Chapter 8
Isabella’s knuckles turned white as she gripped her phone.
She immediately dialed her manager, Gabriella Martinez.
“Find out who sent that anonymous email,” she demanded. “I want their identity within five minutes.”
Isabella was certain she could pressure this person into backing down once she uncovered their details.
No one crossed her and got away with it.
But…
Five minutes later, Gabriella called back with disappointing news.
“I’m sorry, Isabella. I contacted the top hacker available and used every resource we have. We still couldn’t trace the sender’s IP address.”
“How is that possible?” Isabella’s voice rose sharply, fear taking over. “We have the best team money can buy! How can we fail to crack a simple anonymous IP?”
As the world’s top supermodel, she had access to elite resources and powerful connections. This shouldn’t be happening.
“The hacker is too skilled. Our team’s best couldn’t penetrate their defenses. Isabella, maybe we need another strategy to keep this quiet. If this gets out, your career is over,” Gabriella reasoned, sighing heavily.
Isabella collapsed onto her bed in shock. Gabriella was her most trusted manager and assistant. If even she couldn’t help, no one could.
What options did she have? Hold a press conference and confess? That would be just as damaging as the screenshots going public. Send nudes instead? Her reputation would still be ruined.
Another email arrived.
[Three minutes left.]
Attached was a screenshot of a drafted Weibo post.
[Supermodel Victoria Kensington paid to have her sister murdered!]
Isabella’s face went pale. Her hands trembled uncontrollably.
If this were exposed, it would make global headlines. She could end up in prison.
[Don’t post it. Wait. I’ll send the photos now.]
She had no choice. She rushed into her bathroom, even grabbing the cucumber she used for her eye mask.
As much as she hated this humiliating act, she saw no other way. The sender was probably some obsessed fan wanting to amuse himself with her photos.
Even if her nudes leaked, she could claim they were doctored. She might even gain more male fans. This outcome was far better than prison.
Biting her lip, Isabella took the photos.
…
At Rosewood Manor…
Isabella sat cross-legged before her computer, sipping wine.
“Three, two, one.”
Right on cue, a new email appeared.
Attached was a photo of Isabella in her bikini under the showerhead, completely drenched. She held a cucumber and gazed seductively into the camera.
Isabella smirked. The fish had taken the bait.
No one could blame Victoria for choosing this option, no matter how desperate.
Suddenly, a man in casual wear entered the study.
He stared coldly at Isabella. “You might have the funds, but remember why you’re really back.”
“I haven’t forgotten. Everything is going according to plan.” Isabella saved the photo while taking another sip.
The man glanced at her screen. “This alone won’t help you defeat Victoria Kensington. You need more fame to take everything from her. Attend the audition tomorrow.”
He tossed a file onto her desk and left.
Isabella picked it up. It was documents for the Chanel audition.
Chanel, an iconic luxury brand, was hosting its 10th Annual Jewelry Show at The Grand Mariner in Mount Claire. They were seeking a supermodel for the grand finale—a role that could make or break a model’s career.
Isabella scanned the list of candidates. Besides Victoria, the other 49 were world-famous supermodels—regulars at Milan Fashion Week and Victoria’s Secret shows.
Isabella was new to the industry, having just returned from abroad. Yet this man had secured her a spot in this elite audition.
He knew what he was doing.
Isabella organized the folder, her eyes returning to the photo on her screen. A sly smile spread across her face.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
Victoria’s reputation was on the line.