Chapter 65 Manipulative Games
"Everyone, focus on your work! I want ten design drafts in my inbox before midnight. If any of you fails to deliver, that's a five-hundred-dollar penalty each!"
After berating the team, Isabella stormed out of the office, leaving behind a group of college students who had been thoroughly humiliated but dared not object as they silently continued working on their designs.
Having vented her frustration, Isabella initially thought about organizing another pool party, but noticed the messages from George Turner, Louis's younger brother.
She opened the chat window where George was persistently asking why she had canceled the party, offering his help if she was facing any difficulties—essentially fawning over her.
She didn't reply, but immediately arranged to meet several friends at Turner's Lounge instead.
"I'm feeling absolutely wretched today. Let's not talk—just drink," Isabella announced as she raised her glass in the VIP section. The server had just finished bringing their drinks when she warned her friends, "Don't let me catch anyone avoiding their drinks!"
Her companions enthusiastically assured her they wouldn't leave until everyone was properly drunk and she was feeling better.
After several strong cocktails, a powerful wave of intoxication swept over Isabella. Sensing the atmosphere was right, she quickly composed herself into the perfect picture of distress and began to pour out her recent grievances to everyone.
"Why do they treat me this way?" Isabella lamented. "I've tried so hard—working diligently, following instructions, doing everything possible to uphold the Harper family name—yet in their eyes, I still can't compare to Olivia!"
Isabella sobbed dramatically. Seeing her in such a state, her friends were heartbroken. Some hugged her consolingly, others slammed their glasses down, threatening to confront Olivia as the source of her troubles, while one began singing loudly to provide background music.
The scene grew increasingly chaotic, with the noise seeping through the door cracks, audible to anyone passing by.
A server who came to deliver more drinks wanted to intervene but, intimidated by the group's social standing, dared not act without authorization and went to report the situation to the owner, Louis.
"Playing the victim again," Louis scoffed after hearing the report, his face revealing undisguised contempt.
Compared to the naive Olivia, he found the hypocritical Isabella even more distasteful. Though inclined to ignore the situation, out of consideration for the Harper family, he instructed. "Just make sure no one gets hurt. Otherwise, leave them be."
As long as nothing untoward happened in his establishment, she could perform her little drama however she pleased—he certainly wouldn't be an audience member.
"Yes, Mr. Turner," the relieved server hurried back to monitor the situation from outside the VIP section.
As the party atmosphere reached its peak, Isabella nudged her friend beside her, instructing her to post on social media and invite some male escorts to join them. "Take a photo of us here with the location tagged."
"OK," her friend complied despite her confusion. With a drunken hiccup, she promised to arrange everything perfectly. "I met this six-foot-one, eighteen-year-old guy with perfect abs yesterday. They say he's incredible in bed—I haven't tried him yet myself. Don't say I never do anything for you."
Isabella nearly nodded but then declined, "Save that for tomorrow."
She had more important business tonight and no time for romantic distractions.
"Fine, I'll find you someone else then."
Within a minute of the social media post going live, George had liked it and immediately sent a private message asking which VIP section they were in.
Her friend was about to reply when Isabella stopped her hand. "Ignore him."
The bait was set; now they just needed to wait for the fish to bite.
Her friend didn't understand but followed instructions.
"Why aren't they responding?" George grew increasingly anxious when no reply came. He abandoned his friends and rushed to his family's lounge to check on Isabella. In the photo, her eyes were puffy, her small face flushed, with visible tear tracks—she must be upset about something!
George's anger mounted as he drove, pressing the accelerator nearly to the floor.
"Louis!"
Upon arriving at the lounge, George immediately ordered staff to locate Isabella's VIP section, then furiously kicked open the office door.
Startled by the intrusion, Louis snapped irritably, "What's wrong with you now?"
"What's wrong with me? You're the irresponsible one!" George ran his hand through his hair, barely containing his rage though his tone remained confrontational. "Do you know Isabella is drunk in our establishment right now? How can you just sit by and do nothing? What if someone with bad intentions takes advantage of her condition?"
For a moment, Louis wondered if he'd misheard—how could anyone say something so absurd? He set down his teacup and gently reminded his brother, "This is a lounge, not a kindergarten."
"Is that your attitude?"
"What attitude should I have?"
"Don't forget you're the owner! How can you be so irresponsible toward your patrons!"
"So you do remember I'm the owner?" Louis felt like his brother was treating him with complete disrespect.
Seeing Louis's arrogance, George grew even more furious and exclaimed, "It's just a lounge—nothing special. If you can run one, so can I!"
His phone vibrated as staff informed him of Isabella's location. "You just wait!" he declared before rushing out again.
"Isabella!"
Bursting into the VIP section, George found a line of male escorts waiting to be selected. He immediately spotted Isabella slumped on the sofa and, without a word, scooped her into his arms and headed for the exit.
Seeing George, her friends didn't intervene—everyone in their social circle understood boundaries.
Isabella didn't resist, nestling contentedly in his arms.
Her beautiful eyebrows furrowed slightly as she occasionally whimpered softly. As George leaned down to fasten her seatbelt, her moist lips nearly brushed his ear as she murmured, "I feel awful."
This almost-contact sent George's heart racing, his earlobes turning crimson.
He looked nervously at the seemingly unresponsive Isabella and stammered, "I-I'll take you home."
After starting the car, George stared straight ahead with exaggerated formality, though his mind repeatedly flashed back to their intimate moment.
"James..."
Why was she calling him?
Hearing James's name sent a surge of jealousy through George. He pressed his lips together, stubbornly refusing to respond.
Isabella secretly opened one eye a crack, observing his expression while continuing her pretend ramblings. "James, I'm so heartbroken."
"Why, why do they still dislike me when I've tried so hard? Olivia keeps saying my designs are terrible. Am I really that bad?" She let out a sob as a teardrop slid down her cheek. Her lips trembled as she continued, "Everyone at the company is saying I'm inadequate now. They suspect I hired someone else to do my previous work, saying I'll never measure up to Olivia, but I didn't."
"What's the point of living if nobody likes me?"
Sorrow permeated the car as George listened with increasing distress. He pulled over, unable to resist embracing the trembling Isabella, comforting her gently. "It's alright, Isabella. I like you! And I believe in you. I'll always be on your side. Honestly, your sister's got nothing on you—you're the best!"