Chapter 248: Turning the Tide
The fans had spoken—and when they united behind a cause, the internet had no choice but to listen.
The backlash against William escalated by the hour. Hashtags multiplied, threads exploded, and the demand grew louder and more coordinated: a public apology to Isabella, or they would boycott Summit Holdings Corporation's new project entirely.
And it wasn't just Isabella's fanbase. Plenty of people who'd never followed her racing career joined the chorus—regular people who saw the clip, felt their blood boil, and decided that someone needed to hold a billionaire accountable.
But therein lay the problem. William wasn't just someone. He was old money, untouchable, the kind of man whose name made PR teams break into a cold sweat. Even his own executives hadn't dared walk the clip over to his office. The unspoken rule was clear: you didn't confront William Montagu. You managed the situation quietly, let it die down, and moved on.
So that was exactly what they tried to do.
The platform's moderation team worked overtime—deleting posts, suppressing trending tags, running damage control. But the internet had a perverse sense of humor. Every takedown only fanned the flames. For every thread that disappeared, three more popped up in its place. The Streisand effect kicked in hard, and before long the story had jumped platforms entirely.
Women who'd experienced workplace harassment of their own piled on. The conversation broadened, deepened, grew teeth.
William saw it eventually. He read through the threads with the detached calm of a man who had never once been afraid of public opinion. Where others saw a PR catastrophe, he saw... an opportunity.
The speculation online was almost comical to him. Several of Infinity Ventures Corporation's own executives had apparently concluded that William had simply lost his mind at the ribbon-cutting—that he'd made a move on their Chief Research Officer in front of a live audience. Whether he addressed it or not, the narrative seemed stuck.
He thought about it for exactly as long as it took to pick up his phone.
Then William posted.
@WilliamMontagu: Didn't realize such a small moment would cause this much noise. I was just teasing my wife.
The internet stopped breathing for approximately three seconds.
His wife?
The two people everyone had been watching—Victoria, the brilliant research officer and racing phenom, and William Montagu, the most powerful man in the city—were married?
The Infinity Ventures executives looked at each other across the office and said nothing, because none of them had ever once heard Isabella mention a husband.
And now, looking at the post again, the dynamic suddenly read very differently. William Montagu, one of the wealthiest men alive, was posting about his wife with the energy of a man who knew he was on thin ice and was choosing to step further out onto it anyway.
He looked less like the aggressor and more like a man desperately trying to get his wife's attention.
The internet, naturally, lost its mind all over again—but in a completely different direction.
The outrage deflated. In its place rose something far more dangerous: fascination.
@user: okay but they're literally both insanely accomplished AND gorgeous?? this is the most unhinged power couple energy I've ever seen
@user: Someone write the fanfic. I'm begging.
@user: I take back everything I said. They should do a reality show immediately. Summit Holdings, make it happen.
Isabella was deep in the lab when all of this unfolded. She had no idea.
It wasn't until she was walking to her car, checking the twelve missed calls from Daphne, that she got any hint something had happened.
She called back immediately.
"Sorry, I was in the lab—no signal. What's going on?"
Daphne exhaled on the other end, the kind of sigh that meant where do I even start.
"William announced your marriage online. He's out there telling the entire internet you're his wife. And now everyone's romanticizing it—people are literally digging through old photos trying to piece together your 'love story.'"
Isabella sat very still in the driver's seat.
He actually did it. Without asking. Without warning. Without a single thought about how she might feel.
She pulled up his post. Read it once. Then again.
My wife.
The words made her skin crawl.
She had spent the better part of three years slowly, carefully extracting herself from the Montagu name—from the weight of that family, that estate, that suffocating legacy. The last thing she wanted was her own name appearing beside his in a headline, in any context, for any reason.
"I know what you're thinking," Daphne said carefully. "And I'm telling you—don't cave. I know it's tempting to just let it go for the sake of the kids or your reputation, but if you back down now, you'll never find your way out."
"You think I'm going to cave?" Isabella's voice was quiet, almost amused.
"I think William is very deliberately using public sentiment to back you into a corner. He's done it perfectly, honestly. Half the internet is shipping you two right now."
Isabella started the car.
"If he wants to play with public opinion," she said, "then I'll play too."
She got home, spent twenty minutes with Olivia—listening to an extremely detailed account of a disagreement over crayons at school—and then retreated to her home office.
She sat in front of her laptop for a long time, cursor blinking.
Then she typed a single sentence and posted it.
@VictoriaOfficial: My relationship with Mr. William Montagu has broken down irretrievably. We are currently in the process of filing for divorce.
The internet, which had just finished building a shrine to their love story, went completely silent.
Then it erupted.
She followed the post with a photograph: the divorce agreement, stamped and dated. She added a brief note clarifying that this was not a publicity stunt.
The confusion was immediate and spectacular. What couple announces their marriage and their divorce in the same afternoon? Theories flew. Timelines were constructed. Screenshots were compared.
And then someone started asking the question that Isabella had been waiting for.
Why?
What had gone wrong between two people who looked, on the surface, so perfectly matched?
The internet was nothing if not thorough.
It took less than two hours.
A photo surfaced—not from a tabloid, not from a paparazzi, but from some socialite's personal Instagram account, buried three years deep: a charity gala, candlelit and glamorous, and in the background, slightly out of focus but unmistakable—William in black tie, his hand resting at the small of Laura's back as they danced.
The caption on the original post had been about the host's flower arrangements. Nobody had noticed the couple in the background at the time.
They noticed now.
The photo spread like wildfire. Comment sections filled. Side-by-side comparisons appeared. The timeline was assembled with the grim efficiency of a true crime documentary.
William had barely finished cycling through his first two internet identities—workplace harasser, then devoted husband—before the third one arrived.
Cheater.
Now the fans were truly ignited. The threads went deeper, wider, faster. And this time, the target wasn't just William.
Laura's name was already trending by midnight.
Isabella sat at her desk, chin resting in her hand, watching the threads scroll in real time. The corner of her mouth curved upward—not with satisfaction exactly, but with something close to it.
Fair is fair, she thought.