Everyone stood frozen in shock as Isadora pped 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 ce. They exchanged nervous nces, 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 hermand, Sally and Leda exchanged a nce and moved to grab Isadora, one on each side, nning to restrain her.


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


    Just then, amanding 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 nced at Isadora with thinly veiled schadenfreude. They wouldn''t darey a hand on her themselves, but they certainly wouldn''t mind watching her get put in her ce. After all, the title of "Mrs. Fitzgerald"-wife of the richest man in the capital-was enough to provoke envy. Isadora didn''te from a particrly distinguished family, so what right did she have to be so lucky?


    Isadora stood her ground, calm andposed despite the hostile stares. "I was the one who pped 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 ps, 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.


    He turned to Olivia, his voice stern. "Olivia, how could you be so rude to Mrs. Fitzgerald?"


    Olivia bit her lip, tears brimming. "Grandpa! Why are you taking her side?"


    Meade patted her hand. "Enough! This is all a misunderstanding. Joking like that was wrong, but Isadora, you shouldn''t have hit her either. Let''s put this matter to rest."


    His words were smooth and diplomatic-he''d just recast Olivia''s deliberate malice as a childish joke, and Isadora''s defense as violence. If word got out, it would be Isadora—Mrs. Fitzgerald-who bore the brunt of the scandal.


    At that moment, Olivia''s mother, Andrina, hurried over, her heart aching at the sight of her daughter''s swollen face. She was furious that Meade had let the matter drop so easily.


    "Dad, Olivia is still just a child—she didn''t mean any harm, it was only a silly joke. A few words of scolding would have sufficed. I''ve never even raised my voice at her since she was little, and now look at her face! Every blow she took, I felt in my own heart."


    Andrina shot Isadora a frosty re


    before quickly rearranging her


    features into a gentle smile. "Miss Vaughan, you haven''t even officially married into the Fitzgerald family, and already you''re behaving so recklessly. Even if you had, as Mrs. Fitzgerald you represent the Fitzgeralds'' reputation. Yet here you are, striking your host''s


    granddaughter at our main event. How does that reflect on us? Frankly, your behavior is no better than amon street brawler. And honestly, Olivia''s words don''t seem so far from the truth."


    Andrina''s words were cutting, her tone measured and polite on the surface, but


    her meaning unmistakable. She was undermining Isadora''s ce and


    respectability, painting her as unworthy of the Fitzgerald name.


    A ripple ofmiseration swept through the crowd.


    Someone piped up, "She''s right-hitting someone like that is just low-ss, Mrs.


    Fitzgerald. You owe Olivia an apology."


    "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 delicateugh, her voice sugary sweet. "Miss Vaughan, you''re a guest at our patriarch''s birthday party. You''ve already pped 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 wee to it."


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