The first thing Isabella did wasn't to secure a better apartment or save for the future. She went straight to the luxury mall. She bought designer clothes, bags, and high- end cosmetics, blowing a million dollars in a heartbeat. Then, she visited a premium salon to fix her hair and skin. It wasn't the extravagant pampering she was used to, but it was enough to restore her polished facade.
Looking at her reflection—elegant but still carrying a hint of exhaustion—she let out a cold laugh. "Just you wait, Serena. I won't lose. I'll make you pay for everything you've done to me!"
Dressed to the nines, Isabella confidently invited her Marington College friends for afternoon tea at a five-star sky lounge. Sitting by the window, gracefully stirring her coffee, she finally felt alive again. This was where she belonged. The past few days in the slums felt like a fever dream.
"Isabella, you've been so quiet lately!" one friend chirped. "Did you have too much fun in the United Realmon States?"
"Wow, is that the new seasonal dress from Chanel? It looks gorgeous on you," another added.
Isabella took a sip of her coffee and offered a practiced smile. "My grandparents haven't been well, so I stayed behind to care for them. If it weren't for the Gauntlet, I'd still be over there."
A girl gasped sympathetically. "No wonder you look a bit tired! You're so devoted, Isabella."
Isabella's smile stiffened, her grip tightening on the porcelain cup. She quickly changed the subject, looking at the friend who registered her. Thanks for handling rhy application."
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"Don't mention it," her friend smiled. "You're our star. That prize is practically yours."
"I'll do my best," Isabella said, her tone dripping with false modesty. The prize would be hers. She needed it.
Basking in their admiration, she grew even more addicted to the illusion of wealth. She refused to go back to that filthy slum. She was going to reclaim her place at the top.
Her afternoon of vanity cost her another hundred thousand dollars, leaving her with barely half her funds. But she didn't care. She had to maintain appearances; she
couldn't let anyone sense ela
downfall. For a few brief hours, she forgot about her exile, the Rusty Quarters, and the humiliating truth of her parentage.
But as night fell and her friends drove off in their chauffeured luxury cars, Isabella's
smile vanished. She had no car waiting for her. She had to return to hell.
She took a cab back to the edge of the Rusty Quarters. Clinging to her new designer bag terrified of being mugged by the locals, she navigated the muddy alleys in her high heels.