Chapter 107

Isabella actually invited Harrison for coffee.

Harrison didn't respond right away. Isabella arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smirk. "What's wrong, Harrison? Scared? You've been winning so much lately, riding high on your success. Are you afraid of little old me?"

Harrison's lips curved into a faint smile. "I'll be there soon."

She ended the call and prepared to leave.

Her phone chimed. A message from Alistair Whitmore appeared - a complex surgical case file.

[Ms. Whitmore, this was a challenging procedure I encountered last week. When you have time, I'd appreciate your guidance.]

Alistair served as dean of Willowridge University and was one of her former students. Penelope, who also came from Willowridge, had been Alistair's top recommendation to become her assistant.

In essence, both Alistair and Penelope were her protégés.

Harrison typed a quick reply: [Understood.]

Thirty minutes later, Harrison entered the café and immediately spotted Isabella.

Rather than waiting at a table, Isabella stood poised on the staircase, watching her approach.

Harrison ascended the steps. "Isabella, we're hardly on coffee-sharing terms. If you have something to say, say it."

Isabella stood confidently in her crystal heels, the crimson spaghetti-strap dress emphasizing her prima ballerina status. "Harrison, congratulations on winning the press conference."

"Thanks," Harrison replied evenly.

"But what does it matter? Victory doesn't mean you can have Nathaniel, does it?" Harrison met Isabella's gaze without flinching. "Your point?"

"So..."

Isabella's eyes flickered toward the café entrance as the door swung open, revealing a tall, striking figure.

Moving to the stair's edge, Isabella lowered her voice with a venomous smile. "Harrison, you've grown too arrogant. Time to knock you down a peg."

Before Harrison could react, Isabella grabbed her sleeve while screaming, "No! Ah!" before tumbling down the stairs. Harrison's pulse spiked. Whatever game Isabella was playing, she'd just raised the stakes dangerously.

A deep, icy voice cut through the space. "Isabella!"

Harrison looked up to see Nathaniel standing there.

Nathaniel had arrived.

The setup became instantly clear.

Nathaniel had walked in just in time to see Isabella's dramatic fall. He rushed forward urgently. "Isabella! Isabella!"

Harrison descended the stairs calmly. "Nathaniel, she's pulling the same stunt again. Can't you see she threw herself down?"

Isabella writhed in apparent agony, sweat beading her forehead as she sobbed, "Nathaniel, my legs... The pain is unbearable..." Nathaniel glanced down, noticing his hands growing warm and sticky with blood. Isabella's legs bore severe injuries, crimson flowing freely.

Without even glancing at Harrison, Nathaniel immediately gathered Isabella into his arms and headed for the exit.

Harrison called after him, "Nathaniel, don't fall for her act!"

Nathaniel turned slowly, his frigid gaze locking onto hers. "Harrison, how can you be so cruel? Isabella is a dancer. Her legs are her life. And now they're injured!"

With that, Nathaniel carried Isabella away.

Harrison stood frozen, disbelief and anger warring within her. He called her cruel? She hadn't laid a finger on Isabella. The woman had orchestrated her own fall.

The truth glared painfully obvious - Nathaniel couldn't bear seeing Isabella hurt. As the ballet company's star, Isabella's injury devastated him completely. His concern for her ran bone-deep.