Chapter 88
The term "rebellious child" slipped out before anyone could stop it.
The driver felt the slightest tremor beneath his hands—was the car malfunctioning? For a brief, heart-stopping moment, he wondered if they were about to break down in the middle of the road.
Little did he know, the real cause was the passengers in the backseat struggling to contain their laughter, biting their lips so hard they nearly drew blood.
Did he seriously think everyone was as lovestruck as he was? The audacity to assume his half-baked marriage proposal was some grand favor, something Isabelle Laurent had been pining for all along. No wonder he looked like a kicked puppy when she turned him down.
The Blackwood family collectively thought, Good lord, keep it together—this man is delusional beyond belief!
The problem? She had stopped responding entirely, yet he remained blissfully unaware. In his mind, Isabelle’s love was just too humble, too devoted to his career, too afraid to accept the honor of spending her life with him.
The Blackwoods exchanged glances. Too humble? Oh, please.
The funniest part? He genuinely believed this was a done deal. Convinced he shouldn’t let Seraphina Delacroix manipulate him anymore, he’d decided to "settle" for Isabelle—the one who supposedly adored him unconditionally. Never mind that he hadn’t even asked her properly. In his mind, she was already his fiancée.
"Does Isabelle even know she’s been drafted into this circus?"
The Blackwoods were dying. Stop, stop—we can’t breathe!
No one dared laugh out loud, but their shoulders shook violently. To cover it up, they quickly jumped into the conversation, feigning concern over Julian’s delusional claims.
"What if Isabelle actually believes him?" Genevieve murmured, brows furrowed. "It’s a heartfelt confession from someone she’s known for years. She might get hurt."
Sophia snorted. "Please. She’s a professional. She’ll sniff out the BS before he finishes his first sentence."
I can only blame Isabelle for not having supernatural foresight—otherwise, she would’ve slapped the lunatic ages ago.
After witnessing Sebastian endure ruthless betrayal and abandonment, suffering through unimaginable pain, obsessively seeking revenge on Seraphina for years, never once reaching out in five years, and constantly spewing hatred—Isabelle, immune to love’s illusions, would’ve never guessed he was a masochist at heart.
Her feelings for him ran deep, which was precisely why she couldn’t trust the sincerity of his sudden confession.
The moment the words left his lips, everyone around them tensed, worried Isabelle might soften and fall into his trap.
But the truth? She didn’t care. All Isabelle wanted was for Sebastian to work diligently without causing trouble.
If he did love her? Lucky her. At least it was manageable—far better than him clinging to Seraphina, sabotaging his own future and forcing her to clean up the mess.
Right now was critical. She wished she could crack a whip and force him to focus on their upcoming performance. Love? Marriage? All of it could wait until after they secured their future. No distractions. No drama.
Just then, Nathan spoke up. "Isabelle is too ambitious to entertain romantic distractions. This period is crucial."
"Because of the transition?" Julian asked.
Nathan shot him an exasperated look. "Do you even follow industry news? Isabelle is gambling everything to break free from her agency and build her own. She can’t afford setbacks right now."
Finally, it clicked—why Isabelle hadn’t shut Sebastian down immediately. She was delaying, afraid any emotional upheaval would derail him at the worst possible moment.
A collective sigh of relief swept through the room—followed by stifled laughter.
Logically, Sebastian had to know what Isabelle was doing. Yet here he was, mooning over romance while she single-handedly fought for his career.
"Isabelle’s brilliant, but her taste in men? Questionable," Evelyn muttered.
Julian shrugged. "Professionally, Sebastian’s a solid investment. But emotionally? Hopeless."
And then there was that night—when Sebastian, after seeing Adrian and Seraphina together, showed up at Isabelle’s doorstep.
She made him coffee.
They spent the entire night discussing scripts.
By morning, dark circles shadowed Sebastian’s eyes. When teased about his lack of sleep, he smirked. "I was at Isabelle’s."
Half of it was petty revenge—letting Adrian and Seraphina think something happened. The other half? Convincing Isabelle his feelings were real.
(Even the Gossip System couldn’t decipher which motive dominated. The human heart is unpredictable.)
But his stunt tainted their once-professional dynamic. Now, their manager had to intervene.
Today, Isabelle’s patience had officially reached its limit.
And yet—she held back. Impressive.
Evelyn abruptly straightened. "Marcus, I need a break."
Before Marcus could protest, Julian and Genevieve were already strolling off, hands in pockets, eager to witness the chaos.
Marcus rubbed his temples. Rebels, all of them.
Fine. He’d watch too.
The rehearsal room had a high rectangular window—originally for filming angles—but now, it served as the perfect vantage point.
Inside, tension crackled.
Sebastian and Seraphina stood to the side—him brooding, her eyes red-rimmed and lost.
Isabelle’s face was stone-cold fury. Adrian stood beside her, expression unreadable.
Earlier intel suggested Sebastian and Seraphina had been rehearsing. Isabelle and Adrian, delayed by meetings, had arrived just in time to witness—
Evelyn gasped.
Oh. They weren’t rehearsing.
Julian and Genevieve inhaled sharply. The audacity.
Marcus, oblivious to their mental commentary, frowned at their horrified expressions.
Why did he suddenly feel excluded?