Chapter 2

The ringtone kept ringing, relentlessly breaking the silence of the office.

Isabella shot out of her chair as if electrocuted and scrambled for her phone, her hand shaking so badly that she nearly knocked over her iced Americano.

"Isabella." The media strategy associate in front frowned and turned around. "If you're not going to answer, put it on silent. We're trying to finish a proposal."

"Got it!" she snapped.

Then she grabbed her phone and hurried behind the frosted-glass partition outside the break room.

I didn't turn around.

But I knew who was calling.

A few seconds later, the ringing stopped.

Then an iMessage voice message accidentally played through the speaker. A man's voice briefly echoed down the quiet hallway.

She fumbled to switch it to the earpiece after only a second or two, but that was enough for me to hear it clearly.

Rough. Sleazy.

Nothing like the gentle, restrained, successful Wall Street executive she had described.

"...We're supposed to meet next week, and you still won't even video call me?"

Isabella held the phone nervously and lowered her voice.

"Baby, I was in a client meeting... and I'm not looking my best today. My skin is acting up."

He apparently replied almost immediately.

Isabella's face grew paler and paler as her fingers clenched tightly around the phone.

"Didn't we agree to meet at the charity gala next week?" she pleaded.

Apparently, he sent some sort of ultimatum.

Isabella stood there and sent several voice messages in quick succession.

"Baby, don't be mad."

"I really can't meet anyone today. But it's not because I'm ugly. I was actually one of the prettiest girls in my sorority back in college."

She paused, then added, "I can send you a photo. But I don't have one ready right now."

Then she slowly turned around.

Her eyes landed on me through the partition.

I was standing beside my desk, having changed into the blazer I planned to wear for an afternoon client meeting. I was adjusting the neckline of my top in the small makeup mirror on my desk.

As I turned around, I heard her say, "Celestine."

I didn't respond.

She walked over with her phone.

"Your outfit is gorgeous." She smiled naturally. "Can I take a picture? I want to see how you styled it."

I looked up.

"No need."

"Just one." She raised her phone. "I won't post it."

The alarm bells of betrayal from my previous life suddenly went off in my head.

I stared at her.

"Don't."

But she didn't stop.

Click.

The shutter sounded.

My expression instantly hardened.

"Delete it."

"Huh?" She immediately hid the phone behind her back. "I was just taking a reference photo for the outfit."

I took one step forward.

I didn't try to grab her phone. I simply held out my hand, palm up, my eyes cold as ice.

"Delete it."

"Celestine, seriously?"

"Don't make me call Security or HR and have them check your photo gallery." I stared directly into her eyes. "Open it. Now. In front of me."

She gritted her teeth. Under my stare, she finally unlocked her phone and opened the gallery.

The moment the screen lit up, I saw the latest photo.

The camera hadn't been aimed at the outfit at all.

She had deliberately framed the shot from the angle of my partially open neckline and profile, clearly trying to create an suggestive effect.

"Empty Recently Deleted," I said coldly.

She did it.

"That was the first time." I withdrew my hand. "Don't let there be a second. Especially not when someone wants to use my photos to maintain a fantasy she created about herself."

She clutched her phone.

For the first time, resentment appeared in her eyes.

But she said nothing.

At noon, I left the office.

I had lunch plans with my best friend, Victoria.

Victoria and I had known each other for years.

She knew my family's true background, and she also knew why I never liked discussing my family at work.

My family didn't need me to work for a living.

In fact, the Sinclair family already held a significant stake in this group, which was one of the reasons I had been able to join the company.

But for years, I had deliberately kept a low profile.

I didn't want anyone treating me differently because of my last name.

Victoria handed me the menu.

"You don't look so good."

I told her what had happened that morning.

She frowned.

"What does she need your picture for? To fool her online boyfriend?"

Victoria froze for two seconds before a mocking smile spread across her face.

"How do you always end up surrounded by people like this?"

"I wish I knew."

After lunch, she casually took a picture of me.

Sunlight streamed through the window.

In the photo, I was wearing a simple suit with a coffee beside me.

I hadn't posed deliberately.

Yet it looked far more sophisticated and natural than the picture Isabella had secretly taken earlier.

Victoria handed me her phone.

"Post it."

I opened Instagram.

The caption was simple:

A much-needed lunch break with my favorite photographer.

Within moments, the likes started pouring in.

Some of my coworkers left comments, too.

Just as I was about to close the app, a new notification flashed across the top of my screen.

[Isabella Brooks liked your post.]

But less than two seconds later, the like disappeared.

I stared at the screen, finding the whole thing almost laughable.

What a pathetic little clown hiding in the shadows.