Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 238

Rowena jolted in pain, her gaze locking with a pair of cold, menacing eyes.

“In a bit, if your studio gets picked, you’d better bow out quietly. Not that I think you stand much chance of being chosen.”

Rowena struggled furiously.

“You bastard, let me go! Why should I listen to you? This isn’t even my studio alone, and even if it were, there’s no way I’d do what you say.”

Abbott slapped her cheek—hard enough to sting, but not enough to leave a mark. His voice was thick with threat.

“Go ahead, try me. Don’t forget, I’ve got those photos of you—nude, and very convincing. Wouldn’t it be a shame if they ended up plastered all over Capitolion Avenue?”

With a harsh laugh, he shoved Rowena aside and strode away without a backward glance.

Rowena crashed into the wall, trembling uncontrollably, barely able to stand.

—

Inside the conference room.

Rowena had been gone too long.

Wendy was starting to get anxious.

“Isadora, the presentations are about to start and Rowena’s still not back. I’ll go look for her.”

Just as Wendy spoke, Rowena walked through the door.

Isadora frowned with concern. “Rowena, you look awful—what happened?”

Rowena sank into her chair, trying to steady her breathing. She clenched her fists, fighting down the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

She knew Abbott wasn’t bluffing. If he said he had those photos, he probably did. She couldn’t remember ever taking any, but that only left one explanation: the creep must have hidden a camera in her bedroom.

Her voice shook as she turned to Isadora. “Maybe… maybe we should withdraw from the competition.”

Wendy misunderstood, thinking Rowena was just nervous about losing.

“Rowena, we don’t know the results yet! There’s still a good chance we’ll win, don’t worry.”

Isadora looked down at her, concerned. “What is it?”

Rowena faltered under her gaze, forcing a weak smile. “Nothing… go ahead.”

The presentation screens flickered on, displaying their designs.

Isadora walked to the stage, steadying herself, ready to speak.

Suddenly, the conference room doors swung open.

Everyone turned to look.

Victor entered in a sharply tailored charcoal pinstripe suit, the fit impeccable, his crisp white shirt complemented by a dark striped tie. Not a wrinkle in sight.

He radiated quiet authority, his presence commanding the room. Several board members and associates followed in his wake, and the atmosphere shifted instantly.

As soon as he appeared, the executives—including Jonathan—rose from their seats to welcome him.