Chapter 207

Evelyn turned to Isabella, her voice icy. "Every second of your attack was captured and stored on their server's cloud backup. Isabella, do you realize what intentional assault means? Get ready to face the consequences."

Lucas immediately snatched the phone to verify.

Isabella's face drained of color at Evelyn's words.

"How is this possible? A surveillance expert?"

Her mind raced—had the footage from that night automatically uploaded to the security company's database?

She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood, fear wrapping around her like chains.

Lucas's expression darkened with every second of the video playing on Evelyn's phone. The tendons in his hand stood out sharply, his grip tightening as if fighting to keep control.

Isabella's pulse hammered in her ears.

Sweat beaded along her hairline, her lips trembling as she watched Lucas's reaction.

The silence stretched, suffocating.

She couldn't breathe.

The weight of what she'd done pressed down on her chest like a vise.

A shiver coursed through Isabella's body as Lucas finally handed the phone back to Evelyn, his expression dark and unreadable.

"Lucas, please—just let me explain!" Isabella frantically rolled her wheelchair in front of him, clutching at his sleeve with trembling fingers.

"I can't go to prison. Please, for everything we once meant to each other—just let this go!"

Her voice cracked with desperation.

"It was just a moment of madness, that's all!"

She swallowed hard before continuing, her words rushed.

"Claire can't dance anymore, but she can still walk perfectly fine. And modeling pays better anyway—she should be thanking me! This might have been the best thing that ever happened to her!"

Lucas's gaze was glacial, his eyes devoid of any warmth as they bore into her.

"It was you." His voice was dangerously low. "All this time. How could you be so cruel? Claire never did a single thing to hurt you!"

His chest rose and fell with barely contained fury while Isabella dissolved into hysterical sobs.

"Call the police," Lucas said sharply, turning to Evelyn. "I'll testify. She just confessed—I heard every word."

Evelyn gave a cold smile, pulling a small recorder from her pocket. "No need. I have everything right here."

Isabella's breath hitched.

Her face drained of color as realization struck.

She had just sealed her own fate.

"What's happening?"

Evelyn stared at her with icy detachment. "There never was any chip specialist. No surveillance footage either. That device has been defective for ages—completely offline. No one even remembers where it ended up."

Isabella froze. "You... You set me up? This was all a trap to get me to confess?"

"Bingo."

Evelyn had assumed Isabella was sharper than this. Yet here she was, crumbling under the slightest pressure, her true nature exposed with minimal effort.

Isabella's face twisted in shock.

She turned desperately to Lucas. "Lucas, I saved your life! You owe me this much—just let me go. Please. I can't go to prison."

"Saved me?" Lucas scoffed, his voice laced with disgust. "That heroic act of yours was nothing but a staged performance—scripted and acted out by you alone. Did you really think I'd never find out?"

What Evelyn had just revealed to Lucas was the unedited recording of the incident years ago—the moment Isabella had supposedly rescued him.

Back then, Lucas had been seated in the front row of a theater when a heavy prop nearly crushed him from above.

Except now he knew—the danger had never been real.

It was all her doing.

Isabella, without hesitation, threw herself in front of him, shielding Lucas from the falling stage prop.

Her quick reflexes saved him from what could have been a fatal accident.

But Lucas saw right through her act.

Because during her performance, she had glanced upward at the rigging above his head—not once, not twice, but at least five times.

No one would keep looking in that direction unless they knew something was about to happen.

It was undeniable proof.

Isabella had known the prop was unstable. She had been waiting for the perfect moment to play the hero.

This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment rescue.

It was a carefully orchestrated trap.

Her face drained of color as she collapsed into her wheelchair, her body limp like a marionette with its strings cut.

The realization hit her—she had been exposed.