Chapter 148 Tear Off His Mask of Hypocrisy

Chapter 148 Tear Off His Mask of Hypocrisy

Conleth slapped Lila across the face without a second's hesitation, hard enough to send her stumbling back two steps.

"I told you to shut up!" Conleth's eyes were bloodshot, his whole body trembling. He turned to face Isabelle, and just like that, the rage on his face melted into a fawning, obsequious smile. He even bent slightly at the waist. "Miss Morgan, I'm so sorry. I've failed as a father. Please don't take it personally — a person of your standing shouldn't have to deal with this."

The guests around them went dead silent.

The head of the Bonello family, scraping and bowing before a young woman in a casual jacket?

Isabelle gave Conleth one cold glance and didn't bother saying a word.

She pulled a black-and-gold invitation from her pocket and handed it to the security guard at the door, who had been standing there with his mouth half open.

The moment the guard saw the black-and-gold card — the one that meant top-tier clearance — his hands trembled. He bowed immediately. "Please come in, Miss Morgan."

Isabelle walked into the banquet hall, leaving Lila and Conleth stranded at the door.

Inside, everything gleamed. Crystal chandeliers threw brilliant light across the room.

Isabelle drifted toward a champagne tower at the edge of the hall and picked up a glass of ice water.

Her eyes moved quietly across the room, taking note of every security post and every exit.

Nearby, a cluster of businessmen in tailored suits stood in a loose circle, drinks in hand, talking loudly.

"The pieces Mr. Kalyn has put up tonight are truly one of a kind. I heard a few of them are medieval antiques."

"Mr. Kalyn is something else — a natural on stage, and a genuinely generous man. The number of orphanages he's funded over the years... he's a real model for Washington's philanthropic community."

"Absolutely. It's an honor just to be in the same room as him."

Listening to all of it, Isabelle let a flicker of undisguised contempt pass through her eyes.

A model for the philanthropic community?

A roomful of fools who had no idea what was right in front of them.

They didn't know the first thing about the man standing in that spotlight, being treated like a guest of honor. They had no idea how much blood was on his hands.

More politicians and business figures had died under Zela's sniper rifle than most of these people had ever dealt with in a boardroom. Funding charities with blood money was just another form of laundering — another layer of cover.

"Ms. Morgan?!"

A voice burst out from somewhere to her left, unmistakably thrilled.

Isabelle turned her head. Jake was walking over in a white suit, champagne in hand, practically bounding toward her like an overexcited retriever.

"Ms. Morgan, it really is you!" He looked her up and down with wide eyes. "I thought I was seeing things. What are you doing at a stuffy auction like this?"

Ever since the Caius incident, Jake's admiration for Isabelle had crossed the line into something closer to worship. In his mind, she could do anything.

"Nothing better to do. Just looking around." Isabelle's tone was flat, her gaze still sweeping the room.

"Fair enough. These things are mostly just for show anyway." Jake leaned in a little and dropped his voice. "Though the setup tonight really is something. I heard this Alfie guy has serious backing. Even my sister pulled me aside and told me to keep my head down and stay out of trouble."

Isabelle took a sip of ice water and said nothing.

Then the lights in the hall dimmed.

A sharp beam of spotlight hit the stage at the front of the room.

The noise dropped away all at once. Every eye in the room turned toward the stage.

To a wave of thunderous applause, a man in a deep navy bespoke suit walked calmly up to the podium.

He had sharp, defined features and a flawless, easy smile. Every movement carried the effortless magnetism of a man who had long since grown comfortable in his own skin.

He stepped up to the microphone, dipped his head slightly, and out of habit, brushed the skin just behind his left ear with the knuckle of his index and middle finger.

Zela.

"Good evening, everyone. I'm Alfie Kalyn." His voice was low and smooth, rich with warmth as his gaze swept the room. "Thank you all so much for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here tonight for this charity auction..."

Isabelle stood in the shadows at the edge of the room, one hand tucked in her jacket pocket.

Under the spotlight, Alfie looked almost slight in his well-cut navy suit — the kind of lean, slightly worn look that suggested years of pouring himself into charitable work. Standing at the microphone with a gentle smile, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes made him seem all the more approachable.

But Isabelle saw straight through it.

Zela was doing his best to pull it back, but his posture still held that absolute, instinctive balance — the ready stance of someone who could draw and fire in under a second.

His eyes were sharp. His breathing was slow, steady, and perfectly controlled. The hand holding the microphone had thick, heavy knuckles, and the web between his thumb and index finger was calloused in exactly the way a trigger finger wears a hand down over years.

"Thank you to Washington's most generous for being here tonight." Alfie spoke with ease, his voice warm and effortlessly persuasive. "Every dollar raised this evening will go directly to the children's welfare fund along the North American West Coast. Every bit we give means another chance at life for a child who has lost everything..."

He spoke in the language of virtue, wrapping himself in the image of a man who carried the weight of the world's suffering on his shoulders.

Standing in the shadow at the edge of the room, Isabelle listened to every polished, righteous word and let out a quiet, humorless breath.

A Syndicate top-tier sniper with tens of millions on his head across every dark web bounty board — standing in a spotlight, talking about hope and human life. The hypocrisy was almost impressive.

Jake was standing nearby with his champagne and caught that small sound immediately.

He paused and glanced over at Isabelle.

In all his experience of her, Ms. Morgan had always been cool and detached — completely indifferent to the social theater of the upper class. The fact that she had shown up here at all was already unusual. But the open hostility directed at the man on stage? That was something else entirely.

"Ms. Morgan," Jake murmured, leaning in a little. "Do you know that Alfie guy up there?"

The words had barely left his mouth when the air around them seemed to drop several degrees.

Jake went rigid.

He turned his head on instinct.

A tall, straight-backed figure had appeared beside Isabelle — Jake had no idea when.

Sean stood there in a black bespoke suit with a subtle textured pattern, one hand in his pocket, dark eyes unreadable behind gold-rimmed glasses.

The weight of authority that came off him was the kind that doesn't need to announce itself. Just standing there, he was enough to make even the most powerful people in the room quietly take a step back.

Whatever Jake had been about to say died in his throat.

He swallowed. The urge to pry evaporated on the spot. He silently shuffled two steps sideways, doing his best to disappear, like a startled quail trying to blend into the wallpaper.

In front of Washington's real money, he didn't even dare breathe too loudly.

Isabelle caught the shift beside her and turned her head slightly. Something flickered in her cool eyes — a faint trace of surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Someone with Sean's standing had absolutely no reason to show up at a charity event at this level.

"Heard you were at the Park Hyatt. Came to check on you." Sean's voice was low, and his tone was as easy as if he'd just stepped out for a walk.

Across the room, more than a few of the city's top businessmen had already noticed Sean's arrival.