His gaze swept over her slowly, unapologetically insulting.
“I’m sure you must have some kind of achievements in your pocket?” he continued coolly. “Awards, perhaps. Accomplishments that aren’t terrifying enough to paralyze your… delicate limbs.”
A ripple moved through the room.
Camila cleared her throat a little too loudly. Emily stifled a snicker, quickly masking it as a cough. Mia and Alexander turned away, lips pressed tight as they struggled not to burst out laughing.
Sophia bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Her shoulders shook despite her efforts to stay composed.
Magnus didn’t pause.
“Have you finished your education?” he asked. “Any degrees? Have you accomplished anything notable? Other than being born into a wealthy family?”
Her posture stiffened, color draining from her face as nervousness crept in. She hadn’t expected the questions to come so directly.
Before she could form a response, Emily let out a light laugh, cutting into the tension.
Emily said, her tone encouraging yet laced with sarcasm. “I’m sure Violet has many talents. I’ve heard countless praises about her at parties. She’s earned so many certificates and awards over the years, haven’t you, Violet?”
Violet forced a small smile, shifting in her seat as panic churned violently in her chest.
‘What should I say?’ she thought frantically. ‘Those certificates… I bought them just to show off. If I accept it now, what if they ask me to prove it?’
“Yes,” Violet answered quickly, trying to sound casual. “I do. I also model. And I sing.”
“Modeling?” Magnus’s brow lifted. “Singing?”
He leaned forward slightly, his posture relaxed—but his eyes were sharp.
“Which brand have you modeled for?” he asked. “Any recognizable campaigns? Billboards? Have I seen you anywhere?”
He didn’t give her time to answer.
“And the awards,” he continued smoothly. “What kind were they? Have you performed any songs I might know? A soundtrack? A stage performance?” His gaze never left her face. “Because I don’t recall seeing you anywhere.”
He tilted his head again, voice even, almost conversational.
“Chanel. Dior. Louis Vuitton. Gucci.” His gaze didn’t waver. “None of them require models to parade intiny bikinisunless the model chooses to. So tell me… have you ever walked a runway, Ms. King?”
Violet’s body went cold.
The color drained from her face, her shoulders locking as if her muscles had seized.
“I—I don’t have time for that,” she stammered, her voice faltering. “I have college. Other… commitments. I am too busy.”
A smug, mocking smile curved across Magnus’s lips.
Across from him, Violet froze.
Her face flushed a violent shade of red, the color spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Her fingers curled tightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms as her jaw clenched. Violet’s cheeks burned with humiliation. It was obvious to everyone—Magnus hadn’t asked those questions out of curiosity.
He had asked them to insult her.
And he had succeeded.
Yet the shock in the room wasn’t directed at Violet.
It was directed at Magnus.
