Chapter 66: The Volunteer

Charlotte sat rigidly beside Kristoff, her nails digging into her palm beneath the tablecloth. Even after Isobel stepped down from the stage, Kristoff’s gaze remained fixed on her, as if the rest of the room had ceased to exist.

Fortunately, Morgan rose from his seat.

Ignoring the curious looks around him, he made his way to the foot of the stairs and offered Isobel his hand. She accepted, and he escorted her back to the VIP table.

"You were incredible up there," Morgan said, a proud smile tugging at his lips. "You handled that perfectly."

The admiration in his voice made it sound as though he had been the one receiving the award.

As they approached, Kristoff immediately stood.

His expression was composed, but there was a strange intensity in his eyes.

He extended his hand.

"You were remarkable up there, Miss Lancey." His voice remained steady and professional. "I understand now why Morgan considers you such a valuable asset to his company. And forgive my rude assumptions earlier."

The words sounded harmless enough, yet beneath them churned emotions he could barely keep contained.

Isobel felt something in her stirred when Kristoff apologized.

She accepted the handshake. Neither of them seemed eager to let go.

Seconds passed.

Charlotte’s smile nearly cracked.

She abruptly stepped between them, pulling Kristoff’s hand away before extending her own.

"Congratulations, Isobel." Her smile was bright and flawless. "I had no idea you were hiding such talent."

Only Charlotte knew how much effort it took to keep that smile in place while jealousy burned through her veins.

"Thank you," Isobel replied politely.

Before she could even sit down, several CEOs who had barely acknowledged her earlier suddenly abandoned their seats and crowded around her.

Business cards appeared from every direction and pressed into her hand.

Isobel stared at the growing stack of cards in her hands, thoroughly bewildered.

People still carried business cards?

At a tech summit, of all places.

She would have expected QR codes, digital profiles, or some futuristic networking app—not embossed cards being handed out like they were attending a gala from another century.

A soft chuckle escaped Morgan.

Apparently, her confusion was written all over her face.

"Calling cards have become something of a status symbol these days," he explained. "Not everyone gets one. They’re usually reserved for people important enough to make others remember them."

Realization dawned on her.

Ah.

So the cards weren’t meant to exchange contact information. They were meant to announce status.

Isobel nodded slowly, finally understanding.

"If Morgan isn’t compensating you properly, my company would be happy to."

"I’ll offer double."

"Triple it."

"You name the figure."

The executives spoke over one another, each more eager than the last. A few minutes ago, they had treated her like she was invisible. Now they were practically fighting for her attention.

Isobel smiled bitterly at the unfairness of the reality. And she had experienced a lot of that in her life.

Isobel shot Morgan a pleading look.

Help.

Morgan’s expression darkened instantly. The temperature around the table seemed to drop.

He swept a cold glance across the crowd of executives.

"What a bold way to poach my employee," he said smoothly. "Right in front of me, no less."

The smile never reached his eyes.

"Do all of you have a death wish?"

The CEOs exchanged amused looks before retreating to their seats.

"We’re only joking, Mr. Foster."

Morgan’s stare suggested he wasn’t laughing.

...

The mounting tension around the VIP table finally eased when the host stepped onto the stage.

"Before we proceed to the next segment, let’s take a short break. Our special guests, Martin Carter and Charlotte Harris, will be performing a duet while refreshments are served."

The announcement drew immediate excitement from the audience. Guests rose from their seats and made their way toward the buffet area.

Isobel watched as waiters simultaneously appeared beside the VIP tables, serving elegant platters and drinks without anyone having to stand.

Another reality. Another reminder that the world wasn’t as equal as people liked to pretend.

For some, convenience arrived on silver trays. For everyone else, there was a line.

The opening notes of the song drifted through the hall as Martin and Charlotte took center stage and started singing.

Their voices blended surprisingly well, smooth and effortless, gradually dissolving the tension that had lingered moments before.

Conversations resumed. Laughter returned. The atmosphere softened.

Meanwhile, attention began shifting toward the exhibition area.

A growing crowd gathered around Aioryx’s showcase booth, where the company’s newest line of robotic puppies was on display.

The mechanical companions barked, wagged their tails, rolled over, and responded to voice commands with almost uncanny realism.

Parents examined the product carefully while investors and tech enthusiasts pushed closer for a better look.

Within minutes, the booth was packed and stocks of KitKat greatly diminished.

...

Onstage, Martin and Charlotte finished their first song and a thunderous applause followed.

The audience cheered and whistled as the pair exchanged smiles.

"Thank you, everyone," Martin said, raising a hand to quiet the crowd. "For our next song, we’d like a volunteer to join us."

His announcement immediately sparked excitement throughout the hall.

At the VIP table, Isobel barely paid attention. She was too busy fielding an endless stream of questions from executives and investors who suddenly seemed fascinated by everything she had to say.

Then Martin’s gaze landed on her.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Actually," he said into the microphone, "I think we’ve already found the perfect volunteer."

A spotlight swept across the room before stopping directly on Isobel.

"How about Miss Isobel Lancey joins us onstage?"

The hall erupted. All eyes turned toward her.

For a brief moment, Isobel froze.

No.

She had absolutely no intention of going up there. But before she could decline, the audience had already begun chanting in s rhythmic way.

"I-so-bel!"

"I-so-bel!"

"I-so-bel!"

The chant grew louder with every passing second, spreading from one side of the ballroom to the other until hundreds of voices were calling her name.

Heat crept up her neck. This was exactly the kind of attention she hated.

Beside her, Kristoff leaned closer.

"You don’t have to go if you don’t want to," he said quietly.

His voice was steady, giving her an easy way out.

Isobel glanced around the table. Morgan’s seat was empty. He had stepped away to take a phone call moments earlier.

The chant continued.

Taking a slow breath, she straightened her shoulders.

Running away now would only make the situation more awkward.

A composed smile appeared on her face.

Then, under the glow of the spotlight and the roar of the crowd, Isobel rose from her seat and walked toward the stage with calm, unshakable confidence.

The audience’s applause only grew louder.