After Isabella Miller changed into her final gown, she walked the runway one last time, her arm linked with a renowned designer, a smile fixed on her face. Then she retreated to the backstage green room to change. Emerging with a simple, kind expression and her makeup still flawless, she prepared to face the media interviews.
"Miss Miller, is it true you had a conflict with the new chairwoman of New York Fashion Magazine?"
"Miss Miller, word is that person is your cousin, the former wife of Pinnacle Corporation's CEO, Emma Johnson, isn't she?"
The questions came flooding in, all circling the news that had broken that morning. Reporters thrust their microphones close to Isabella, the fire of gossip blazing in their eyes. They hoped the supermodel wouldn't let them down and would reveal something even more explosive.
Some veteran journalists recalled the old grudges between Isabella and her cousin. They'd heard the two had reconciled for a while, but after reading today's paper, they weren't so sure.
"That's not a convenient question to answer. Since you've all read the newspaper, I don't think there's anything else to add."
Though Isabella said this, her smile faded noticeably. A hint of sadness crept into her eyes. The reporters exchanged glances, then pressed on.
Since her agent hadn't stepped in to stop them, they naturally wouldn't give up.
"Honestly, in my eyes, she's still my cousin. No matter what's happened, no matter what happened in the past, I remember how she comforted me when I was sad and at my lowest point. That's why I agreed to shoot the cover of her magazine. This isn't what I wanted to see."
Isabella turned her head to the side as she spoke. A single crystal tear slid down the corner of her eye. Reporters scrambled to capture the moment. Even if her words were vague, they were enough to fuel speculation.
It seemed the newspaper's story was highly credible. After all, New York Fashion Magazine was a struggling publication. For Isabella to agree to work with them was a huge favor. If not for her cousin's sake, why would she sacrifice her precious time? It looked like the problem was indeed her cousin.
Seeing Isabella so upset, the reporters felt they'd gotten their answers. Her agent stepped in at just the right moment, politely putting his hands together and apologizing to everyone. He then escorted Isabella away with her assistant.
The moment she got into the car, the sad expression vanished from Isabella's face, as quickly as water evaporating. Indifferently, she asked her agent to hand her the newspaper. She read the report, a smug smile spreading across her lips.
"I never thought she'd become the chairwoman of New York Fashion Magazine. But I don't believe she can turn that dying magazine around with just this report. Emma Johnson, you're destined to be beneath me for the rest of your life. Hmph."
Isabella's voice was arrogant, but her agent still looked worried.
"Isabella, I think this matter... if it upsets the CEO, it might not be worth the risk."
"What are you afraid of? If my ex-brother-in-law really cared about Emma Johnson, he wouldn't have divorced her. She's yesterday's news. I can step on her however I want. This time, I'll make sure she never gets back up."
Isabella's tone turned malicious.
Hearing that, her agent knew it was pointless to argue. He clung to a sliver of hope. After all, as Isabella said, Emma Johnson was old news. She probably couldn't get CEO Liam Williams's attention anymore. Though his conscience told him Isabella was being ruthless, and Emma had helped her when she was down, it wasn't his place to judge. As long as Isabella's value kept rising, she'd remain a top model. He chose to look the other way.
In a good mood, Isabella decided to treat everyone to a meal at an upscale restaurant. The staff was thrilled.
But halfway through the drive, the car suddenly screeched to a halt at a street corner. Isabella was chatting with her assistant about the season's hottest handbags when the abrupt stop threw her forward. Her head slammed into the side window with a loud thud. Her vision blurred, and her ears rang.
"Isabella, are you okay?"
Her agent's first instinct was to check on his "cash cow." She had a movie shoot tomorrow, and any injury would leave a bad impression on the director.
"I'm fine. What's the matter? Can you drive or not? Do you want to lose your job?"
Isabella rubbed her head, her tone sharp as she scolded the driver.
"I'm so sorry, Miss Miller. But I think I hit a young man on a bicycle. What should I do?"
The driver's hands trembled on the steering wheel, his whole body shaking. He looked terrified. Isabella thought it was just her bad luck.
"Go check on him."
Isabella tried to stay calm. Fortunately, the street was nearly empty.
The driver agreed and was about to get out when he saw the cyclist already standing up. He seemed unharmed.
Relieved, the driver got out and apologized to the young man. Following Isabella's instructions, he offered some money to settle the matter. The young man's hand was scraped and bleeding.
"Money? Do you think I need your money? No way. I'm calling the police. You can't just brush this off."
The young man looked hostile, shouting as if trying to attract attention. Isabella had no choice but to get out of the car herself, putting on an apologetic expression. She thought her star power would be enough to make him drop the police idea.
But the young man just stared at her, then dialed his phone without a word. Isabella felt a flicker of panic.
Celebrities hated this kind of trouble. Even if they could resolve it, rumors would spread. It could damage her career.
"Don't you know who I am?"
Isabella asked the young man in disbelief.
"Why should I know who you are? I don't know you."