Isabella didn’t turn around.
Her voice floated over the dead-silent ballroom.
Cold.
Precise.
“That fifty-thousand dollar bet you so generously offered?”
Alex swallowed hard. His collar suddenly felt like a noose.
“What about it?” he choked out.
Isabella finally pivoted. The crimson fabric swirled around her like blood in the water.
“You don’t have it.”
A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. “I have millions. I own Vanguard—”
“You *had* millions.”
She snapped her fingers.
The massive digital screens lining the ballroom shifted. The golden ambient lights vanished, instantly replaced by a glaring red stock ticker.
*Vanguard Holdings. Plummeting.*
Down 40%.
Then 60%.
Alex’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Then again. A frantic, continuous buzzing.
“At 8:00 PM, while you were busy trying to humiliate a waitress to entertain a crowd…”
Isabella took a slow, deliberate step toward him.
“…my conglomerate initiated a hostile takeover of your firm.”
Gasps rippled through the elite crowd.
Alex pulled out his phone. The screen was flooded with panicked texts from his board.
*We’re locked out.*
*It’s all gone.*
*Who is Laurent?!*
“You wanted a show,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto his terrified face. “So I bought the stage.”
Suddenly, the blonde woman in the silver dress—Alex’s former date—stepped out of the crowd.
She didn’t look at Alex.
She walked straight to Isabella and handed her a sleek leather folder.
“The final transfer is complete, Ms. Laurent,” the blonde said smoothly.
Alex’s jaw dropped. The betrayal hit like a freight train.
“Excellent work, Chloe,” Isabella smiled.
She tossed the folder against Alex’s chest. It hit him with a heavy thud, scattering his termination papers across the polished marble floor.
Isabella turned on her heel, her reign absolute.
“Security,” she called out, her voice ringing like a bell.
“Take out the trash.”