“Who is she? Mercedes never hires local talent for their main shows.”

“She looks familiar. Maybe a second-tier model?”

“That’s the girl from the nude photo scandal. The one that blew up the industry.”

“Didn’t she completely bomb the Guci campaign? They say she’s poison for endorsements now.”

“How did someone like her even get into the Mercedes Auto Show?”

Their mocking tones cut deep. Victoria’s fists clenched at her sides. They were targeting every one of her failures. Rubbing her public humiliation in her face.

These women were legends. Each had a mantle full of major awards. Victoria had two top model trophies herself. But one was bought through connections. The other was...tainted.

In raw talent, she couldn't match them. Not truly.

Victoria took a sharp breath. She addressed them in their native language, a skill she’d painstakingly mastered. “I was just as surprised to get this opportunity. I didn’t fight for it. My sister secured the spot for me.”

“Your sister?” A wave of shock passed through the group.

“Yes,” Victoria said smoothly. “You didn’t know? She’s this year’s lead model. For the gold race car. I have so much admiration for her. So young. No major awards to her name, yet here she is.”

Murmurs erupted. “A special relationship with the organizer, no doubt.”

“I don’t believe those rumors,” Victoria countered, her voice dripping with false sincerity. “She’s incredibly gifted. You’ll see when you meet her. You’ll understand.” She turned. “Isadora, let’s go change.” Her agent, Isadora Vasquez, nodded and guided her away.

Eleven stunned supermodels were left in her wake. The organizer had kept the lead model a secret. They’d all assumed it was a global superstar. Not some unknown rookie.

A nobody stealing the spotlight from true icons? Unforgivable.

Seraphina Delacroix, the most famous model present, studied Victoria. She seemed familiar. That girl from the Chanel finale... Isabella Montgomery had stolen Victoria’s moment then. Now, she’d snatched the Auto Show’s top role. She was always eclipsing Victoria.

The sharp click of heels echoed in the hallway. Seraphina’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s teach her a lesson.” Unified nods answered her. A common enemy united them.

The door swung open. Isabella Montgomery entered. She wore sleek black bell-bottom trousers and a crimson crop top. Her presence was electric, commanding the room. Hostile glares followed her every move. She ignored them completely. Her gaze was fixed ahead, dismissive of the gathered royalty of the fashion world. She moved toward her designated vanity.

A timid makeup artist approached. “Good afternoon, Ms. Montgomery. I’m your assigned artist for today. These are your accessories.” She laid out a pair of earrings, a watch, and other items.

“Leave us,” Seraphina commanded the artist. She advanced, her coterie of tall, blonde, blue-eyed models forming a formidable wall around Isabella. Their combined height and fury created an intimidating atmosphere.

The makeup artist fled, seeking refuge in a corner.

From the changing room doorway, Victoria watched. A sly smile touched her lips. Crossing Seraphina Delacroix was a fatal mistake. Isabella was finished.
######Chapter 113
The moment the stylist exited, Genevieve Laurent stepped forward aggressively. Her heels clicked sharply against the floor.

She swept her arm across Isabella Montgomery’s vanity. A violent crash echoed through the room.

Cosmetics, brushes, and accessories scattered everywhere. The custom outfit laid out for the show tumbled into the dust.

Seraphina Delacroix watched coldly from the doorway. Her presence alone was a statement. A queen descending to handle a nuisance personally.

“I don’t care who you know here,” Genevieve spat. “You’re a nobody. A rookie. We are not your backup dancers. Know your place. Pack your things. Leave. Now.”

A chorus of agreement rose from the other models. Their glares were sharp, unified. A wall of hostility.

Isabella didn’t flinch. She leaned back in her chair, utterly calm. “You think breaking a few things is supposed to frighten me?”

Silence. Then, disbelief. How was she so composed? Outnumbered and cornered.

Genevieve’s face flushed a deep, furious red. With a guttural sound of rage, she grabbed the edge of the vanity and shoved. The entire unit toppled over. Glass shattered. The noise was deafening.

It wasn’t enough. Genevieve stalked toward the clothing rack. She snatched a delicate beaded bracelet from its hanger.

She threw it to the floor. Her stiletto heel came down on it with brutal force. A sickening crunch echoed in the sudden quiet.

“This is what will happen to you,” she hissed at Isabella, her voice low and venomous. “If you don’t get out. I’ll break you myself.”

Isabella actually laughed. A dry, humorless sound. “That’s all the strength you have? Pathetic. If you’re hungry, there’s food. Eat. Then try again. Put some real effort into it.”

She began removing her own accessories. A sleek black watch. A matching obsidian ring. She dropped them casually onto the floor at Genevieve’s feet. The gesture was wildly defiant.

The models stared, baffled. Was she insane? Was she daring them?

From her spot near the changing area, Victoria Kensington watched, a frown etching her features. This was not going as planned. Isabella’s fearlessness was unnerving.

Another model snapped. “You’re asking for it, Montgomery!” She lunged forward, her heel aiming for the expensive watch.

Crack. The crystal face splintered. A six-figure piece, destroyed.

Isabella didn’t even look. She examined her black-painted nails, bored. “Don’t stop on my account. Keep going. Destroy it all. I insist.”

She finally lifted her gaze, icy and direct. “After all, none of this is mine. Every single item belongs to the event organizers.”

The air left the room.

All color drained from their faces. Stunned silence. They had been so focused on humiliating her, they never considered the labels on the clothes, the tags on the jewelry. These were show pieces. Loaned property.

“You witch!” Genevieve gasped, scrambling back from the wreckage as if it were radioactive. “You set us up!”

“Did I?” Isabella’s voice was a blade of frozen steel. “I forced you to trash my station? I made you stomp on the designer outfits? I commanded your little mob to come threaten me? Is that your story?”

Her words left them speechless, trapped.

Before anyone could form a reply, she checked her phone. “You have about two minutes. If you want to finish the job. The head organizer is on his way up. With a full press corps.”

Seraphina Delacroix’s cool composure finally cracked. “What? Reporters are coming here? Now?”