Chapter 132

The moment Isabella Sinclair stepped onto the red carpet, every camera lens in New York turned toward her.

She wore a daring emerald gown from Maison de Valois that clung to her curves like liquid silk. The dress plunged dangerously low in the back, revealing the delicate tattoo of a phoenix rising between her shoulder blades—a symbol Alexander Kingsley had personally designed for her.

Flashbulbs exploded like fireworks.

"Over here, Isabella!"

"Give us a spin!"

Reporters shouted over each other, their voices blending into a cacophony of adoration.

Olivia Bennett watched from the sidelines with proud tears in her eyes. "She's finally getting the recognition she deserves," she whispered to Daniel Carter.

Inside the venue, the atmosphere crackled with tension.

Nathan Prescott stood near the bar, his knuckles white around a whiskey glass. Victoria Sterling clung to his arm like a lifeline, her crimson lips twisted in a sneer. "Look at her, acting like she owns the place."

But Nathan wasn't listening. His gaze remained locked on Isabella—the woman he'd once discarded like yesterday's news.

Alexander Kingsley materialized at Isabella's side, his hand possessively settling on the small of her back. The message was clear: This queen wasn't up for grabs.

The host tapped the microphone. "And now, presenting the award for Model of the Year..."

The room held its breath.

Backstage, Sophia Reynolds adjusted her headset. "We've got a situation," she hissed into her comms. "Someone tampered with the envelope."

Isabella felt Alexander's grip tighten.

Then—

"Congratulations to our winner... Isabella Sinclair!"

The crowd erupted.

But as Isabella ascended the stage, the giant screens flickered.

Suddenly, compromising photos of her and Nathan from years ago flashed across every screen in the venue.

Gasps filled the air.

Victoria's laughter rang out like shattered glass.

Alexander's expression turned murderous.

And Isabella?

She simply smiled, leaned into the microphone, and said four words that would change everything:

"Nice try. My turn."

The screens went black.

Then new footage appeared—Victoria Sterling accepting bribes, Nathan Prescott embezzling funds, their entire empire of lies unraveling in real time.

Chaos erupted.

Security swarmed Nathan as reporters turned on him like sharks.

Alexander pulled Isabella close. "You planned this."

Her eyes glittered with triumph. "I told you I'd handle my own battles."

Backstage, Olivia high-fived Sophia. "That's our girl."

But as Isabella descended the steps, a figure emerged from the shadows—someone no one expected to see.

Evelyn Prescott stood trembling in a simple black dress, tears streaming down her face.

"Sister?" Nathan choked out.

Evelyn ignored him, walking straight to Isabella. Then, in front of everyone, she knelt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For everything."

The room went silent.

Isabella studied the broken woman before her—the sister of her greatest enemy. Then she did the one thing no one anticipated.

She pulled Evelyn to her feet and embraced her.

Over Evelyn's shoulder, Isabella locked eyes with a stunned Nathan.

Checkmate.

Avery's pulse quickened as his eyes widened in shock.

The flush on Evadne's cheeks vanished as she glared at Thaddeus. "Thaddeus! How can you be so shameless and still keep a straight face? Let go of me. I'm not going anywhere with you!" No matter how much she struggled or cursed, his expression remained unreadable. His grip only tightened, determined to drag her away.

Seeing Evadne drunk and unconscious in a private room with a stranger—Thaddeus couldn't stomach it.

"Thaddeus! You bastard, release me!"

But the man of few words didn't bother with explanations. In one swift motion, he bent down and hauled her over his shoulder, his muscular arm locking around her thighs. Without a word, he strode out, his face an impassive mask.

"Put me down—ugh—I'm gonna be sick!"

Evadne pounded her fists against his broad back, the nausea churning in her stomach making her eyes water.

"Go ahead. Vomit all you want." His voice was ice. No sympathy.

Good. Let her suffer. She deserved it.

As they disappeared from the room, Avery's lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles whitening around the glass Evadne had sipped from. His secretary shifted nervously.

"Mr. Chambers, should we follow them?"

"Have someone tail them."

Avery's voice was clipped. His thumb traced the faint lipstick stain on the rim of the glass.

"Thaddeus is married?" His secretary gaped. "Since when? How did we miss this?"

"Dig deeper."

Avery took a slow sip from the glass, his eyes cold behind his glasses. "I want everything on Thaddeus—his past, his present. And especially his relationship with her."

Thaddeus had intended to take Evadne back to his private room, but with Jareth there, he changed course. Instead, he carried her straight out of the KTV.

Patrons and staff stared, but no one dared intervene. Just another couple's drunken spat—or so they assumed.

"Thaddeus—I swear—I'm gonna puke—"

Evadne's voice was a breathless whimper, her stomach lurching with every step.

His jaw clenched. "You brought this on yourself."

The moment he set her down, she shoved him hard against the car door.

His breath hitched.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, her face flushed, lips parted.

Then—

Ugh.

Thaddeus froze.

She'd just emptied the contents of her stomach all over his pristine suit.

The stench of alcohol and seafood hit him like a punch. His face darkened.

Unbelievable. She'd used him as a human trash can.

"Thaddeus, are you haunting me? Get lost! The sight of you makes me sick!"

She tried to push away, but he seized her wrists, his eyes burning.

"Who the hell was that man?"

"A friend. Got a problem with that?" She smirked, her drunken gaze taunting.

"Yes." The word ripped from his throat before he could stop it.

"You're insane!" She writhed in his grip, her cheeks flushed, her beauty magnified by the alcohol. "You parade your ex around, but I can't have friends? Who do you think you are?"

The memory of how close she'd been to that man—how he'd looked at her—sent a possessive fury surging through Thaddeus's veins.

"Your social life's gotten colorful," he sneered, his chest tight with something darker than anger. "Booking a private room? Didn't want interruptions?"

But the words cut him deeper.

Evadne laughed, sharp and bitter. "Oh, Thaddeus, you have no idea what I'm capable of now."

"Evadne!" His control snapped. "You're coming with me. And you won't be seeing him again."

Just then, a patrol car rolled by.

Evadne's expression shifted instantly—wide-eyed, trembling. "Help! This man's assaulting me!"

Thaddeus paled.

Two officers jumped out, shouting, "Step away from her!"

Seizing her chance, Evadne wrenched free.

"I—I accidentally spilled on his suit," she stammered, tears welling. "I offered to pay for cleaning, but he wouldn't let me leave!"

The officers turned on Thaddeus. "Sir, this constitutes harassment. You'll need to come with us."

Thaddeus exhaled sharply. "I know her."

The officer glanced at Evadne. "Do you know this man?"

She shook her head, her lower lip quivering. "No."

The officer's grip tightened. "You're under detention."

Then—his phone rang.

Frederic's voice was frantic. "Where are you? Acacia slit her wrists! She's at Elmsworth—losing blood—"

Thaddeus's blood ran cold.

"Thaddeus, fix this mess!" Frederic roared. "First you propose, then you take it back? She saved you when you tried to kill yourself as a kid! And now you're killing her!"

The past crashed over him—memories he'd buried.

His breath came in ragged gasps.

When he looked up—Evadne was gone.

Vanished into the neon-lit night.