Bab 9: You Will Be Disqualified

Isabelle had done extensive research on the industry before, but she never came across Logan's name. She knew he was wealthy and assumed he owned another industry. However, seeing him here connected the dots for her. Rumor had it that the CEO never showed his face to the public; any photo of him would be promptly removed from the internet. The only images she could find were of his back, never revealing his identity.

She quickly composed herself and continued to strut confidently down the catwalk until she exited the stage.

Logan's brows furrowed subtly. He hadn't mentioned this audition to her, and yet here she was. As Isabelle glided down the runway with regal poise, he glanced at the other judges, noticing their nods of approval and whispered praises. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

As Isabelle made her way backstage, some contestants congratulated her on her flawless performance. While some genuinely admired her talent, others could not hide their envy.

Isabelle offered a polite nod, brushing past their chatter, though she caught the way Catherine's eyes narrowed with resentment.

Catherine clenched her fists, the words of praise ringing in her ears like taunts.

Why are they complimenting her? I was just as good—better even

her mind simmering with resentment, the familiar sting of insecurity and jealousy rearing its head, threatening to consume her.

As she crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.

Enjoy the little praise while it lasts, it will all crumble down, she thought, a sly smile appearing across her face.

The auditions continued, each performance bringing its share of criticism, until the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. The audition room fell silent as the elegant woman who had greeted them earlier stood before them, holding a gilded envelope.

"The moment we've all been waiting for," she said with a dramatic pause, savoring the anticipation. "Only five contestants can qualify. Let's begin with the four runner-ups."

"The runner ups are… Margaret Brooks, followed by Harper Lane, Clara Wallace and Aria Pierce"

"And the overall winner," the woman declared, "is Isabelle Slade!"

The room erupted in applause. Isabelle's heart swelled with joy as she stepped forward, her smile radiant. She barely registered the clapping, the murmurs of congratulations blending into a euphoric haze.

But then, like a needle scratching across a record, a voice rang out, sharp and accusing.

"She doesn't deserve it!"

The applause faltered, replaced by stunned silence. Isabelle's head snapped toward the source. A woman, one of Sonia's cronies, stepped forward, pointing a trembling finger at Isabelle.

"She doesn't deserve this! She sabotaged Sonia to win!"

The murmurs swelled. Isabelle's jaw tightened, her expression turning icy.

"Miss, mind your words," the woman in charge said, her voice cutting through the noise. "Or you will be removed."

But the accuser pressed on, emboldened. "She ruined Sonia's dress! My friend has been nothing but kind to her, and this is how she repays her?!"

The crowd parted as Sonia stepped forward, her mascara streaked from tears, clutching a shredded dress in trembling hands. Catherine loomed beside her, a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding," Sonia said in a soft, broken voice.

Catherine scoffed. "Misunderstanding? She tore the dress on purpose!"

The accusations swirled in the air, feeding the growing chaos. Isabelle remained still; her cold gaze fixed on Sonia. Her calm demeanor unnerved Sonia, who fidgeted under the intensity of Isabelle's stare.

The woman in charge silenced the room with a raised hand. "Do you have proof?" she asked Catherine sharply.

"We do," Catherine replied smugly. "The CCTV cameras will show everything. And this man," she pointed to the man who had bumped into Isabelle earlier, "saw her leaving the room where Sonia's dress was left."

"Yes," the man said, his voice steady. "I saw her. She can't deny it."

Isabelle tilted her head, her lips curling in a faint smile. So, this is how they want to play it.

The woman pulled out her phone and made a call. "Bring me the CCTV footage of the contestant rooms," she instructed.

The tension thickened as everyone waited. The seconds dragged into minutes until a security guard entered with a tablet. The woman examined the footage, her brows furrowing. Then, she handed the device to the guard.

"Let's project this for everyone to see."

The room darkened, and the screen flickered to life. The footage showed Sonia carrying her dress into the dressing room with Isabelle, leaving it there before walking out. Isabelle was later seen exiting the room and bumping into the man.

"Where's the proof that Isabelle tore the dress?" the woman demanded; her voice sharp. "There are no cameras in the dressing rooms."

Catherine faltered, her confidence cracking. Sonia stepped in.

"Can u check the part on where I collected it before I took it to that room? I never left the dress anywhere, only at the room where Isabelle was," she remarked.

"I wanted to believe that someone would have ripped it before I took it but the company won't give me such a very ripped dress," She added, her tone desperate.

The security guard scrolled to the relevant footage. Another video played on the screen, showing each contestant receiving their outfits one by one. The crowd watched intently as Sonia appeared, carefully accepting her dress in a protective bag, pristine and intact.

The footage showed her walking with Isabelle as they both head directly to the dressing room. After some time, Sonia stepped out the room, without the dress. The timeline confirmed she never left the dress unattended until it was in that room.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as murmurs grew louder.

"She never dropped the dress. It was perfect before she entered with Isabelle," one person whispered.

"Then... Isabelle really, did it?" another speculated, leaning toward the person beside them.

Catherine's smirk deepened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. She crossed her arms, tilting her head triumphantly toward Isabelle.

"You see?" Sonia said, her voice trembling with feigned pain. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, the picture of a wronged victim. "I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but... this confirms it. She was the only one in that room with my dress."

The woman turned to Isabelle, her gaze piercing. "Miss Slade, do you have an explanation for this?"

Isabelle stepped forward, her heels echoing in the room. Her calm, almost regal demeanor silenced the crowd. "I have nothing to explain," she said coolly, her voice carrying over the crowd.

Isabelle's calm, collected response sent another ripple of murmurs through the room. Some contestants glanced at one another, whispering accusations, while others openly pointed at her. The tension thickened as comfort and pity were offered to Sonia, who clung to her role as the wronged victim.

Sonia exchanged a glance with Catherine, and a sly smirk spread across their faces. This was playing out exactly as they had planned.

"This video strongly indicates that you're the one who damaged her dress," the woman in charge said, her tone decisive and sharp. "Under these circumstances, I have no choice but to disqualify you."

The announcement silenced the room, save for a few gasps. Isabelle remained unfazed; her icy expression unreadable.

Alice, standing just behind Isabelle, stepped closer and leaned in, whispering something into her ear. Whatever she said caused a faint smile to creep across Isabelle's lips, a smile that sent a shiver of unease through the conspirators watching her.

Sonia's eyes narrowed as she took in Isabelle's reaction. Why isn't she panicking? What's with that smug look? She should be crumbling right now. It's fine, no matter what she has up her sleeve won't help one bit.