Chapter 246
Nearly every contestant wore ashen expressions after hearing Roschelle’s performance, hanging their heads low as if already foreseeing their own defeat.
So when Alarieka’s applause broke the silence, they all turned to stare at her in disbelief, their eyes questioning her sanity.
Ignoring their stares, Alarieka kept clapping for Roschelle.
One contestant snapped: “Alarieka, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you keep quiet?”
Others chimed in: “Exactly, don’t you know how annoying that is?”
Clearly, these contestants channeled their own pressure into rage, directing it all at Alarieka.
Alarieka lowered her hands, meeting their gazes calmly. “Why shouldn’t I applaud such an extraordinary performance?”
The contestant rolled her eyes. “Psycho.”
Not long after, Roschelle walked in holding a bouquet of blue roses. Unlike the preliminary and semifinal rounds, this time none of the other contestants crowded around to offer compliments or congratulations. Instead, they treated Roschelle as if she were invisible, their faces expressionless as they pretended not to see her.
Roschelle didn’t mind. Her smile remained bright and confident, bordering on haughty. The sharp click of her heels echoed conspicuously through the quiet waiting room, yet she made no effort to soften her steps.
Alarieka watched as Roschelle approached—click, click, click—stopping right before her.
Alarieka stayed silent. Roschelle lifted the corner of her mouth, her tone gentle yet proud. “Alarieka, I saw you. Thanks for clapping for me.”
Alarieka replied calmly, “You’re welcome.”
Roschelle suddenly chuckled, her expression shifting as she raised an eyebrow. “But I might not have time to return the favor. Kieran and I have plans later–we’re stepping out.” She then feigned shyness, adding, “You know how it is.”
Scanning the waiting room, she smiled meaningfully. “I’m pregnant, and this place is too crowded and stuffy. Kieran worries it might affect me and the baby, so he booked the room next door for me to rest. I won’t be staying here.”
Roschelle lowered her head to inhale the scent of the blue roses, her eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “Kieran gave me these—ninety-nine stems. Absolutely stunning.”
She plucked one bloom and extended it toward Alarieka, her laugh light. “Here, have one. May my good luck rub off on you.”
Alarieka watched her monologue without responding or reaching for the flower. She glanced briefly—the rose Roschelle offered was the smallest among the ninety-nine.
Alarieka’s lips curved faintly. “No need, Ms. Whitaker. Keep it. Wouldn’t want you getting upset if I actually stole your luck.”
Roschelle’s gaze froze, then she snorted and tossed the flower onto Alarieka’s lap. “Take it. Kieran isn’t the only one sending me flowers—my fans do too. I’ve got plenty, while you have none. Consider it pity.”
Alarieka stared at her, silent.
As Roschelle turned to leave, Alarieka swept the blue rose from her knee onto the floor. “Ms. Whitaker, I really must decline,” she deliberately gasped, “Oh dear! How clumsy of me. You’d better pick it up yourself.”
Roschelle’s expression darkened as she scrutinized Alarieka with displeasure. Then she laughed, her eyes glinting with implication: “Leave it. I don’t want it anymore. Once something dirty touches it, it’s tainted.”
She lifted her foot, crushing the fallen blue rose under her heel before striding away, her posture radiating arrogance.
Alarieka watched her retreating figure, thinking slowly. She truly hoped Roschelle would return during her performance later. After all, she had a monumental “surprise” waiting for her.
At the doorway, Roschelle suddenly beamed toward the hall. A pair of leather shoes appeared at the threshold, and Alarieka’s gaze traveled upward.
It was Kieran.
Kieran slipped an arm around Roschelle’s shoulders, guiding her out.
As he turned, Kieran Argent glanced back, his gaze faint yet radiating palpable pressure.