Love In Disguise: Rebirth of the Heiress
Chapter 98

Chapter 98: Chapter 98

The movement Joselle hit back stage she stumbled. Paparazzi had burst through the door like flies.

"Miss Laringer."

"Miss Laringer!!"

There was no escape, the other models stood by the side as Joselle looked around for an escape.

"Joselle, just a question."

Joselle stumbled backstage, her perfectly curated image crumbling with every camera flash and shouted question.

"Miss Laringer! Care to comment on the leaks?"

"Joselle, who’s the real you?"

"Is it true you sabotaged your competitors?"

Her heart raced as she scanned the room, desperate for an escape. The other models stood off to the side, their expressions ranging from pity to amusement.

Most have wanted her downfall. The people who knows how haughty she was due to her relationship with one of the richest man out there but after the break out, her standing had become shaky.

Now it’s completely destroyed.

Her assistant, a small, mousy woman with a tablet clutched to her chest, grabbed her arm. "This way, Miss Laringer. Quickly!"

Joselle nodded, slipping off her heels as she bolted toward the side exit. The assistant led her out into the alley where a black car waited. Paparazzi were still shouting questions as the car sped off, Joselle finally sinking back into the seat.

Inside the Car

Her assistant, Olivia, immediately began scrolling through her phone. "It’s bad, Joselle. Real bad. The comments are brutal."

"Then don’t read them!" Joselle snapped, running a hand through her perfectly styled hair, now damp with sweat.

Olivia ignored her, still scrolling. "They’re calling you manipulative, fake... Oh, here’s a good one: ’Is Joselle’s career over?’"

Joselle’s jaw clenched. "Shut. Up. Olivia."

Olivia finally looked up, her expression tense. "You’re going to need a statement. Damage control. Maybe even a—"

"Get out," Joselle interrupted coldly.

Olivia blinked. "What?"

"Out of the car. Now."

"Joselle, you can’t be serious. I’m just trying to—"

"Now!" Joselle’s voice cracked, a mix of anger and panic.

The car screeched to a stop, and Olivia reluctantly stepped out, clutching her tablet. Joselle slammed the door shut behind her, leaving only her manager in the car.

The silence was suffocating.

Her manager, Levi, had been with her from the start of her career. He sat across from her, arms folded, watching her with a neutral expression.

"Say something!" Joselle finally snapped, her voice trembling.

Levi shrugged. "What do you want me to say, Joselle? That it’s fine? Because it’s not."

Her hands clenched into fists. "Do you think I don’t know that? My entire career is on the line!"

"And whose fault is that?" Levi’s voice was calm, but the words cut deep.

Joselle turned away, staring out the tinted window. "I didn’t do this," she whispered.

"Didn’t you?" Levi’s voice softened. "Think, Joselle. Who have you crossed? Who have you hurt?"

Her mind raced, replaying the faces of everyone she had stepped on to get to the top. But nothing made sense. The leaks were too calculated, too perfect. Someone had orchestrated this with surgical precision.

Joselle pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling as she typed a message: We need to talk. Now.

Levi raised an eyebrow. "Who’s that for?"

"None of your business," she muttered, hitting send.

"Whoever it is, I hope they can fix this," Levi said, leaning back.

Joselle’s phone buzzed almost immediately with a reply: Where?

She typed back: Same place as before. Don’t be late.

She didn’t care how desperate she looked. Whoever had done this to her was going to pay.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was a notification: another article, this one titled, The Fall of Joselle Laringer: A Career in Ruins.

She threw her phone across the car, breathing heavily. "Why... Why me?"

Levi sighed, picking up her phone and placing it back in her lap. "Because, Joselle, you’ve made a lot of enemies. And now it looks like one of them finally decided to fight back. Or maybe you offended someone in your past life."

"It’s just too sudden. I did no wrong to anyone."

Levi tilted his head, his tone almost mocking. "Didn’t you?"

Her breath hitched, and her hands clenched into fists. Levi’s calm demeanor only fueled her frustration. She pressed a hand to her temple, closing her eyes as if trying to push away the flood of memories.

"Get out," she said suddenly, her voice low and sharp.

"What?" Levi’s eyebrows shot up.

"You heard me," Joselle snapped. "Get out of the car. I need to think."

Levi studied her for a moment, then sighed and stepped out without another word. She turned to the driver next. "You too. Out."

The driver hesitated. "Ma’am, it’s not safe—"

"Do I look like I care? Out!"

The man exchanged a glance with Levi, then reluctantly climbed out. Joselle slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and sped off into the night.

The city lights blurred as Joselle drove, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. She didn’t have a destination in mind; she just needed to move, to escape the suffocating weight of everything that had just happened.

Eventually, the glittering skyline gave way to the shadows of the outskirts. The roads were darker here, quieter, lined with warehouses and abandoned buildings. Her hands trembled as she adjusted her mask—a simple black one, sleek and covering the lower half of her face.

She pulled into a dimly lit alley, parking outside an unmarked door with peeling paint. The building was decrepit, with flickering neon signs that read "24 HOURS" in one corner. It was the kind of place no one paid attention to, perfect for clandestine meetings.

She stepped out of the car, her heels clicking against the cracked pavement. She adjusted her coat, pulling it tighter around her, and headed for the door.

Inside

The interior was just as rundown as the exterior. Dim overhead lights cast shadows across the room, revealing a cracked tiled floor and walls covered in graffiti. The faint smell of smoke and dampness hung in the air.

At the far end of the room, a man sat in a torn leather chair. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face obscured by the dim lighting. A thick scar ran from his temple to his jaw, giving him a menacing appearance. He wore a black leather jacket and heavy boots, one foot resting lazily on a low table littered with cigarette butts and empty beer bottles.

He looked up as Joselle entered, his piercing green eyes narrowing. "You’re late."

"Shut up," she hissed, her voice muffled by the mask.

The man smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Feisty tonight, aren’t we?"

Joselle ignored him, glancing around the room to ensure they were alone. Satisfied, she approached him, her heels echoing against the tiles.

"I need answers," she said, her voice low but firm.

The man chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. "And what makes you think I have them?"

"Because you always do," Joselle snapped, pulling off her mask. Her eyes were wild, her perfect composure cracking. "Someone’s trying to ruin me. I need to know who."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his smirk never faltering. "You’re not used to losing, are you, Joselle?"

Drake leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening as he tapped his fingers against the armrest. "You seem to have forgotten, Joselle. This isn’t just about you. Our goal is to squeeze every single penny out of Jason Lincoln Cole, and right now? You’re not exactly proving to be a reliable ally."

Joselle’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I haven’t forgotten a thing."

"Haven’t you?" Drake chuckled darkly. "Because from where I’m sitting, you’re too busy playing dress-up and getting dragged through the mud by amateurs."

She groaned, the sound low and frustrated. "Just name your fucking price, Drake."

Drake leaned forward, his green eyes glinting with amusement. "Fine. I want a cut of whatever’s left of your little empire when this is over. Fifteen percent."

Joselle’s eyes widened, and she let out a bitter laugh. "Fifteen percent? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"No," Drake replied smoothly, his smirk never faltering. "I’m just very aware of the risks I’m taking on your behalf. You think it’s easy keeping your little secrets buried? You think it’s cheap cleaning up your messes?"

"I don’t need you to clean up anything," Joselle snapped. "I can handle my own problems."

Drake raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely at her. "Right. Because tonight went so smoothly for you."

Joselle’s nails dug deeper into her palms, her composure threatening to crack. "Ten percent. That’s it."

"Fifteen," Drake said firmly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

"You’re bleeding me dry," she hissed, glaring at him.

He shrugged. "Consider it a fee for incompetence. Now, do we have a deal, or should I start talking to the press?"

Joselle closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to let him ruin her—not when she was already hanging by a thread. "Fine. Fifteen percent."