Chapter 8
At the Late Laughs set, Ismay stepped out of a striking red sports car with practiced grace, her makeup flawless and her every move perfectly choreographed.
wally as she made her entrance
Her team of bodyguards quickly formed a circle around her, escorting her like royalty as i
“Look, the queen is here!”
“Goddamn, she’s breaking the rules with how good she looks today!”
“Isamy, don’t forget–you’re taking that trophy home again!“
The fans were relentless, their cheers deafening as they waved their phones and swarmed forward like an unstoppable tide.
Annoying as hell? Yes. But Ismay kept her practiced, dazzling smile intact, waving gracefully as though their enthusiasm didn’t grate on her every
CIVE.
She forced a smile. Thank you for your support! I definitely-
Before she could finish, the crowd broke away, rushing past her in a blur. She barely had time to register the shift before the screams grew even louder, practically shaking the ground.
“Oh my god, it’s ber–our mysterious queen, Mary!”
“Look at her! Tall, slim, flawless skin–she’s a total goddess
“Mary, we love you! You’ve got this! This year’s championship is yourst”
Jumay froze, her head snapping around to see what all the fuss was about
Trailing behind Callan was Amaris. She was walking briskly, dressed in an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled low, her face hidden behind a black mask.
But even with half her face covered, sharp–eyed fans had caught sight of her striking, star–like eyes and the effortless coolness that radiated from her pale, flawless skin.
The
energy surrounding Sue was electric, while lamay’s side suddenly felt like a ghost town. The realization hit her hard: none of those screaming fans were here for her. They were all here for Mary
Ever since Mary entered the competition, she’d been performing with a mask on, refusing to reveal her real name and going by nothing more than the alias “Mary”
And this? These brain–dead does anually have the audacity to call her a goddess? What a fucking joke, Ismay seethed, her frustration burning hotter with every passing second
Ismay, dressed to kill and looking every inch the queen she thought she was, could feel the anger bubbling under her perfectly polished surface
The championship? Mary? Over my goddamn dead body, she cursed silently.
The second she entered the dressing room, Ismay slammed the door shut so hard the walls shook. The fake smile she’d been wearing all day
vanished in an instant.
“Is my victory press release ready?” she snapped, her tone sharp enough to cut glass.
Her assistant nodded nervously, trying not to flinch. “Yes. The second the show ends, in
“Good. And find out who the hell that guy is the one always hanging around Mary. He looks familiar, and I don’t like it”
“On ir!”
Ismay’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Didn’t her fans say she’s some kind of goddess? Please. Just find a way to rip that damn mask off her face, Real beauties don’t hide like cowards. Ugh, ugly people always pull this kind of shi
Ismay had been the show’s obvious pick for champion–everything was supposed to go her way. But then Mary showed up, a wildcard cloaked in mystery, straling the spotlight and leaving Ismay to choke on her dust.
The resentment had been building for weeks, and tonight, Ismay swore she’d expose Mary and wipe that smug, untouchable aura right off her.
1/2
el
D
Croame–Read Romance..
Download
2/2
10:05 AM d
Chapter 8
After finishing her flawless stage makeup, Ismay eagerly snapped a few selfies She spent extra time editing them, making sure her face looked picture–perfect under a heavy filter.
Finally, she chose the most stunning shot and sent it to Osric with a carefully crafted message: (Oric, Im all set to take the stage. Are you here yet? I’d love to catch a glimpse of you in the audience tonight)
Thinking of her plain and drab sister, Ismay smiled smugly. With that boring backdrop, Osric would see her tonight and be completely blown away
But beauty was only the beginning Tonight, I’d use my talent to seal the deal, to show him exactly who is Arborfield’s undisputed queen,’ she thought smugly
By 2 p.m., in the sleek president’s office at Hale Group, Osric finally pushed aside his mountain of morning work.
Closing a thick file, he leaned back and pressed his fingers to his temple, trying to ease the tension in his head.
“That stubborn girl. What mess has she gotten herself into this time! Quier all morning. Don’t tell me she’s finally managed to knock some sense- or maybe more stupidity–into that thick skull of hers, he muttered under his breath.
Grabbing his phone, he instinctively went to message her, only to pause. His brow furrowed as he realized something obvious–he didn’t even have
her number saved
Before he could think any further, the door swung open. Noah Blake, his assistant, stepped in, cutting through the silence. Ostic didn’t look up, his sharp, elegant eyes still fixed on his phone, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
“What is it?” he asked flatly, his tone short, carrying an unspoken frustration even he couldn’t quite pin down.
E
