(Nina watches from a distance, her nails digging into her palm as Theodore and Isabella stand close. The shimmer of Isabella's gown feels like knives in Nina's eyes. Her laughter bursts out—too sharp, too sudden. Heads turn. She pretends it's amusement, but her voice carries poison.)
Nina (loud enough for nearby guests):
"Ah, how amusing… our dear Isabella, the little human doll dressed like a queen. Did anyone else notice? She wears silk like it's borrowed, not owned. Her beauty is… fragile, isn't it? A single night without paint, and the illusion falls apart."
(A few courtiers chuckle nervously. Nina steps forward, her eyes fixed on Isabella, words now sharper, hungrier.)
Nina (mocking smile):
"And those curls—what are they? Tamed fire, or a desperate attempt to distract from the truth? That she's still the outsider. Always the outsider. Even if fate chains her to the Alpha, it doesn't rewrite what she is."
(Her tone lowers, bitter, jealous, her mask slipping.)
Nina (hissing, almost to herself, but loud enough to echo):
"She thinks she's won… but she'll never be me. Never. Theodore may look at her, but he belongs to me. He always will."
(The hall grows tense. Isabella doesn't flinch—her narcissism shields her. Theodore's eyes, however, cut to Nina, sharp, warning. Nina's jealousy hangs in the air like smoke—everyone can smell it, even if no one dares speak.)
Isabella (calmly, almost amused):
"Oh, Nina… you sound so loud. So desperate. Like a broken violin trying to compete with a symphony."
(Gasps ripple through the crowd. Isabella takes one graceful step forward, her gown shimmering. Her voice is not cruel — it's worse. It's condescending, laced with the calm confidence of someone who knows she's already won.)
Isabella (smiling faintly):
"You say I'll never be you? Thank heavens for that. I would never lower myself to beg for scraps of attention… or cling to a man's shadow just to feel important."
(The crowd shifts, whispers spread. Nina's face stiffens, but Isabella keeps speaking, her words dripping arrogance.)
Isabella:
"You see, Nina, women like me don't ask for places. We become the place others orbit around. Theodore didn't choose me because I tried… he chose me because fate itself knows I am inevitable."
(The hall falls silent again. Isabella tilts her head slightly, almost pitying Nina.)
Isabella (low, final blow):
"Keep talking if you must. The world always needs an echo… even if
no one listens."
(The hall is still buzzing from Isabella's venomous calm. Nina's silence is loud, almost humiliating. Theodore doesn't move. His jaw is set, his eyes locked on Isabella — unreadable to everyone else. But inside…)
Theodore (inner monologue):
Tch. That woman… she doesn't just speak, she devours. Look at her — dripping arrogance as if the world bent itself to her feet. And damn it… she makes it believable.
(His lips twitch faintly, but he quickly presses them back into a hard line, not letting the smirk escape.)
Theodore (mocking himself):
Oh, how glorious. Isabella the untouchable. Isabella the inevitable. Hah. She thinks she owns the stage? She forgets who built the stage. This hall echoes with my name long before hers was ever whispered.
(But then his eyes flick over Nina, shattered, fuming, small — and back to Isabella, radiant, dangerous, untouchable. Something in his chest stirs — he feels it, but he buries it under arrogance, smothering it like fire under ash.)
Theodore (low, possessive thought):
Let her bask in their awe. Let her think she's won. At the end of it all, Isabella… whether you shine or burn… you are mine to destroy. Mine to claim. Mine to curse.