Chapter 975

Rosalind Fairchild saw her chance to strike. Genevieve wouldn't let such a perfect opportunity slip through her fingers.

Isabella Delacroix chimed in, "I wouldn't be so sure. Ms. Fairchild may come from privilege, but we've earned our place through hard work and determination. Pedigree doesn't determine talent. If she's truly skilled, let her prove it on stage against me!"

Rosalind merely smiled. Once rivals, Genevieve and Isabella were now united against her.

Her lips curved with amusement.

"You two are truly absurd. First, you claim my pregnancy gives me an unfair advantage, then you dismiss my abilities as mere privilege. Everything I possess is mine by right. Your jealousy only makes you seem small."

The barb left both women momentarily speechless.

Genevieve's fists clenched. "The entire crowd is waiting for your performance."

"All that boasting will mean nothing when you humiliate yourself!" Isabella added sharply.

Humiliation? Hardly.

Rosalind rose gracefully. "Very well. Enjoy the show."

Under the weight of countless stares, she ascended the stage.

As an heiress, this marked her first public dance performance. The audience buzzed with anticipation, voices rising in excitement.

Taking center stage, Rosalind lifted a single finger to her lips—silence fell like a curtain.

The opening notes of a classical piece filled the air.

With a practiced motion, she swept her raven hair back, the movement effortlessly seductive. Then, her body began to move—fluid, precise, mesmerizing.

Genevieve and Isabella watched eagerly, waiting for her to falter. Isabella in particular was certain Rosalind couldn't possibly surpass her own skill.

"Let's see how far she gets—"

The words died in her throat.

Rosalind's flexibility was breathtaking, her form flawless.

In truth, Rosalind had trained in dance since childhood. Her body moved with the elegance of a swan. After a brief warm-up, her delicate fingers curled around a polished steel pole.

In one effortless motion, she leapt—twisting her lithe frame around the metal like an enchantress weaving a spell.

The Velvet Lounge erupted.

Men rose from their seats, spellbound.

They'd seen pole dancing before, but never like this. Rosalind's performance wasn't vulgar or performative—it was artistry, a sacred dance that held the room captive.

"Good God, I never expected Ms. Fairchild to move like that. I'm officially a fan!"

"This isn't just dancing—it's pure artistry. No cheap tricks, just breathtaking beauty."

"No wonder she's so revered. She's absolutely stunning!"

The murmurs of awe spread like wildfire.

Meanwhile, Isabella stood frozen.

Impossible. How could Rosalind possibly outshine her?

The truth was undeniable—from the first step, Rosalind had eclipsed her completely.

Genevieve's expression darkened. Rosalind was full of surprises. Even pregnant, she moved with