Chapter 207
The morning sun had barely risen when Darren Whitlock arrived at the Charisma Company building, right on schedule.
This time, he came prepared.
Unlike yesterday’s aimless loitering, he positioned himself strategically near the entrance, gripping a handmade sign and pouring his heart out for everyone to hear.
“Is there no justice left in this world?” Darren wailed, his voice cracking with practiced despair. “Isabella Sinclair not only betrayed me—her childhood sweetheart—but she even struck me! Isabella, if you don’t come out and explain yourself today, I won’t leave!”
A seasoned troublemaker, Darren knew exactly how to draw a crowd.
He planted himself firmly in the busiest spot, right where employees and passersby couldn’t miss him, and let the theatrics begin.
It was peak rush hour—perfect timing.
Curious glances turned his way. The crowd thickened with every exaggerated sob. The more people gathered, the louder he cried, his face streaked with tears, the perfect picture of a wronged man.
“I grew up with Isabella Sinclair, the supervisor of Charisma Company!” he lamented, voice trembling. “Back in the orphanage, I took care of her! She promised to marry me when we were older! We dreamed of a future together!”
His voice rose, thick with mock devastation. “And what happened? She married into wealth, tossed me aside like garbage, and even hurt me in the process! Is this the kind of person Charisma Company employs? Where is the justice?”
The more he spoke, the more animated he became, thrashing on the ground like a wounded animal.
“Isabella! You can’t hide in there forever! I know you’re inside! You owe me an explanation!”
His cries echoed through the building, spreading like wildfire.
Meanwhile, Isabella had just parked in the underground garage, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding above.
She was heading toward the executive elevator when Evelyn Fairchild came sprinting toward her, breakfast in hand, her face flushed with panic.
“Ms. Sinclair,” Evelyn stammered, struggling to sound casual. “You’ve been working so hard lately. Maybe… you should take the day off? Get some rest?”
Isabella’s sharp gaze locked onto Evelyn’s face. “Out with it. What’s happening?”
Evelyn hesitated, eyes darting everywhere but at her. “That man from yesterday… he’s back. And this time, he’s making a scene outside, accusing you of being a gold-digger. Security’s keeping him out, but… he’s drawing a crowd. And reporters are starting to show up. I thought maybe you’d want to avoid the mess.”
Isabella’s expression darkened. She hadn’t expected Darren to be this bold. Clearly, yesterday’s warning hadn’t sunk in.
“Where is he now?” she asked, voice clipped.
“Right outside the main entrance,” Evelyn whispered. “He’s causing a full-blown spectacle.”
Isabella exhaled sharply, pulling out her phone. She typed a quick message to Julian Whitmore:
Get here now. Bring the neuro-disruptive medication.
If reasoning with a snake like Darren was pointless, she’d have to be more ruthless.
A swift confirmation came through. Tucking her phone away, Isabella strode toward the entrance.
The moment she stepped into view, the crowd instinctively parted, eyes widening at her commanding presence.
“So, yesterday’s warning didn’t stick,” she said coldly, her gaze locked onto Darren’s pathetic display. Her lips curled in disdain. “Calling yourself my childhood sweetheart? You don’t deserve that title. If I remember correctly, you were caught stealing over twenty times at the orphanage before they finally shipped you off to juvie. We barely spoke back then—did we?”
Her sharp tone silenced the murmurs as she scanned the onlookers. “I hope you all know the difference between truth and lies. Don’t just stand here for entertainment.”
Whispers rippled through the crowd. The revelation of Darren’s criminal record did its job—sympathy wavered, replaced by suspicion.
But Darren wasn’t done. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wild. “Isabella, didn’t I steal for you? You were the vain one, always demanding more, pushing me to do it! I ruined my life for you, and now you’re threatening me?”
This was Sophia Kensington’s strategy—sow chaos, let the mud stick. Truth didn’t matter. The more accusations he hurled, the harder it would be to untangle fact from fiction.
Darren knew how easily public opinion swayed. People didn’t care about facts—they just wanted drama.
And he was giving them plenty.
As Isabella stood firm, reporters surged forward, shoving microphones and cameras into the fray.
Seizing the moment, Darren dramatically whipped out a photo, his voice breaking with fake sobs.
“Look at this! I got a criminal record, stole, ruined my life—all for her! Now she’s run off with a rich man and wants to destroy me completely. How is that fair? If you don’t believe me, here’s the proof!”
The crowd erupted in murmurs.
Isabella’s eyes narrowed.
This wasn’t just a scene.
This was war.
