"Bianca, don't lower yourself to their level."
Isabella patted Bianca’s hand, turning her gaze toward the opposing group.
Her eyes swept over Lydia and the others with a lofty, patronizing pity. "Since you’re all so confident, we'll see you in the arena."
"Reality will prove that some gaps can't be bridged with tough talk."
She maintained her elegant, aristocratic facade. In her pristine designer dress, she looked the part of an untouchable saint—a flawless act.
And she played it perfectly.
Bianca wanted to shake Isabella off. She despised this woman who acted as Sebastian's obedient pet just to satisfy her own materialistic greed.
If Sebastian hadn't warned her, Bianca wouldn't have associated with Isabella at all.
Yet here Isabella was, daring to hold her back.
But...
Seeing Serena standing nearby, Bianca bit her tongue and let Isabella pull her away.
It was her only way to gracefully exit the confrontation.
"Fine!" Bianca sneered. "If you have the guts, beat us on the stage! Let's see what a bunch of broke losers can actually do."
"We will win," Caleb interjected.
He stepped up, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Lydia.
He pushed his heavy glasses up the bridge of his nose, the old timidness entirely gone from his demeanor.
His gaze bore into his former tormentors with unyielding intensity.
"We'll show you exactly what we can do."
"See you in the arena."
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