Chapter 171

Pamella exhaled softly, her fingers brushing her dress as she turned to the crowd. "We should just open the door," she announced, loud enough for everyone to hear. A few guests hesitated, then, as if on cue, muffled sounds from the restroom grew louder. The low, breathy, unmistakably suggestive noises sent another wave of murmurs through the onlookers.

Pamella smirked. "Oh dear," she said, her voice carrying down the hallway. "That doesn't sound right, does it? Who could do something so shameless in a place like this?"

Heads turned. More guests stopped to watch. The hum of quiet whispers escalated into hushed gossip.

Just then, a housekeeper hurried over, clutching a keyring. He looked uneasy, his gaze flitting between the guests. "I—I have the master key," he stammered.

Calen, observing Pamella closely, felt suspicion tighten in his chest. She was too eager, too interested. "This is getting out of hand," he muttered, then addressed the crowd more loudly. "We should call security first. Or the police."

A few guests nodded, but Pamella smoothly turned to him. "And what if someone inside actually needs help?" She gestured toward the door, raising an eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be worse if we just stood here and did nothing?"

Calen narrowed his eyes. She didn't wait for an answer. Before anyone could stop her, Pamella snatched the key, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

The door swung inward. Inside the dimly lit restroom, soft shadows played against the tiled walls. Near the sink, a man held a woman close, their lips locked in a deep kiss, their bodies impossibly near. The rustling of fabric and hurried breaths filled the air.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, a collective intake of breath from the onlookers. Pamella's eyes widened as she took in the scene. Her gaze snapped to the woman—her back turned, dark hair cascading down her shoulders—the familiar silhouette unmistakable.

Isabella Rossi.

Pamella's lips curled in triumph. "Well, well," she said, stepping forward. "Isn't this just… unbelievable?"

Her voice shattered the stunned silence. More murmurs arose, some shocked, others barely concealing amusement. "Miss Rossi, how could you do something like this?" Pamella continued, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "At an event like this? Do you have no shame?"

Calen stiffened beside her. His stomach churned at the scene, but something felt wrong. Pamella's voice carried through the hallway, the murmurs intensifying into whispers. The growing crowd shifted, people exchanging glances, some leaning closer for a better view.

Calen exhaled sharply and stepped forward. "That's enough," he muttered, reaching for the door. Pamella's arm shot out, blocking him. She met his gaze, her expression defiant. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

Calen's jaw tightened. He lowered his voice. "You need to stop this."

Pamella scoffed but didn't move. The hushed voices around them only grew louder. Then, finally, the woman turned.

The moment Pamella saw her face, her smirk faltered. It wasn't Isabella Rossi. The woman was a minor actress Pamella vaguely recognized from TV dramas. The man was more recognizable—a well-known actor whose films had recently gained international attention.

Pamella's fingers twitched. "Shit."

Calen didn't hesitate. He stepped in front of Pamella, reaching for the door, but she held firm, her fingers gripping the edge. "Move," he said, his voice low.

Pamella hesitated, then released her grip, lifting her chin slightly in a show of reluctant compliance. With a sharp click, Calen shut the door, shielding the scene from view. But the damage was done.

Pamella exhaled softly before turning back to the crowd. The tension was thick, the scandalous energy palpable. Whispers continued; expressions ranged from amusement to judgment.

Then, with practiced ease, Pamella changed tack. Her fingers smoothed her dress as she looked around. "I believe we've seen enough," she declared, her words deliberate. "This is a highly private matter. We should keep this to ourselves." She reached for the door handle, pressing it shut with finality. "It would be best if we respected their privacy."

A few people exchanged glances. Pamella placed a hand on her chest, sighing as if burdened. "Gossip can be cruel," she continued. "We wouldn't want to ruin someone's reputation over a simple mistake."

Her words settled over the crowd like a net. Some nodded. Others hesitated but didn't object.

"My… this looks like a fun gathering. Can someone tell us what's going on?" Izzy's voice cut through the silence. Everyone turned towards Izzy as if they'd seen a ghost.

Pamella froze. Her fingers twitched as she turned sharply toward the voice.

Izzy stood near the edge of the crowd, her expression calm—curious, even—as she looked around. Her posture was relaxed, unaffected by the tense atmosphere.

"What are you doing here?" Pamella asked, her words clipped as she stepped forward.

Izzy tilted her head. "I was with Mr. Horvath," she said simply. "Then I thought I heard someone call my name. I noticed the crowd, so I came over." She glanced around, feigning innocence. "Did someone call me?"

Pamella's face reddened. She had actually thought the woman was Izzy! How could that starlet be so similar? She'd gotten excited and mentioned Izzy's name, intending to expose her.

Behind Izzy, Liam stepped closer, his gaze cool as he surveyed the scene. Then, casually, he looked at Pamella. "Miss Johnson," he said, "were you the one who called for Izzy?"

Pamella's fingers clenched. She opened her mouth, hesitated. Eyes were on her—waiting. "I—" she stuttered, quickly correcting herself. "I mistook someone else for her."

Izzy frowned, looking between Pamella and the crowd. "Mistook?" she repeated, her brows furrowed. "That's strange. I've been with Mr. Horvath this entire time."

A murmur rippled through the onlookers. "What do you mean, mistook someone?" Izzy continued, her gaze locking onto Pamella's. "Who did you think I was?"

Pamella gritted her teeth. The more she tried to explain, the more tangled the situation became. The eyes on her felt heavier, their curiosity shifting to suspicion.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Izzy was supposed to be inside the restroom, caught with the actor, humiliated. But instead, she was standing here, untouched.

Why?

Pamella's jaw tightened, her frustration mounting as the realization settled in. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.