt, encircling her. The lead vehicle was a black Porsche, its sleek body gleaming. Absurdly, its lights, rims, and door handles were painted a garish pink. The clash of colors was tacky, trying too hard to be feminine.
Victoria sat in the passenger seat, makeup flawless, features sharp. She wore a pristine white dress, playing the part of the elegant princess. Her aura was pure condescension.
The other cars held her equally wealthy, sneering friends. Their laughter was sharp and mocking.
“Victoria, isn’t this your charity case sister? The one who boasts about owning hundreds of supercars? The ten-billion-dollar better? Why is she walking?”
“Anyone can lie. I could say I own a thousand jets. Doesn’t make it true.”
“Look at her clothes. Some no-name brand. Lives in the middle of nowhere but talks about billions? She’s a joke. A pathetic one.”
“Please, don’t be cruel. She’s still family.” Victoria’s voice was a sickly sweet simper. She offered a fake, sympathetic smile. “Isabella, you only had to ask. My parents give me a new car every birthday. My garage is overflowing. I’d have given you one. There’s no need for this… walking.”
She poured on the false concern. “Are you going to the show? You’ll be late. Get in. I’ll drive you.” She stepped out and opened the rear door. A large, drooling pug occupied the seat, its fur matted and dirty. It took up most of the space.
The plan was obvious. Get Isabella in the car. Let the dog ‘accidentally’ bite her. A scratch on her face would be ideal. No model with fresh wounds could walk the runway.
Isabella let out a cold, dismissive laugh. Did Victoria truly think she was this stupid? “You think I’d get in that ridiculous eyesore?” Her scorn was palpable. “You believe your cheap, tasteless car is a favor?”
Cheap? Tasteless?
A stunned silence fell. The sheer audacity of the insult left everyone breathless. Even Victoria was momentarily speechless, her perfect mask finally cracking.