Chapter 87
Exhaustion weighed heavy on Isabella's limbs after the grueling day. She craved nothing more than the oblivion of sleep. But the news Julian presented shattered any hope of rest.
He remained silent, his expression grim. He simply extended his phone toward her.
It was Victoria’s Twitter feed. A new photoshoot dominated the screen. Victoria, clad in striking crimson, mimicked Isabella’s signature poses with eerie precision.
She had even replicated the iconic cover shot from Isabella’s portfolio.
In the image, Victoria glanced over her shoulder, her gaze deliberately aloof. She sat with feigned confidence, one hand rotated forward, a shoulder dipped slightly, her head tilted. The provocative contour between her torso and arm was prominently displayed. The red dress seemed to erase any trace of her usual false modesty, presenting a calculated, dangerous image.
[Stunning!] [This red is everything!] [Victoria, you own this look!]
Comments flooded the post instantly. Media outlets and brand sponsors were already swarming.
“She’s attempting to create a sensation by copying my aesthetic.” Annoyance flickered in Isabella’s eyes.
She knew the impact of her upcoming Guci editorial would be diminished. Accusations of plagiarism would inevitably surface. A direct confrontation with Victoria now could empower Victoria’s fans to orchestrate her exile from the industry.
Julian’s worry was palpable. “This is a disaster. The Guci campaign is your second major project since your return. Its success was meant to solidify your position. The Glamorous Night Annual Dinner is next month. A triumphant Guci release could have secured you ‘The Best Artiste’. Victoria has effectively thrown a wrench into everything.”
“Relax. She won’t succeed.” A determined glint shone in Isabella’s eyes, her red lips curling into a sardonic smile.
“Where are you going at this hour?” Julian frowned as she slipped on her heels.
“This isn’t about Victoria. Don’t worry. Let’s go!” She left him standing there, consumed by suspense.
A luxury car idled in the underground parking lot. Nathaniel Blackwood sat in the passenger seat, a single earring resting in his palm. It was undoubtedly the one Isabella had lost in his car earlier. After putting Oliver to bed, he had immediately ordered Sebastian to drive him here.
Ding. “Nathaniel, look!” Sebastian exclaimed.
Isabella and Julian emerged from the elevator side by side.
Julian courteously opened the passenger door for her.
A sharp pang of something unpleasant twisted in Nathaniel’s chest. Isabella showed no reluctance around Julian. Yet, she consistently turned away from him when in his passenger seat.
“Who is he?” Nathaniel’s voice was low, his eyes glinting coldly.
“My investigations have yielded little. What I confirm is he returned from Africa with Isabella and currently manages all her professional affairs.”
Sebastian offered feeble consolation. “However, I can confirm they are not romantically involved.”
“Ah. But that describes the present, not the future, correct?”
A corrosive wave of envy washed over him, witnessing her easy, comfortable dynamic with another man.