Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 433

Everyone stood frozen in shock as Isadora slapped Olivia—twice. For a moment, the room fell utterly silent, unable to process what had just happened.

After all, everyone knew Olivia was the darling of the Walsh family, their little princess. At every society event, she was the one in the spotlight, untouchable and always center stage.

And yet, here she was—being struck. And right in the middle of the Walsh family's own grand reception.

A murmur rippled through the crowd of heiresses. Some looked ready to rush to Olivia's side, but fear of the formidable Mr. Victor Fitzgerald—Isadora's backer—kept them rooted in place. They exchanged nervous glances, unwilling to make the first move.

Olivia's furious gaze locked onto Isadora, her eyes burning with such hatred it was as if she could tear her apart with a look. If looks could kill, Isadora would already be dead.

She shouted, "Leda, Sally, what are you waiting for?!"

At her command, Sally and Leda exchanged a glance and moved to grab Isadora, one on each side, planning to restrain her.

But Wendy quickly stepped between them and Isadora, blocking their way. "Don't try anything," she warned.

Just then, a commanding voice boomed across the hall. "What on earth is going on here? How dare you make such a scene!"

The crowd parted as Meade, the Walsh family patriarch, made his way over, leaning heavily on a cane, supported by a servant.

The moment Olivia saw him, she dashed forward, bursting into tears. "Grandpa, that woman hit me! She actually dared to hit me!"

Meade looked at Olivia's swollen, red cheek and his eyes filled with pain. Olivia was his eldest son's only child, and after his son passed away when she was still young, he'd doted on her all the more.

Now Meade's expression hardened; he tapped his cane sharply on the floor. "What happened to Olivia's face?" he demanded.

The guests glanced at Isadora with thinly veiled schadenfreude. They wouldn't dare lay a hand on her themselves, but they certainly wouldn't mind watching her get put in her place. After all, the title of "Mrs. Fitzgerald"—wife of the richest man in the capital—was enough to provoke envy. Isadora didn't come from a particularly distinguished family, so what right did she have to be so lucky?

Isadora stood her ground, calm and composed despite the hostile stares. "I was the one who slapped Olivia," she said evenly.

Meade's brows knit together. "You? Why?"

Isadora's tone was neither arrogant nor meek. "It's like this, Mr. Walsh: Olivia made up lies, calling me—Mrs. Fitzgerald—a homewrecker and insulted the Fitzgerald family's eldest grandson. I figured she's still young and couldn't have gotten such ideas from her elders, so I took the liberty of teaching her a lesson for you. I gave her two slaps, hoping to save the Walsh family's reputation before she ruined it with a few careless words."

Meade's face darkened. If he defended Olivia now, it would sound as if the Walsh family had encouraged a child to insult Mrs. Fitzgerald and disrespect the Fitzgerald family. That would reflect badly on them.

"Apologize! Apologize! Isadora needs to apologize to Olivia!"

The chant caught on, voices rising in unison.

Wendy, watching this parade of hypocrisy from the so-called upper crust, was furious. "So it's wrong to hit someone, is it? Funny, I didn't hear any of you say that when Olivia kicked me a moment ago! You're all quick to condemn Isadora, but you're no better yourselves!"

Andrina shot Wendy a dismissive look. "Who let the help speak out of turn? Butler, take her outside and deal with her."

"Don't you dare," Isadora said coldly, stepping forward.

Andrina gave a delicate laugh, her voice sugary sweet. "Miss Vaughan, you're a guest at our patriarch's birthday party. You've already slapped his granddaughter in front of everyone, and now you want to interfere with how we run our household? Aren't you overstepping your bounds?"

A new voice cut through the tension. "My wife can do whatever she wants. If she wants to flip the table, she's welcome to it."

Heads swiveled as Victor strode in, tall and commanding, one hand in his pocket, his eyes icy cold. Instinctively, the crowd parted to let him through.