Chapter 208

The polished marble floors reflected Isabella's nervous silhouette as she stepped into the grand lobby. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her thrift store bag. "Excuse me, I need to see Mr. Adrian Blackwood."

The receptionist's perfectly manicured nails paused over her keyboard. Her gaze traveled from Isabella's worn sneakers to the faded band tee peeking beneath her denim jacket. "Do you have a scheduled appointment?"

"Appointment?" Isabella's voice cracked. "No, but this is urgent. His friend Vivian is in serious trouble."

A practiced smile stretched across the receptionist's lips. "Miss, perhaps you should contact the authorities. Or if your friend knows Mr. Blackwood personally, their family might—"

"Family?" Isabella bit her lip. Vivian's estranged relatives wouldn't lift a finger to help.

"Darling, who is this... charming visitor?" A melodic voice cut through the tension.

Isabella turned to face a vision in couture - Serena Whitmore adjusting her diamond-encrusted sunglasses. The receptionist practically tripped over herself. "Ms. Whitmore! The CEO is expecting you. The private elevator is ready."

Serena's sharp eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. "Wait... you're that makeup girl from Vivian's set." Her designer heels clicked against the floor as she circled Isabella like a shark. "What's this nonsense about Vivian being in danger?"

The receptionist interjected, "She claims Mr. Blackwood's friend needs help, Ms. Whitmore."

Serena's manicured fingers tapped against her Birkin bag. The trending scandal flashed through her mind - perhaps those rabid Sebastian Hartwell fans had already acted. Or better yet, Miranda Graves had finally made her move. Either scenario would permanently remove Vivian from the spotlight.

With a theatrical sigh, Serena waved a dismissive hand. "Look at her. Does she look like someone who'd move in Adrian's circles? Honestly, if you keep letting randoms wander in, they'll start expecting him to solve world hunger next."

The receptionist's cheeks burned. "Of course, Ms. Whitmore. I'll handle this immediately."

The elevator pinged. Audrey Winslow stormed out, dragging a teary-eyed intern behind her. "I told you this place was toxic! Their internship requirements might as well ask for a Nobel Prize!" Her tirade halted as she took in the scene. "Well, well. The mistress playing CEO? How... predictable."

Audrey's stilettoes struck the marble like gunshots as she positioned herself between Isabella and Serena. "Problem here, ladies?"