Chapter 212: Who Gave You Permission?
The moment Samantha's call came through, the clouds that had been hanging over Isabella finally began to lift.
Ever since their Canvia Championship victory, Samantha and her team had become media darlings, with sponsorship offers flooding in non-stop. While these opportunities were undoubtedly good fortune, they'd also delayed the team's return home.
Now, at last, her dear friends were back.
Samantha proposed throwing a celebration dinner to properly catch up. The suggestion couldn't have come at a better time. Richard's confession had left Isabella completely flustered, and the standoff over her divorce from William had drained her emotionally. She desperately needed a night out with friends to release all that pent-up tension.
After settling on a restaurant, Isabella took the rare step of dressing up carefully.
Downstairs, that familiar, head-turning Ferrari sat parked outside, drawing gawkers from the neighborhood once again. Joseph leaned against the door, whistling when he spotted her.
"So what's the plan for you guys? Staying here, or heading back to Valeria?" Isabella asked once she'd settled into the passenger seat.
"I don't really care," Joseph shrugged. "As long as I get to race. It's really up to Samantha and Zack. The club's thrilled with our results this time—they've allocated more funding. Enough to build another new car."
When they reached the private room, Isabella posed the same question to Samantha.
But Samantha just winked mysteriously. "What about you? Would you rather we stayed, or went back?"
"Selfishly, I'd love for you to stay. I'm pretty lonely here in Seaside City on my own." Isabella gave a self-deprecating laugh, tossing a handful of nuts into her mouth and washing them down with a swig of beer. "But your headquarters is in Valeria. I can't exactly expect you to give up everything and start from scratch here just for me, can I?"
In the adult world, partings were inevitable. She'd long since learned to accept that. But when the moment actually came to face it, her chest still tightened with a dull ache.
"Who said anything about starting from scratch?" Samantha's lips curved into a sly smile, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Headquarters has officially approved opening an Aetherian branch of Romantic Racing. And the first location? Right here in Seaside City."
She extended her hand toward Isabella, her tone half-serious, half-playful. "So, legendary racer Isabella—will you join Romantic Racing's Aetherian division as one of our founding members?"
Isabella froze completely, her beer glass suspended mid-air, disbelief written all over her face. "You're joking. The club's always been against opening branches."
"This time it's real." Zack's gentle voice chimed in from the side. "Our results this season—especially with you joining the team—showed headquarters that Romantic Racing has what it takes to become truly world-class. They finally came around."
The enormous surprise washed over Isabella like a wave. She stared at her friends, her eyes suddenly burning. All that confusion and anxiety about the future seemed to find solid ground in this moment.
"Of course! Of course I will!" She raised her glass excitedly and drained half of it in one go.
Just then, the door to the private room swung open. A familiar figure stepped inside.
Richard.
The smile froze on Isabella's face. Her hand, still holding the glass, hung awkwardly in mid-air. She mentally kicked herself. She'd calculated everything so carefully—knew he'd be at the office today, had specifically called in sick to avoid him—but she'd forgotten that as a major sponsor, there was no way he'd miss this celebration dinner.
An uncomfortable silence settled around her. She couldn't even bring herself to meet his eyes.
"You two should give it a shot. His feelings for you run pretty deep," Samantha whispered in her ear, nudging her encouragingly.
"It's not like that," Isabella muttered back, exasperated.
Richard's gaze had locked onto Isabella the moment he walked in. He picked up a glass and walked straight toward her, his expression calm and open.
"Isabella," he said, raising his glass. "I had too much to drink last night. Whatever nonsense I said—just consider it drunken rambling. Don't feel awkward about it. Don't avoid me because of it."
With that, he tilted his head back and drained the glass in one smooth motion, his manner straightforward and dignified.
When the person involved had so graciously offered her an out, continuing to act uncomfortable would only make things more awkward. Isabella exhaled in relief, clinked her glass against his, and downed her drink as well.
"Okay. Let's consider it forgotten."
With that weight temporarily lifted, combined with the joy of reuniting with friends and her bright career prospects, Isabella's mood soared. Before she knew it, she'd had several more drinks. Eventually, Samantha had to help her out of the private room.
"You were all talking about going to karaoke, but look at you—completely wasted. What are you going to sing now?" Samantha laughed as she steadied her.
They'd barely taken two steps when the door of the room diagonally across from theirs opened. Laura was struggling to haul a thoroughly drunk William out.
Isabella glanced up and caught sight of the scene. Her buzz evaporated instantly, replaced by a surge of inexplicable fury.
He had time to attend business dinners and get drunk, but no time to sign the damn papers!
Laura spotted them too. Surprise flashed across her face before she quickly replaced it with a practiced smile. "Isabella! What a coincidence, running into you here."
She supported the flush-faced William, adopting a bashful tone. "We were supposed to be discussing business today, but the client kept toasting me. William felt bad for me and insisted on taking all the drinks himself..."
The clumsy showing-off was almost laughable.
Isabella let out a cold laugh. Emboldened by the alcohol, she fired back: "Is that so? Well, since William listens to you so well, you'd better remind him—once he sobers up tomorrow morning, nine o'clock at the law office. Time to get those divorce papers signed. Wouldn't want any complications delaying your... promotion to legitimate status."
Without waiting to see Laura's face stiffen, Isabella turned away, leaning on Samantha as they strode off without a backward glance.
Behind them, Laura's expression shifted through a series of increasingly ugly emotions.
That light, throwaway comment—"delaying your promotion"—had landed like a resounding slap across her face, shredding both her pretense and her dignity.
She bit down hard, practically shoving William into the car. The driver asked, "Ms. Smith, back to Mr. Montagu's residence?"
Laura stared out the window, her eyes flickering with internal struggle before finally settling on something dark and determined. She gave her own address instead.
If William refused to let go, then she'd have to take some extraordinary measures to fight for her future.
The next morning, harsh sunlight stabbed through the windows.
William woke to a splitting headache. He rolled over, and his arm pressed against something soft and warm.
His eyes flew open. What he saw was Laura's profile, clad only in a thin nightgown.
"Why the hell am I at your place?!"
William practically launched himself off the bed, his voice thick with shock and fury.
Startled awake, Laura blinked groggily, instinctively explaining, "You were so drunk last night, I just... brought you back here."
"You don't know where I live?" William's face had gone dark as thunder, his eyes boring into her. "Who gave you permission to make that decision?!"