Chapter 82

Gasps echoed through the room. Isabella Sinclair stood frozen, her carefully cultivated poise shattered. Her lips parted in shock. This couldn't be real. She must be hallucinating!

Camille Dubois was twenty-four this year, wasn't she? Victoria Sterling had four years on her, a decade in the fashion industry under her belt. Paris Fashion Week regular. International awards collector.

How could this rural caregiver possibly be Victoria's mentor? The absurdity made her head spin.

Isabella's mind reeled.

Camille's arm snaked possessively around Natalia Petrov's waist. "You should've warned me you were coming!" she pouted. "I had no time to prepare!"

"Wasn't planning to attend," Natalia shrugged. "Last-minute cancellation freed up my schedule."

"So I'm just an afterthought?" Camille feigned offense.

"Watch your tone," Natalia teased. "Getting bold, aren't we?"

Their easy banter sent shockwaves through the crowd.

Alexander Kingsley's eyes narrowed. That impeccable suit she'd gifted him suddenly made sense. Even his veteran tailor couldn't match that craftsmanship. He'd underestimated her - severely.

A mentor to international designers? That wasn't just impressive. That was elite. How many in the country held such prestige?

Three years. Three damn years she'd hidden this from him. Why? What else had she concealed during their farce of a marriage?

"Ms. Dubois," Isabella stepped forward, hand extended. "I'm Mr. Kingsley's fiancée, Isabella Sinclair—"

Camille recoiled, pulling Natalia back. "Your name isn't on my guest list."

Isabella's smile faltered.

"Don't know how you got an invitation," Camille continued icily. "Private event. No outsiders. Kindly leave."

Isabella's face drained of color. Humiliation burned her cheeks as she clutched Alexander's sleeve.

"Ms. Dubois," Alexander's voice remained measured. "We meant no disrespect. My fiancée admires your work. A simple misunderstanding."

Natalia's nails dug into her palms. The great Alexander Kingsley, lowering himself for Isabella. She'd once foolishly believed she could earn that devotion.

Isabella clung to Alexander, victory flashing behind her demure mask.

Camille studied Alexander. "Since you ask so nicely, Mr. Kingsley, you may stay." Her gaze shifted. "Your companion leaves."

Isabella's jaw dropped. "You can't separate us! I'm his fiancée!"

"Wouldn't have guessed," Camille deadpanned.

Isabella saw red.

"Mr. Kingsley stays because he's aesthetically pleasing," Camille continued. "Excellent sartorial taste. Fits the ambiance." She eyed Isabella's ensemble with distaste. "You, however, offend my professional sensibilities. Exit stage left."

Natalia facepalmed. Right. Camille's notorious weakness for handsome men.

Alexander's jaw tightened. "Ms. Dubois, that's unnecessarily harsh."

"Harsh?" Camille's laugh held no mirth. "Your fiancée publicly insulted my mentor. I'm showing remarkable restraint."

The room held its breath.

Natalia's eyes widened. So Camille knew about the earlier confrontation. Warmth flooded her chest.

Isabella's grip on Alexander turned desperate. Her earlier bravado had evaporated.

"Enough," Natalia murmured. "Don't spoil the evening."

She addressed the crowd. "No harm done. Everything Ms. Sterling said was technically true. My background is humble. Nothing to dispute."

Murmurs of sympathy rippled through the guests.

"Look at her grace! True nobility isn't about pedigree."

"Plenty of designers rose from nothing. Petty to throw that in someone's face."

"Is that really Alexander Kingsley's choice? More mistress material than future wife."

"Questionable judgment, Mr. Kingsley."

Isabella's teeth ground together. The whispers scalded her pride. She wanted to flee, but Alexander stood rooted, tension radiating from his clenched fists.

He'd endure this humiliation. Needed to see what other surprises Natalia had tucked up her sleeve.