Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 327

Isolde's POV

The cool afternoon air hit my face as I stepped out of the conference center. Around me, other participants and their teams were filing out in clusters, their voices creating a buzz of animated discussion.

"I'm not surprised by this at all," One of my fellow designers, said with a sharp edge to her voice as she fell into step beside me. "She looks exactly like the type who would pull something like this. How pathetic!"

My hands clenched into fists at my sides as the image of Ivy's smug face flashed through my mind. If I saw her right now, I'd give her a piece of my mind—hell, I'd give her a slap across the face that she'd remember for weeks.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. The other designers and their teams were scattered around the building's entrance, some expressing disgust at Ivy's actions, others simply listening to the gossip with wide eyes. The competition committee had made it clear—Ivy Price had been disqualified and would face a multi-year ban from any Silver Moon Group sponsored events.

But somehow, that didn't feel like enough.

The sharp click of high heels on marble caught my attention, and I looked up to see a familiar figure emerging from the glass doors of the building. My breath caught in my throat.

Ivy.

She looked like she was heading to a board meeting, not slinking away after being exposed for sabotage.

"Jesus Christ," someone muttered nearby. "Even though she's in deep shit, she's still acting all high and mighty."

Another voice chimed in, "Maybe it's all an act. You know, putting on this cold facade to hide how she really feels. She's got to be regretting it deep down."

I watched as Ivy made her way toward the parking area. She wasn't running away—she was making an exit.

I felt myself torn between two choices: walking away like a mature adult, or marching over there and giving her a piece of my mind like the petty person I was feeling right now.

Without another thought, I broke away from the group and started walking toward the parking area.

Ivy was just reaching her sleek Mercedes when I called out.

"I believe you owe me an apology, Ivy."

She paused, her hand on the car door handle. Even from a distance, I could smell the tension radiating from her, though her posture remained perfectly composed. She turned to face me, and I forced my expression into a cold, brief smile before letting it drop into complete neutrality.

Ivy shut her car door and turned to face me fully, her eyes scanning me from head to toe with obvious disdain. Her gaze lingered on the Liberty Designs badge I wore—the one I'd had specially made for the competition.

"An apology?" she said with a laugh that held no humor. "For what? For playing the game better than you did?"

The casual dismissal in her tone made my blood boil, but I kept my voice steady. "For sabotage. For breaking competition rules. For risking everything you've built for what—a petty moment of satisfaction?"

"Petty?" Ivy's eyebrows shot up. "Watching you scramble when your precious equipment was destroyed? Seeing the panic in your eyes when you realized you might actually lose? That wasn't petty—that was strategic."

"Strategic?" I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You do realize what you've done to yourself, don't you? You're banned from major competitions for years. EW Design is about to face lawsuits that could bankrupt the company. And Silver Moon Group?" I let out a cold laugh. "They don't forgive people who sabotage their events."

For the first time, I saw something flicker across Ivy's face—not fear, exactly, but a moment of uncertainty. Her phone buzzed in her purse, and she glanced at it reflexively.

"Your investors calling?" I asked sweetly. "Or maybe your board of directors?"

Ivy's jaw tightened, but she didn't respond to the taunt. Instead, she pulled out her phone and checked the screen. Whatever she saw there made her expression harden.

"This conversation is over," she said flatly, opening her car door. "Enjoy your little victory, Isolde. We both know you needed the help to get this far."

"I didn't need help," I replied coldly. "But apparently, you needed to cheat to try to stop me. And you still failed."

Ivy paused with one foot in her car, turning back to look at me with something that might have been grudging respect.

"You know what? You're tougher than I gave you credit for." She slid into the driver's seat and rolled down the window. "But this industry is bigger than one competition, Isolde. Remember that."

Her phone rang again, insistent and shrill. This time she answered it.

"What?" she snapped into the phone. I could hear an angry male voice on the other end, though I couldn't make out the words. Ivy's face went pale. "How much?" Another pause. "All of them?"

She hung up and stared at the phone for a moment, then looked back at me.

Without another word, she rolled up the window and drove away at a normal pace, leaving me standing in the parking lot.

*Well, that ended faster than expected,* Lyra commented in my mind.

"I have a gift for making enemies," I muttered to myself, watching her car disappear into traffic. "And apparently, for watching them face reality."

As I walked back toward my team, I felt a sense of closure. Ivy Price was no longer my problem—she was too busy dealing with the wreckage of her own making to bother me anymore.

And honestly? That felt like justice enough.