Chapter 81

"Are you certain about what you heard?" Alexander Kingsley's voice was sharp, his piercing gaze fixed on his assistant.

Sebastian Lockwood hesitated before responding. "Mr. Kingsley, we didn't have to dig deep for this. I spoke with Isabella's agent yesterday. She informed me that Nathaniel Hawthorne from Essence Haute had already reached out before us. They made it clear—they intend to publicly compete for her endorsement."

Sebastian's words faltered as Alexander's expression darkened.

"What else did she say?"

"The agent mentioned that while The Regal Palace has an impeccable domestic reputation, Essence Haute has been gaining significant traction lately. She suggested we both present our strongest proposals. Whoever offers the better terms and vision will secure Isabella's partnership."

Alexander slammed his fist on the desk, frustration boiling over. First Evelyn Prescott, now Nathaniel Hawthorne—were these two determined to make his life difficult?

"Call an emergency meeting with all senior executives first thing tomorrow. We need the most elite wedding proposal drafted immediately. I refuse to let Essence Haute steal this deal!" His voice was steel. "If we lose Isabella to them, heads will roll."

Sebastian swallowed hard. The man wasn't joking—this was the same ruthless CEO who had once stormed up ten flights of stairs in a rage.

That afternoon, Alexander's Maybach pulled up to a grand six-story European mansion in Windsor Estates.

"I thought we were meeting the designer?" Alexander frowned at the sprawling rose garden.

"We are. This is the private atelier of Camille Dubois, the world-renowned designer behind Rozabe." Victoria Sterling's eyes sparkled with excitement. "While Rozabe has boutiques worldwide, their ready-to-wear line isn't for us. Only Camille's haute couture is worthy of our wedding."

She had gone all out for today—freshly curled and dyed hair, a daring red backless dress, lips painted a bold crimson. But the sight of that red only made Alexander think of Evelyn. That shade belonged to her—on anyone else, it looked garish.

"Clothes are just clothes. I don’t need them. Order whatever you want for yourself." His tone was dismissive.

"No! As your wife, I should oversee your wardrobe. From now on, you’ll only wear what I choose. No more accepting gifts from other women!" Victoria clung to his arm, her voice dripping with possessiveness.

Alexander stiffened. He thought of the suit Evelyn had tailored for him—damaged, yet carefully preserved. And how had she treated his gift? Letting it be destroyed, discarded like trash. His jaw clenched. "Fine. I won’t."

As they approached the entrance, a guard stopped them. "Apologies, but Ms. Dubois is hosting a private event today. Entry is by invitation only."

Victoria smirked, producing two rose-embossed invitations. "Of course we're invited."

Inside, the hall buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, guests mingling with wine in hand.

Alexander tensed. He hadn’t expected an event—especially not one Victoria had orchestrated behind his back. No wonder she’d dressed to impress. He hated being paraded around like a trophy.

The moment they stepped in, whispers erupted.

"Is that Alexander Kingsley?"

"He’s even more striking in person!"

"Who’s the woman with him? So lucky!"

"That’s not just any woman—that’s his fiancée, Victoria. He married her right after divorcing Evelyn Prescott. She must have serious skills."

Victoria preened under the attention, relishing the envy. She’d pulled strings to get these invites, and now, she was basking in her victory.

"You should’ve told me about this. You know I don’t attend these things." Alexander’s voice was ice.

"Alexander, I don’t have the influence to secure Camille’s designs alone. I needed you here. With your presence, she’ll agree—"

Seeing his stormy expression, she backtracked. "I’m sorry. Did I overstep?"

"Next time, inform me. I’ll arrange it. You don’t need to drag me along." His tone softened slightly.

Just then, familiar footsteps echoed behind him—crisp, confident, unmistakable. Alexander turned.

Sunlight streamed through the roses, their fragrance rich in the air. And there, gliding in with effortless grace, was Evelyn.

Dressed in an elegant blue gown, a matching shawl draped over her shoulders, her hair swept up to expose her delicate neck. She wore minimal makeup, yet her presence commanded attention. Some women didn’t need embellishments to shine.

Victoria’s face twisted in jealousy. She’d thought her red dress would dominate—but Evelyn in blue had stolen the spotlight effortlessly.

Alexander’s throat tightened. He tried to look away but couldn’t. And then—she walked right past him as if he were invisible.

Heat flared in his chest.

"Ms. Prescott," Victoria sneered, stepping forward. "I’m surprised you managed an invite. Must’ve been difficult."

Evelyn smiled coolly. "It was. Every guest here has a direct connection to Camille or her brand—rising stars, industry titans, or VIP clients. So, Miss Sterling, which one are you?"

Victoria flushed. "I—"

"Neither you nor Mr. Kingsley belong here. Yet here you are. Quite the accomplishment."

Victoria’s temper snapped. "Everyone knows who Alexander is! You think Camille would refuse the CEO of Sinclair Holdings?"

"Fair point." Evelyn nodded.

"Then what about you? Some VIP? A fashion icon?"

"Neither."

"Then what’s your excuse? A country girl who got lucky—what right do you have to be here?"

Victoria could only attack her roots. The truth—that Evelyn was Alexander’s ex-wife—terrified her.

"Victoria, enough." Alexander’s voice was a warning.

The crowd’s eyes flicked between them. This poised, magnetic woman—a country girl? Impossible.

Then, a voice cut through the tension. "Ms. Dubois is here!"

All heads turned as Camille descended the staircase—regal in a pink Rozabe ensemble, her expression haughty—until she spotted Evelyn.

Her demeanor transformed instantly. Rushing forward, she beamed. "Master! You didn’t tell me you were coming!"