Chapter 959

Rosalind lowered her gaze and began washing her hands, making no move to acknowledge Isabella's presence.

Yet Isabella deliberately chose the adjacent sink, turning on the faucet with calculated grace.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Fairchild," she initiated, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Rosalind responded with a terse, "Hello."

Isabella's lips curved into a predatory smile. "I must confess, I find myself rather envious of your position. Though you'll never be Mrs. Graves, carrying Lucian's child certainly elevates your status in his world."

Rosalind shut off the water and reached for a paper towel, methodically drying each finger while maintaining her silence.

Undeterred, Isabella continued with a mocking lilt, "How peculiar though - pregnant with his heir yet still denied the title. They say a woman's value increases through motherhood, but you've somehow managed to fail even at that. Quite the accomplishment, really."

The barbed words hung in the air.

Rosalind finally turned to face her rival. "Get to your point."

Isabella closed the distance between them.

"My point is simple," she purred. "Stay away from what's mine. That pregnancy might grant you temporary relevance, but his refusal to marry you speaks volumes. There are countless women vying for his attention - it's only a matter of time before one claims what you couldn't."

A wry smile touched Rosalind's lips. "Are you volunteering for the position? Dreaming of becoming the next Mrs. Graves?"

With a practiced flip of her hair, Isabella affected an air of nonchalance. "I merely observe facts. And the fact remains - Lucian himself confirmed you'll never hold that title."

Rosalind's hand drifted to her abdomen. "True, I'm not his wife. But as you so astutely noted, I carry his child. Doesn't that suggest a certain... uniqueness in his eyes?"

A flicker of irritation crossed Isabella's perfectly composed features.

"I don't know what game you're playing," Rosalind continued, "but your petty insults reveal more about your insecurities than my situation. Has he shown no interest in you? Then perhaps you should redirect your efforts. As you said - many women want him. Tomorrow could bring a new assistant to replace you. But I? I'll always be the mother of his child."

Isabella's smile vanished, replaced by a venomous glare.

"Don't flatter yourself. You're nothing more than a discarded plaything!"

Rosalind's eyes narrowed. She stepped forward until their faces were inches apart, her whisper cutting through the tension. "Tell me - has he ever played with you?"

Isabella stiffened.

The corner of Rosalind's mouth lifted in triumph. "I see. You haven't even earned that privilege. How ironic - you secretly long to be his 'discarded plaything,' don't you?"

Isabella's lips parted soundlessly.

Rosalind's smile widened. "Then I suggest you get to work."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Isabella trembling with rage. The younger woman's fists clenched until her manicured nails left crescent moons in her palms.

The whispers of "Rosalind 2.0" followed Isabella everywhere, a constant reminder of her borrowed beauty. She knew her campus queen status stemmed solely from her resemblance to Rosalind.

And though Lucian had made her his assistant, Isabella suspected it was merely because she served as a pale imitation of the woman now carrying his child.