Chapter 72
Victoria’s voice snapped the photographer from his trance.
He had completely forgotten she was even there.
He squinted at the digital display.
The composition was technically flawless.
Victoria’s performance was adequate.
But the entire background was a wash of soft pink, mirroring the flamingos.
Her avocado-green outfit simply vanished into the scenery.
All visual focus was violently pulled toward Isabella.
Her flaming-red dress was a shock to the senses.
Victoria’s pale colors made her recede, becoming part of the set.
She looked less like a model and more like a piece of furniture.
A very expensive, very dedicated prop.
Isabella’s pose, leaning casually against her, sealed the interpretation.
Victoria smiled dutifully at the camera, clutching the flamingo.
The overall impression was one of a mistress and her attendant.
A queen and her devoted handmaiden.
It was a perfect shot, if you ignored Victoria’s complete erasure.
“We’re done,” the photographer declared. “It’s perfect. No reshoot needed.”
Isabella immediately turned and walked toward the changing rooms.
The outcome was clear. The battle was over.
Victoria watched her go, a tight smile on her face.
She was certain Isabella was fleeing from her humiliation.
She needed to see those photos now.
She needed to savor the victory.
She glided over to the photographer, her voice sweet. “Mr. Delacroix, you’ve worked so hard. Might I take a peek at the results?”
“Of course, Miss Kensington,” he said, wary. “But please be careful. This equipment is very fragile. And very expensive.”
“I’ll be extremely careful,” she promised, stepping to the side.
She exchanged a quick, silent look with Isadora.
Isadora nodded almost imperceptibly.
She moved behind Victoria, pulling out her phone.
She pretended to scroll through messages.
Her real intention was to covertly photograph the camera’s screen.
They both expected to see Isabella’s disastrous shots.
They were prepared to mock her unprofessional hand movement.
The image on the screen stole the breath from their lungs.
Victoria was annihilated.
She was a blur of green, a background extra in Isabella’s stunning feature.
Isabella was the entire story.
Her red dress seemed to flow with its own life, capturing an invisible wind.
She was midsummer personified.
Every solo shot of Isabella was a masterpiece of raw, captivating power.
Victoria’s solo shots were pretty. Pleasant.
But next to Isabella’s, they looked cheap. Common.
The avocado green made her resemble a store mannequin.
Victoria’s nails dug into her own palms, her smile frozen.
How?
How was this possible?
Those clothes were meant to be her coffin!
They were heavy, ugly, stifling.
Isabella somehow turned them into a crown.
If these photos were released, Victoria’s career would be a joke.
Isabella would eclipse her completely.
She tapped Isadora’s leg with her shoe.
A silent command.
Isadora took a sharp, steadying breath.
She stepped forward, her voice overly bright. “Victoria, you and Isabella were amazing together! This issue is going to be incred— Ahh!”
She deliberately caught her heel on a loose cable.
She stumbled violently into Victoria.
Victoria, perfectly prepared, feigned surprise.
She crashed into the photographer’s outstretched arms.
The expensive camera was launched from his grip.
It sailed through the air in a horrifying arc.
Time seemed to slow.
Then, a sickening crunch of plastic and glass echoed through the studio.
The camera shattered on the hard floor.
Pieces skittered everywhere.
The memory card popped out.
It landed neatly.
Isadora’s heel came down on it with precise force.
A clean, definitive snap.
The card broke in two.