Alaric abruptly stopped in his tracks.
Isabella hastily tried to regain his attention. "Dad, should we—"
"Hold on."
Alaric held up a hand to silence her, his entire focus hijacked by the voice broadcasting through the room.
Isabella blinked, following his gaze, and instantly froze.
The conference room, which had been buzzing with chaotic energy just moments ago, was now blanketed in a heavy silence.
Everyone instinctively fell silent. The only sound left in the room was a clean, soothing female voice flowing through the speakers, as crisp and melodious as a clear stream.
"Who is that interpreter?" Alaric murmured.
Isabella stared at her father, her stomach plummeting.
She had never, in her entire life, seen such raw admiration and intrigue in his eyes.
Her nails dug sharply into her palms as she clenched her fists.
Monica quickly stepped up to answer. "Her name is Chloe Reed. She's Quentin Shaw's assistant."
"Chloe Reed..."
Alaric repeated the name under his breath. It sounded profoundly familiar, like a memory he couldn't quite place, yet it eluded him.
A few minutes later, Chloe concluded her translation.
The atmosphere in the room had shifted entirely.
No one had expected a mere assistant to actually step up after Isabella's masterful showcase.
And absolutely no one anticipated that Chloe's performance would arguably be... better.
It was the unspoken truth hanging heavily over the crowd, though nobody dared to say it out loud.
Isabella's translation was technically flawless and standard, but she lacked true comprehension of the tech industry, resulting in a rigid, word-for-word dictation.
In contrast, Chloe made complex concepts accessible. Her logic was razor-sharp, and her grasp of professional terminology was impeccable. The gap in skill was glaringly obvious.
Yet, nobody dared breathe a word of judgment.
Chloe was just an assistant, while Isabella was the undisputed queen of the Institute and the sole heiress of the Sylvain family...

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