Chapter 279

Rosalind dropped the act. She revealed her true identity—she was actually Bebe.

Rosalind was Bebe?

Isabella's mind went numb. The revelation hit her like a physical blow, leaving her frozen in shock.

Rosalind—the plain, unassuming girl—was the elusive Bebe they had been searching for?

She and Arabella had combed through every notable student at Willowridge University, only to discover their target had been right in front of them the entire time.

It felt like fate was mocking her. Isabella couldn't process it.

Beside her, Arabella stood rigid, equally stunned.

Rosalind smirked. "Isabella, Nathaniel mentioned how desperate you were to befriend me. You were so talkative earlier, but now? Nothing to say?"

She reclined on the sofa, Beatrice and the bodyguards standing like sentinels behind her. Her amused gaze traced the humiliation twisting Isabella's expression.

Isabella clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms.

She remembered every word she'd spoken outside the estate gates—how foolish she must have sounded. Rosalind had played her perfectly, letting her humiliate herself.

"B-Bebe, I—" Arabella stammered, trying to interject.

Rosalind shot her a sharp look. "I wasn't speaking to you. Do you honestly think you have the right to interrupt?"

Arabella snapped her mouth shut.

Beatrice scoffed. "Your father is nothing but a minor branch of the Falcon family. Years ago, he begged Mr. Falcon for help, and only then was he given a scrap of opportunity. You're clever, though—pretending devotion to Mrs. Eleanor to climb higher. But you're still just a nobody who got lucky. What gives you the right to address the daughter of the Whitmores?"

Her words stripped Arabella bare, exposing her weak lineage. Arabella's face paled to ash.

Rosalind turned back to Isabella. "Oh, Isabella—about that limited-edition bag you gave me last night..."

Beatrice handed it over. Rosalind examined it with disinterest before flicking her wrist, sending it sailing into the trash.

Isabella stood motionless, stunned.

Rosalind's gaze turned icy. "Isabella, Nathaniel may have feelings for you. He may even want to marry you. But that's his business, not mine. In my eyes, Harrison is the only one I'll ever acknowledge as my cousin-in-law. You? You'll never take her place. If you thought cozying up to me would be your shortcut, you're sorely mistaken."

Isabella's face drained of color. This wasn't just rejection—it was a direct blockade to her ambitions.

Eleanor already despised her. If the Whitmores refused to accept her, how could she ever become Mrs. Falcon?

And now, Bebe was openly declaring Harrison as the rightful wife. The humiliation burned.

"B-Bebe, there must be some misunderstanding! Harrison must have poisoned you against me—let me explain—" Isabella scrambled to salvage the situation, desperation clawing at her voice.

Rosalind cut her off with a mocking laugh. "Isabella, do you know why I invited you here today?"

Isabella had no answer.

"Because Nathaniel told me how badly you wanted to suck up to me. I wanted to see just how low you'd stoop to flatter someone. And wow—you didn't disappoint."

She slow-clapped, each clap a slap to Isabella's pride.

Isabella trembled, her dignity in ruins.

"Get them out of here," Beatrice ordered.

The bodyguards moved instantly, seizing Isabella and Arabella.

"Let go of me! Rosalind, I'm the one Nathaniel loves! If you dare lay a hand on me—!" Isabella shrieked, invoking Nathaniel's name like a shield.