Chapter 151
Ethan Blackwood’s voice dripped with barely restrained irritation as he started, “Isabella, I suggest you watch your tone—” But his words were abruptly cut off when she lifted a single, silencing hand.
“Of course, I’ll speak properly,” Isabella Sinclair replied smoothly, her lips curving into a razor-sharp smile. “In fact, I’ve been perfectly civil—unlike the secretary your father dragged to the wedding. According to her, the Blackwood family has plenty of other sons to carry on the legacy besides you.”
Isabella thrived in moments like this—when she could strike back with surgical precision.
Her eyes glinted with cold amusement as she added, “And judging by Miss Kensington’s mother’s behavior—more suited to a bar brawl than a wedding—I’d say she’s got her husband on a tight leash. At least she won’t have to deal with as many scandals as your family.”
That was Isabella’s gift. She knew exactly where to plunge the knife.
She never forgot an insult, and she always retaliated where it hurt most.
“You—!” Sophia Kensington’s face drained of color, her breath hitching. The disaster at her wedding had been humiliating enough, and now Isabella had the audacity to throw it back in her face, twisting the knife deeper.
Isabella wasn’t just mocking her—she was humiliating her. A wound Sophia couldn’t swallow.
Taking a shuddering breath, Sophia forced her anger down and summoned her usual pitiful act, letting a single tear slip. “Xavier and I are just friends! How dare you imply anything else?” Her voice cracked, eyes shimmering with manufactured sorrow. “And you insult my parents? The Blackwoods have been nothing but kind to you, yet you drag their name through the mud?”
Isabella’s lips curled into a mocking smile. Her tone was light, almost bored.
“Miss Kensington, I wasn’t insulting your parents. I was complimenting their ability to keep their marriage intact. Not everyone is so… fortunate. Right, Mr. Blackwood?”
As she spoke, she idly examined her manicured nails, the picture of indifference.
To everyone watching, Isabella was the epitome of icy arrogance.
“You—!” Ethan’s jaw clenched. Heat rushed to his face as his mind flashed to his father’s notorious affairs, the illegitimate children scattered across the country. Isabella had just ripped open old wounds, and his temper flared.
He lunged forward, hand snapping out to grab her wrist—but Isabella’s glacial stare froze him mid-motion.
She didn’t need to speak. The warning in her eyes was enough—a silent reminder of the time she’d single-handedly tossed a man twice her size into a dumpster.
This wasn’t a fight he could win.
He stopped dead, rooted in place, chest heaving with barely contained fury. His expression darkened like a storm rolling in.
“Let’s not escalate this further,” Xavier Delmar interjected smoothly, stepping between them. “Mr. Blackwood, we’re all professionals here. Perhaps we should discuss business elsewhere.”
Xavier, who had known Isabella from their days in Leswington when he’d been her comic editor, was still blissfully unaware of her… particular skills. Unlike Ethan, he hadn’t yet learned to tread carefully around her.
He had no interest in prolonging this argument. The Blackwood Group had risen rapidly in recent years, and losing a valuable connection like Xavier wasn’t an option.
“As for you,” Xavier began, his voice laced with cold authority, “you’ve been causing quite the scene. I’ve held back out of courtesy, but I won’t tolerate baseless accusations.”
His words were deliberately sharp, meant to belittle Isabella in front of Ethan and Sophia—playing to his audience.
“If you’re going to accuse me of plagiarism, bring proof. Do you have any? You claim I used your discarded drafts—then show them. Let’s compare.”
Isabella remained unfazed. She’d seen this tactic before.
After all, she’d handed him most of her unused sketches back then for sorting. When she’d later asked about them, he’d claimed they’d been shredded—for her own protection, of course. At the time, she hadn’t cared. Those sketches were worthless to her.
How ironic, then, that her trash had become another man’s treasure.
Xavier had built his fortune on her scraps.
Sophia seized the moment, her voice dripping with condescension. “Exactly! If you’re accusing Xavier, where’s your proof? You can’t just slander someone without evidence. Or are you really that naive?”
Isabella’s patience was thinning, but she kept her composure. She’d come prepared.
“Enough,” Xavier said, shifting to a tone of calculated magnanimity. “This bickering is beneath us. We have a collaboration to finalize, and my fans are waiting.”
His words were carefully chosen to paint himself as the bigger person—though the arrogance beneath was unmistakable.
“I sincerely hope this is the last time I hear such baseless accusations. Miss Sinclair, if you continue spreading rumors without proof, I won’t hesitate to sue.”
With that, Xavier strode confidently out of the lounge, blowing a theatrical kiss to his adoring fans.
“Xavier, we love you!” they screamed in unison, their blind devotion making him feel untouchable.
Watching the spectacle, Ethan’s expression hardened. Xavier was a valuable asset, and manipulating public perception through him was too good an opportunity to waste.
Eyes still fixed on the scene, Ethan muttered, “Isabella, if you have any sense left, you’ll leave before this turns into a lawsuit.”
But as the words left his mouth, he realized—Isabella was already gone.
She’d slipped out without a sound.
