Chapter 148
Xavier Delmar initially thought the person approaching was just another overenthusiastic fan trying to skip the line.
He never expected to bump into an old acquaintance—least of all Isabella Sinclair, formerly known as Hedwig Benson—someone he believed he’d never see again.
Isabella’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
“Funny seeing you here,” she remarked, her voice smooth but edged with something unreadable.
“Yeah, haha! What are the odds?” Xavier forced a chuckle, gesturing toward the private lounge. “Why don’t we step inside? It’s too chaotic out here.”
His usual confident demeanor faltered for just a second before he quickly recovered.
Standing abruptly, he snapped orders at the nearest staff member.
“Something urgent came up. Handle things here for me.”
With a practiced smile, he turned to the waiting crowd and gave a shallow bow.
“My apologies, everyone. I’ll be back shortly. In the meantime, enjoy the refreshments—on me.”
He guided Isabella toward the lounge, his pulse hammering in his throat. He silently prayed she wouldn’t make a scene.
Meanwhile, her sharp gaze swept across the room, lingering on the sketches plastered on the walls—her sketches.
Seeing her work displayed like this—work that had been stolen without so much as a credit—was almost laughable in its audacity.
Every poster bore traces of the designs she had poured her soul into years ago.
Xavier, desperate to play the role of the long-lost friend, grinned broadly.
“Isabella—wow! It’s really you. You have no idea how worried I was. When I couldn’t reach you, I thought something terrible had happened.”
She turned her head slightly, eyeing him with a cool, assessing look.
His act was nearly flawless—almost convincing enough to fool someone who didn’t know better.
She didn’t waste time.
“Your comic… it’s not original.”
The air between them grew heavy.
They had once worked side by side at a small publishing company, back when Isabella went by her alias, Hedwig Benson. Xavier had been her editor.
They’d spent time together in Leswington, and though they’d gotten along well enough, Isabella wasn’t here for nostalgia.
She wanted to hear him squirm.
Xavier exhaled dramatically.
“Look, I won’t lie to you. The inspiration came from the drafts you left behind in Leswington. But when you disappeared, I thought something must’ve happened to you. I didn’t want your hard work to go to waste.”
He flashed her another smile, oozing charm.
“I built on your sketches, added my own touch, and—well, here we are.”
He leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret.
“I never imagined it would blow up like this. I always knew you were talented, but Isabella, you really outdid yourself.”
It was almost believable—the sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his tone.
Almost.
Isabella arched a brow, her voice icy.
“Then why did you put your name on it?”
That wiped the smile off his face—if only for a split second.
“You’ve always hated the spotlight, right? You never wanted your real name tied to your work. It’s just a pen name, Isabella. No harm done, yeah?”
Before she could respond, he barreled on.
“Sure, the foundation was yours, but I spent months—years—reworking it. It’s my creation now too. That’s why I signed it as Xavier Delmar.”
He had spent a decade in obscurity in Leswington, churning out work that no one noticed.
Now, fame was finally within his grasp—and he wasn’t about to let anyone take it from him. Not when a lucrative contract with the Blackwood Group was just within reach.
Isabella’s gaze sharpened.
“But deep down, you know it’s plagiarism.”
A humorless smile touched her lips.
“Funny. I remember you preaching about how dreams should never be sold out for money. You used to despise plagiarism more than anything.”
Her words landed like a physical blow.
Xavier’s face twisted, bitterness seeping into his voice.
“Dreams?” he spat, the word dripping with venom. He let out a harsh, mocking laugh.
“Once you’ve been fired, once you’re one step away from living on the streets, you realize dreams are just a cruel joke.”
The years of struggle—the sleepless nights wondering if he’d ever catch a break—flooded back.
Now that success was finally his, he couldn’t believe he’d ever been naive enough to think dreams alone were enough.
Seeing that Isabella wasn’t backing down, he dropped the act entirely, his expression turning cold.
“Spare me the self-righteous act! They were just old sketches. We were friends. Can’t you just let this go? Do me this one favor and walk away.”
