Chapter 83

The moment the last guest departed, Camille whisked Isabella into her private studio. Their laughter echoed through the space, an intimate bubble of joy only they shared.

Camille prepared Colombian coffee with practiced hands, pairing it with exquisite pastries from Parisian master chefs. These were delicacies reserved solely for special occasions - and Isabella was always special.

"Try this blend."

Isabella lifted the cup with elegant fingers, her aristocratic upbringing evident in every movement. "The nutty undertones are exquisite. A perfect balance."

"Only the best for you." Camille's usually aloof expression melted into girlish delight around her mentor.

Their bond traced back six years. Camille, then a rising star in fashion, faced brutal industry backlash after a televised humiliation by a famous actress. When all seemed lost, the legendary designer Haron publicly defended her.

Haron's intervention sparked a movement. Other wronged designers spoke out. The actress was exposed for multiple scandals, her career crumbling overnight. Camille's talent finally received its due recognition.

"Master, why won't you reveal you're Haron?" Camille refilled Isabella's cup, curiosity burning in her eyes. "The world deserves to know your genius."

Isabella massaged her temples with a wry smile. "The spotlight suffocates me. I prefer creating in peace."

"But if that Acacia knew who you really were-" Camille's hands clenched. "How dare she mock you just because she's engaged to Alexander? The arrogance!"

A playful glint entered Isabella's eyes as she sipped her coffee. "She's not worthy of knowing Haron."

"Master, why tolerate her? Let me teach her a lesson!"

Isabella's smile faltered slightly. "No need. She'll be Mrs. Kingsley soon."

"I don't care whose fiancée she is! No one insults my mentor!" Camille declared fiercely.

Guilt pricked Isabella's heart. Despite their closeness, Camille knew nothing of her true identity - heiress to the Sinclair empire, Alexander Kingsley's ex-wife. Sometimes Isabella felt like living multiple lives, each identity carefully compartmentalized.

"Master, remember your promise?" Camille held up a heart-shaped macaron, eyes sparkling.

"Of course. But if this dance partner isn't tall, handsome, and an exceptional dancer, I'm walking out," Isabella teased.

"Wait till you see him! Tall, muscular, with smoldering eyes - perfection!"

Meanwhile, Alexander stood like a statue amidst the lingering guests, his tailored suit accentuating his powerful frame. Every woman's gaze lingered on him, much to Acacia's irritation.

If not for commissioning her wedding dress, Acacia would never have risked bringing her fiancé to such an event. These social vultures were practically undressing him with their eyes!

Alexander ignored the attention, his piercing gaze scanning the room for one person.

"There she is!" Acacia spotted Camille reentering and tugged Alexander's sleeve. "Darling, use your influence. Make her design my dress! Money is no object!"

Alexander allowed himself to be dragged forward, his expression unreadable.

"Ms. Camille," Acacia simpered, clinging to Alexander's arm. "We'd be honored if you designed my wedding dress. Our ceremony will be televised nationally - imagine the exposure for your brand! Name your price."

Camille arched an eyebrow. "Ten million dollars."

Acacia gasped. "That's outrageous!"

"Funny," Camille smirked. "I thought money was no object for the future Mrs. Kingsley?"

"I'll pay it," Alexander stated coolly.

"Darling!" Acacia's lips trembled.

"You could afford it," Camille said sweetly. "But I won't do it."

Alexander's jaw tightened.

"My mentor might forgive slights, but I don't. Ms. Acacia, consider yourself blacklisted from Rozabe. No wedding dress. No future commissions. Nothing."

With that, Camille turned on her heel and vanished into the crowd.

Acacia's nails dug into her palms. "Alexander, did that Isabella woman poison her against us? This is so unfair!"

"I'll speak with Isabella later," Alexander muttered distractedly.

Just as Acacia leaned in for a kiss, the lights dimmed. A spotlight illuminated the stage as sultry tango music filled the air. A male dancer appeared, then -

Alexander's breath caught.

There stood Isabella in a crimson dress that clung to every curve, radiating confidence as she took center stage.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. "Is that the same woman from earlier? She's breathtaking!"

"Such raw passion in her movements! Absolutely mesmerizing!"

Alexander watched, stunned, as his ex-wife moved with sensual grace. Since when did she dance? The woman he'd married couldn't tell a waltz from a cha-cha.

And that dress - how dare she wear something so revealing in public! How dare that man touch her waist! Just because they were divorced didn't mean she could abandon all propriety!

His gaze burned as it traced the slit revealing her toned legs. The tango's intimate choreography showed Isabella at her most provocative - her smoldering eyes locking with Alexander's across the room.

As the music swelled, Isabella wrapped herself around her partner like silk, her arms encircling his waist. Her challenging stare never left Alexander's face.

Something primal stirred within him. He fought the urge to storm the stage, throw the dancer aside, and wrap Isabella in his jacket.

Even as her husband, he'd never been granted such intimacy. The thought of another man touching what was once his made his blood boil.