Chapter 973

Rosalind sat beside Genevieve, a knowing smirk curling her crimson lips. She couldn't resist a mocking chuckle.

"Ms. Fairchild, who would've imagined you'd be reduced to a mere spectator tonight? All eyes are on Isabella up there - she's stolen the spotlight while you fade into the background. Quite ironic, isn't it? Especially for someone who's just a performing artist selling her charms."

Beneath her polished exterior, Genevieve harbored nothing but disdain for Isabella. Yet it hardly mattered. Men always fell for women like her - alluring with a dangerous edge.

Rosalind sipped her champagne, unfazed. Then with deliberate calm, she countered, "Her dancing is exceptional, naturally drawing attention. If you dislike her so much, why not challenge her on stage yourself?"

Genevieve's expression darkened. "How dare—"

She leaned closer, voice dropping to a venomous whisper, "Are you truly content watching Lucian slip through your fingers into Isabella's arms?"

Rosalind remained silent.

Meanwhile, Isabella's performance reached its crescendo. With a series of dizzying pirouettes, she launched herself from the stage.

This was her signature move - she'd always scan for targets upon entering, then at the performance's peak, leap toward her chosen prey. In this electrifying atmosphere, men lost all reason, and Isabella played her game with ruthless precision.

The crowd erupted.

"Isabella! Over here!"

"No, choose me!"

"Isabella, I'm waiting!"

Basking in the adoration, Isabella didn't linger with the masses. Instead, she spun gracefully before launching herself toward the VIP section - landing directly beside Lucian.

She'd done this before - the last time landing at his feet and becoming his personal assistant.

Now, she was replaying her winning strategy.

Genevieve sneered at Rosalind. "Look, she's making her move. Any moment now, she'll be in Lucian's lap right before your eyes."

Rosalind said nothing.

The entire club pulsed with energy, cheers reaching fever pitch. Isabella danced provocatively before Lucian, her supple waist undulating, her gaze heavy with promise.

Then - the moment came.

With a final spin, she leapt toward Lucian's embrace.

She intended to land squarely in his lap.

Her lips curved in triumph as she imagined the victory of claiming him publicly. She closed her eyes in anticipation.

CRASH!

The sickening sound of impact echoed as she collided with empty couch cushions.

At the critical moment, Lucian had shifted closer to Rosalind, leaving Isabella grasping at air.

Caught mid-motion, Isabella couldn't stop her momentum. She slammed into the couch before tumbling onto the floor with a resounding thud. Worse still - her fall knocked over several cocktail glasses, drenching her in a sticky avalanche of alcohol.

"AHHH!" Isabella shrieked.

The music cut abruptly. All eyes locked onto the spectacle - Isabella sprawled in a humiliating heap, makeup running, dress ruined, utterly drenched.

"Isabella... are you alright? HAHAHA!"

Laughter exploded through the crowd - no one could contain it. The scene was simply too absurd!

Isabella's mind reeled. She'd never anticipated Lucian would evade her, leaving her to face this catastrophic humiliation.

The Velvet Lounge was the hunting ground of the elite. Now she'd become the laughingstock of high society.

By tomorrow morning, this disaster would be the talk of every social circle. Her reputation lay in tatters.