Chapter 142 You Must Compensate
Aubrey was about to say something conciliatory when a cold female voice came from behind the crowd.
"Anyone who wants to quit can go fill out the form now. I won't stop you."
Everyone turned around at the sound.
Cecilia had somehow arrived, standing alone, calmly facing everyone's opposition.
She looked around at those indignant faces, her gaze unwavering.
"I won the first round with my own design, and I'm standing here with my own abilities."
"Why should I give up what I've earned because of some baseless speculation?"
Cecilia paused, then asked back, "Is this what you call fair?"
Her words left everyone speechless.
Those who had just been shouting about "fairness" instantly fell silent, their faces flushing with embarrassment.
Right—forcing the first-place winner who had crushed everyone else to quit just to benefit them, the losers—what kind of fairness was that?
This was clearly just jealousy.
Seeing things turning against her, panic flashed in Isadora's eyes.
She immediately seized what she thought was a weak point and accused shrilly, "Stop twisting the facts! Do you dare say you have nothing to do with Mr. Hensley?"
"If you weren't close to him, would he invest in the entire competition just for you? Don't think we're all idiots! You're just someone who benefits from capital manipulation!"
Cecilia almost laughed out loud. She found Isadora's logic utterly absurd.
"Beneficiary?" She took a step forward, looking directly at Isadora's face, twisted with agitation. "Isadora, let me ask you—even if I am, so what?"
This counter-question was arrogant and filled with absolute confidence.
"If I can get Stefan to invest for me, that's my ability."
"If I can create designs that Sidney praises, that's my skill."
"What about you?" A trace of pity entered Cecilia's gaze. "Besides stirring up a bunch of confused losers to make a scene here, what else do you have?"
"What right do you have to stand before me?"
These words were too direct, too humiliating.
The contestants who had just been united in their cause turned red with shame at being called "confused losers."
They lowered their heads in embarrassment, not knowing whether to continue helping Isadora or feel ashamed of their own foolishness.
Just then, a lazy, playful male voice drifted from the end of the corridor.
"So lively? What's all the fuss about?"
Everyone startled and looked over in unison.
Stefan was walking toward them, one hand in his suit pocket. His face wore its usual smile, but his eyes held no warmth—only cold indifference.
His appearance made the air feel heavy, and that invisible pressure made everyone catch their breath.
"Mr., Mr. Hensley!"
Kirk immediately saw hope and rushed forward, stammering through a quick explanation of what had happened.
After listening, Stefan walked past the fawning Kirk and went straight to Cecilia's side.
Stefan said nothing, but this simple action, this gesture of standing shoulder to shoulder, already announced his position to everyone.
An absolute protection.
Then Stefan slowly swept his gaze over the silent contestants, his smile carrying a bone-chilling coldness.
"Quit?"
He spoke, his voice flat, yet making everyone shiver.
"Sure."
"Anyone who wants to quit can go to HR right now. I don't like forcing people."
The words sounded casual, but they made those who had been demanding withdrawal turn pale.
They had only wanted to apply pressure—they didn't actually dare to quit.
Stefan watched their expressions, his smile growing colder.
"But..."
His tone suddenly shifted, and the oppressive aura of someone long in power was suddenly released, weighing heavily on everyone's hearts.
"You want to band together and use so-called 'collective will' to blackmail my person, to force her to quit?"
Stefan laughed lightly.
That laugh was full of undisguised contempt and mockery.
"Are you even worthy?"
This sentence, without any embellishment, was more devastating than any insult.
It directly negated the value and significance of everyone present.
The troublemaking contestants' faces instantly flushed red.
Shame, embarrassment, fear... all these emotions intertwined, making them wish they could find a hole to crawl into, yet they didn't dare say a word in response.
Stefan no longer paid attention to this rabble who had been scared out of their wits.
He turned his playful gaze to Isadora, whose face had long since lost all color.
"Ms. Penrose, right?"
He looked her up and down, his eyes devoid of any warmth, purely assessing an object's value before reaching an extremely poor conclusion.
"I've seen your design."
"Nothing original, too commercially driven, full of pandering and calculation, but lacking any sincerity."
Stefan's evaluation came steadily, each sentence precisely hitting Isadora's points of pride.
"Simply put, too narrow-minded."
This assessment was a hundred times more humiliating than slapping her in public.
But Stefan had no intention of letting her off.
"Not only is your work problematic, your character seems questionable too." He continued in that playful tone, "When you can't compete on merit, you resort to these dirty tricks?"
Stefan's gaze finally settled on her wretched face, particularly lingering on her obviously crooked nose.
"I suggest you hurry and find somewhere to fix that nose."
"Otherwise, when Rufus sees you looking like this."
"How will you latch onto him?"
This sentence completely shattered Isadora's last psychological defense.
Her most secret thoughts, her greatest leverage, the ambition she thought she had hidden perfectly—Stefan had just exposed it all with the most contemptuous tone, right in front of everyone.
The merciless mockery left her cold all over.
Isadora let out a short shriek, instinctively raising both hands to cover her face and nose.
She wanted to block those probing, disdainful, suddenly understanding gazes.
At this moment, Isadora was truly panicking.
It was over, everything was over.
Her reputation was ruined, her face was ruined, and intense despair gripped her.
However, just when everyone thought this farce was about to end, Isadora suddenly thought of something.
Right, money!
All her pride and dignity had been torn to shreds, she had nothing left, but at least she could get money!
This thought drove her mad.
Isadora suddenly lowered one hand, her bloodshot eyes glaring at Cecilia, squeezing words through her teeth in a voice shrill with extreme hatred.
"Amelia, you beat me up like this, you've ruined my face!"
"You have to pay!"