Chapter 252

Arabella shifted slightly, a flicker of unease crossing her features before she quickly composed herself.

“I heard Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Sinclair mentioned GoldenPhoenix doesn’t force personas on artists. Does that mean we can be authentic?”

“Correct. I reviewed your portfolio. Maintain your elegant, intellectual style. You’ll lead the Celestial Gala this year.” Isabella’s tone remained strictly professional.

“Seriously?” Arabella gasped, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The Celestial Gala was a massive annual tradition. Thousands paraded through heritage sites in historical attire, a spectacle known worldwide. Victoria Kensington always held the lead position—no one else ever got it. Even when Arabella participated before, she was relegated to second or third row. They even forced her to sneak snacks during the event, drawing harsh criticism from traditionalists.

Now she would lead?

Isabella responded with practiced calm. “Yes. No need to worry. We won’t force binge-eating antics. Drop the ‘foodie’ persona entirely. Ask if you have further questions.”

A sudden thought struck Arabella. “Does this apply to all models?”

“Equal treatment for everyone.” Six words, delivered with crisp efficiency.

Isabella handed her several files. Arabella accepted them, scanning the detailed plans for herself and other top models. Each plan eliminated forced personas and tailored opportunities to their natural strengths. Far superior to SilverPeak’s proposals!

Arabella stayed behind, representing the others, to review GoldenPhoenix’s full strategy. Every detail was meticulously crafted.

She stood, extending her hand. “President Montgomery, I look forward to our collaboration.”

“Likewise.” Isabella shook her hand firmly. “Remember to inform the others: if these high-value contracts fail, I stand to lose the most.” A faint, confident smile touched Isabella’s lips as she exited.

The reminder hit Arabella. The termination clauses were nearly a billion per model. Isabella paid them all upfront. If they underperformed, her losses would be staggering. Yet she invested massively, offered bespoke plans, and took minimal commission. What was her real goal?

Watching Isabella leave, Arabella realized she was different. Not like other models. Not like any manager she’d ever met.

After the meeting, Isabella headed to another office to meet Julian Hawthorne and Adrian Sinclair. Julian was absent, but Adrian’s face lit up upon seeing her. “Isabella! Finally free to visit?” he greeted warmly. “Has it really been five years?”

“What’s this? Miss me? Need me checking in on you?” she teased lightly.

Adrian hastily fastened his top button. “No need! I’ve been buried in work. And you, since Victoria’s exposure! The paparazzi must be hounding you. No time to check on anyone else.”

Isabella’s expression darkened at Victoria’s mention. The paparazzi had indeed swarmed, seeking interviews she consistently declined. Perhaps a public appearance was needed soon. To shame the couple properly.

Adrian’s tone turned serious. “Speaking of Victoria… the news reminded me of something from five years ago. Something I should have warned you about. That night… I saw Victoria meeting a man. They were talking privately.”

“A man?” Isabella’s brow furrowed. She gripped his wrist tightly. “What did he look like?”