Chapter 960

Rosalind Fairchild had gained fame through her association with Lucian Graves, but now she was desperate to break free from his shadow. Spending her entire life being compared to him, seen merely as his pale imitation, was unbearable humiliation.

The truth was undeniable—Isabella Delacroix was nothing more than Rosalind's replacement.

This reality infuriated Isabella. She refused to accept defeat, even after their last confrontation had left her utterly shattered.

Rosalind, born into privilege and power, carried an unshakable confidence beneath her composed demeanor. When she looked at Isabella, her gaze held nothing but disdain—as if observing a pitiful jester performing a clumsy act.

But Isabella wasn't one to surrender. She pursued Rosalind down the corridor, her voice sharp with desperation.

"Ms. Fairchild!"

Rosalind paused, turning with icy precision. "I believe I've made myself perfectly clear. Don't you have anything better to do than harass me?"

The condescension in Rosalind's tone made Isabella's blood boil. "Why are you—"

Her words cut off abruptly as a commanding presence approached. Lucian Graves had arrived.

Instantly, Isabella's expression shifted—her eyes welling with tears, her posture wilting into fragility. "I never tried to seduce Mr. Graves. How could you call me such vile things?"

Rosalind stared, bewildered. The accusation was absurd.

Then Isabella seized Rosalind's wrist. "Please, let me explain—ah!"

Before Rosalind could react, Isabella forced Rosalind's hand against her own cheek in a sharp, audible slap.

Stumbling backward, Isabella nearly collapsed—until a strong hand caught her elbow, steadying her.

She looked up with trembling lips. "Mr. Graves..."

Rosalind met Lucian's gaze. Truthfully, Isabella's sudden theatrics had already tipped her off—he must have been nearby.

The entire display was laughably transparent.

Isabella clung to Lucian's arm, her voice quivering. "Please, don't blame Ms. Fairchild. She didn't mean to hit me."

Lucian's piercing gaze shifted to Rosalind. "Explain yourself."

Rosalind scoffed. "Did I strike her?"

Isabella shook her head frantically. "No, Mr. Graves, it was a misunderstanding! I must have offended Ms. Fairchild somehow..."

A cold smile curled Rosalind's lips. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them.

Crack!

This time, the slap was deliberate—her palm connecting with Isabella's cheek with enough force to snap her head to the side.

Isabella gasped, clutching her stinging face. "How dare you—?"

Rosalind smirked. "That is what a real slap looks like."

Rage burned through Isabella, but with Lucian watching, she forced herself to remain the victim. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gazed up at him in wounded silence.

Rosalind watched the performance with icy detachment. "Would you like another demonstration?"

Her hand lifted again—

But this time, Lucian intercepted her wrist in a vice-like grip.