Chapter 100: Charlotte’s Rage

"Kristoff," Charlotte called, her smile returning despite the turmoil brewing inside her. "Why don’t we take a family photo? And perhaps one with the children as well."

She needed to shift everyone’s attention.

No...

She needed an excuse to end this visit before anything else went wrong.

"It’s getting late," she added with practiced ease. "Alex looks exhausted. We should leave soon after."

Her excuse sounded reasonable enough, though only she knew how desperately she wanted to get out of the orphanage.

The photographers eagerly gathered everyone together.

Charlotte stood beside Kristoff, carefully positioning Alexander in his father’s arms before slipping her hand around Kristoff’s arm. To anyone watching, they looked every bit the picture-perfect family.

The cameras flashed relentlessly.

"One more!" a reporter called.

"And another with everyone from the orphanage!"

Richard immediately walked over.

Isobel hesitated.

She had no reason to be in a family photograph.

Just as she was about to step back, one of the reporters gestured toward her.

"Miss, could you join them? You were taking care of the baby earlier."

Caught off guard, Isobel instinctively looked at Kristoff.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment.

Before she could refuse, Mama Rena gave her an encouraging smile.

"Come on, Isobel. It’ll only take a second."

Unable to decline, she quietly stepped forward.

She ended up standing beside Kristoff.

Neither of them spoke.

Yet the small space between them suddenly felt suffocating, charged with an unspoken tension that neither dared acknowledge.

Alex leaned toward Isobel clutching the sleeve of her blouse.

"Perfect!" the photographer beamed.

"Everyone, smile."

The flashes went off one after another, freezing the moment forever.

None of them realized that one photograph, taken from a slightly different angle...

...would soon become the beginning of a storm no one saw coming.

...

An hour later, photographs from the Dalton family’s charity visit to the orphanage flooded social media and news outlets.

Among them, one particular photo spread like wildfire.

It wasn’t a posed family portrait.

It was a stolen moment.

Alexander was in Kristoff’s arms, yet his tiny hands were tightly clutching Isobel’s sleeve, as though he refused to let her drift too far away.

Unaware of the camera, Isobel looked down at the little boy with unmistakable tenderness softening her features.

Kristoff wasn’t looking at the camera either.

His gaze was fixed on Alexander—and inadvertently, on Isobel.

From that angle, the three of them seemed to exist in their own little world.

They looked less like strangers...

...and more like a family.

Charlotte, meanwhile, stood beside Kristoff with her flawless smile directed squarely at the camera. Elegant and poised, she looked every bit the perfect socialite, yet the invisible distance between her and the trio was impossible to ignore.

On Isobel’s other side stood Richard.

Instead of facing the camera, he was looking at Isobel with a gentle, doting smile, as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

The photograph captured no scandal. No one was holding hands. No one was embracing.

Yet somehow...

It told an entirely different story than the one Charlotte had intended.

And the internet noticed.

...

At the penthouse of Sky Haven, another property of Dalton Realty, Charlotte hurled the crystal wine glass across the room.

Crash!

It shattered against the marble wall, crimson wine splattering across the pristine white surface like fresh blood.

"Useless!"

Her chest rose and fell violently as she glared at the tablet lying on the coffee table.

The same photograph filled the screen.

It had already amassed hundred thousand views in less than an hour.

The headlines were even worse.

"One Photo Sparks Debate: Who Is Baby Alex’s Real Mother?"

"Netizens Say the Dalton Family Portrait Looks... Wrong."

"The Woman Beside Kristoff Stole the Entire Spotlight."

Charlotte’s fingernails dug into her palms. She had paid those reporters. She had arranged the charity visit.

She had carefully selected her outfit, rehearsed every smile, every angle, every gesture.

Everything had been meticulously planned to portray her as the loving wife and devoted mother.

So why... Why was everyone talking about Isobel?

She swiped through the comments, each one striking a nerve.

"Am I the only one who thinks Kristoff, the baby, and the woman in white tops look like an actual family?"

"The baby’s reaction says everything. He wouldn’t let go of her."

"Look at the way Kristoff is looking at her. There’s definitely a story there."

"Who’s the elegant lady beside them? She has such a gentle aura."

"The wife looks photoshopped into her own family picture..."

Charlotte’s breathing became erratic.

"Enough!"

She flung the tablet onto the sofa before it could slip from her trembling hands. Her perfectly manicured nails had nearly pierced the screen.

"This can’t continue."

Her voice was frighteningly calm now. The calmer she sounded, the more terrifying she became.

That woman...

Ever since Isobel appeared, nothing had gone according to plan.

Alexander preferred her.

Kristoff’s attention unconsciously drifted toward her.

And now...

Millions of strangers were placing Isobel exactly where Charlotte believed she belonged.

Beside Kristoff. Beside Alexander.

In the position that should have been hers.

Charlotte slowly closed her eyes, forcing herself to think.

Rage alone wouldn’t solve this.

If a photograph could make people believe Isobel belonged to the Dalton family...

Then all she had to do was make the world believe the opposite.

A slow, chilling smile curled across her lips.

"Isobel..."

She softly uttered the name, as though savoring it.

"You’ve enjoyed the spotlight long enough."

Her fingers reached for her phone.

It was time to make a call.

...

An hour later, the comments about Isobel were full of malice.

Someone had dug up an old rumor from two months ago.

The internet never forgot.

Screenshots from the previous scandal resurfaced one after another, spreading across every platform.

Soon, the comment section was in complete chaos.

"Wait... isn’t this the same woman who was rumored to be involved with President Morgan Foster a couple of months ago?"

"You’re right! I found the old articles. It’s definitely her."

"First President Foster... now Mr. Dalton?"

"And who’s the handsome man standing beside her? She certainly has a type."

"This woman is obviously chasing influential men. She’s making herself look innocent, but she’s anything but."

"Some women don’t need to seduce with words. They know exactly how to use their looks."

"Poor Charlotte. Imagine doing charity work only to have another woman steal the spotlight."

Within minutes, thousands of users echoed the same accusations.

The truth no longer mattered.

People who had never met Isobel confidently dissected her character, judged her morals, and fabricated stories as though they had known her for years.

The more the comments multiplied, the more convincing the lies became.

Hidden behind anonymous usernames, strangers became judge, jury, and executioner.

Meanwhile, in her bedroom of her penthouse, Charlotte leisurely refreshed the page.

A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she watched the tide finally turn in her favor.

"So this is all it takes," she murmured, taking a slow sip of her wine.

"One little spark..."

"...and the entire internet will gladly burn someone alive."