Chapter 62
A ripple of mocking laughter spread through the grand hall.
No one could pinpoint who started it first, but soon every pair of eyes locked onto Sophia Kensington, their gazes a toxic blend of scorn and amusement.
“She actually thought she could get away with this?” someone snickered under their breath.
“First, she claims to be Scarlet Snake. Then she backtracks, saying she was just a tribute. Now she’s spinning tales about Scarlet Snake being her mentor?”
“Pathetic. Absolutely shameless.”
Sophia’s lips parted, desperate to explain, but the words withered in her throat. There was no escape now.
Her fingers instinctively reached for Ethan Blackwood’s arm, seeking solace—but he recoiled, his expression a storm of betrayal and disgust.
Ethan’s chest tightened.
The woman before him was a stranger. The Sophia he knew—gentle, compassionate, his unwavering supporter—had been nothing but an illusion.
What cut deeper was the realization: Isabella Sinclair had been Scarlet Snake all along.
The truth struck like a blade, twisting deeper than any wound he’d ever known.
Tears welled in Sophia’s eyes. “Ethan, please—let me explain—”
But how? Her lies had spiraled beyond control, each deception birthing another until they choked her.
As the crowd’s jeers swelled, Sophia knew any defense would crumble. Yet she couldn’t just stand there, stripped of dignity.
If not her reputation, she’d salvage his heart.
With a trembling breath, she dropped to her knees, hands clasped in theatrical remorse.
“I admired Scarlet Snake,” she rasped, voice thick with feigned anguish. “When I found her perfume formula, I—I only wanted to recreate its magic. I never knew Isabella was her. I never meant to steal—”
A masterful performance. The victim, not the villain.
Ethan’s rigid stance faltered.
“…It’s not your fault,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “How could you have known? I didn’t even realize my own wife—the woman I slept beside for years—was a genius perfumer.”
His words dripped with bitter irony. Of course. This was Isabella’s sin. Her secrecy had poisoned everything.
“Besides,” Ethan added coldly, “Sophia didn’t steal. She improved. If Isabella hadn’t hidden her identity, none of this would’ve happened.”
His glare sliced toward Isabella. “As for your formula—I’ll buy it. Two hundred thousand dollars.”
The crowd gasped. Murmurs of disbelief erupted.
Even now, he thought money could erase the truth.
Alexander Kingsley’s scoff cut through the noise. “Two hundred thousand? Ethan, that formula’s worth twenty times that. You’re delusional.”
Olivia Montgomery smirked. “Isabella’s creations are priceless. She’d never sell to you.”
Isabella surveyed the room, serene as a statue.
“No need for payment,” she said, voice crystalline. “That formula was never about profit. Consider it a gift—to the industry, to aspiring perfumers. From today, it belongs to everyone.”
Silence.
Then—applause. Whispers of awe.
“This is why Scarlet Snake is legendary!” someone cheered.
Ethan’s jaw clenched. This wasn’t the script he’d written.
Sophia’s stomach dropped.
Checkmate.
And she hadn’t even seen it coming.
