Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus)

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.

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

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

the hostile stares.

brows knit

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

had encouraged

how could you

lip, tears brimming. "Grandpa!

wrong, but

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

over, her heart aching at the sight of her daughter's swollen face. She was furious

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

shot Isadora a

before quickly rearranging her

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

reflect on us? Frankly, your behavior is no better than a common street brawler. And

measured and polite on the surface,

meaning unmistakable. She was undermining

unworthy of the

ripple of commiseration swept through

"She's right-hitting someone like that is