Chapter 396

Eleanor's voice trembled with indignation as she cried out, "I'm Leonard Blackwood's daughter too! Why can Cassandra go out while I'm trapped here? Get the car ready immediately!"

The head butler sighed in resignation, knowing better than to argue with the Blackwood heiress. Within minutes, a sleek black limousine pulled up to the mansion's grand entrance.

As twilight descended upon Crestview, the cityscape transformed into a glittering constellation of neon lights and illuminated skyscrapers.

Inside the exclusive Velvet Lounge's VIP suite, Isabelle Montgomery lounged decadently with her elite circle from Crestview's upper echelons. Gone were the polished manners of high society debutantes - these young socialites now resembled seasoned nightlife predators, their designer dresses barely containing their wild energy.

Isabelle had left for Valmont after middle school, leaving few connections in Crestview. Tonight's gathering consisted of her former junior high clique - the same group that had tormented Eleanor under her leadership.

"Whatever happened to that weirdo Eleanor?" one girl drawled between sips of champagne. "She practically vanished after graduation. So strange for a Blackwood to be that invisible."

"My mother says she's mentally unstable," another sneered, twirling a lock of hair. "Lady Blackwood keeps her locked away like some shameful secret."

"No wonder she was so slow in class!" a boy guffawed. "Turns out the little freak was actually-"

"Now, now," Isabelle interrupted, crossing her silk-clad legs with feline grace. A cigarette dangled from her crimson lips as she exhaled a perfect smoke ring. "The clinical term is autistic spectrum disorder."

"Same difference - still a retard!" The group erupted in cruel laughter.

Isabelle smirked at their vicious amusement, her catlike eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction.

The private room's door swung open abruptly.

Cassandra Blackwood entered, escorted by a bowing attendant.

The room fell into stunned silence, all eyes widening at the unexpected arrival.

"Relax everyone," Isabelle purred, gesturing lazily. A young man immediately presented a crystal ashtray for her to tap ashes into. "Cassandra's one of us."

Cassandra's breath caught at the sight. She'd thought Rosalind was the master of deception in their circle, but Isabelle's transformation from prim society darling to this decadent seductress was staggering.

She couldn't help wondering what Julian would think seeing his supposedly refined sister in this state. Would he be horrified? Furious?

"Cassandra darling," Isabelle pouted, "where's our dear Eleanor? The evening won't be nearly as entertaining without her."

Cassandra sighed dramatically, waving Eleanor's beloved teddy bear teasingly. "Don't worry. With this, my dear sister will come running like an obedient puppy."

Isabelle's perfectly arched brows lifted in interest. "Oh? Playing games with the little freak now?"

"Just wait and see," Cassandra smirked.

True to Cassandra's prediction, Eleanor's limousine arrived at Velvet Lounge shortly after. The club's pulsating entrance, thronged with glittering partygoers and bouncers, triggered Eleanor's social anxiety instantly. Her breathing turned shallow, fingers trembling against the car door.

Retreating into the leather seats, she dialed Cassandra with shaking hands.

"Yes, dearest sister?" Cassandra's mocking voice cut through the club's cacophony.

"Give him back!" Eleanor's voice cracked, tears of frustration welling. "Give me Mr. Bubbles right now!"

"You mean this disgusting, matted old thing?" Cassandra taunted. "I've hidden him somewhere special."

"Where?!" Eleanor nearly screamed, her chest constricting painfully.

"Somewhere in Velvet Lounge, of course!" Cassandra's laugh was pure venom. "But telling you exactly where would ruin our little game, wouldn't it? Poor Mr. Bubbles, all alone in some dark corner... unless you come find him!"

Eleanor's vision blurred with angry tears. The malicious laughter sent chills down her spine, her entire body trembling with barely contained rage.

Never - not even during Cassandra's cruelest childhood torments - had she felt such overwhelming hatred. The stuffed bear was her last connection to her late mother, her only comfort during panic attacks.

Gritting her teeth, Eleanor wiped her tears violently. With a determined breath, she flung the car door open and marched toward the club's neon-lit entrance, her small frame trembling but resolute.