Chapter 55
Chapter 55:
“He was scared, Gray!” Belle cried, her voice pitching up into hysteria. “Isolde incited violence! She told Effie to attack him!”
“Enough,” Grayson said. He sounded tired. “Mother is handling it. She’s going to the school tomorrow.”
Belle froze. Victoria.
“Victoria is coming?” Belle asked, her voice small.
“Yes. To clean up your mess.”
The line went dead.
Belle stared at the phone. A slow, cruel smile touched her lips. Victoria Lancaster hated incompetence — but she hated Isolde Carson more.
By the next morning, the Upper East Side rumor mill was churning out sludge.
Did you hear? The ex-wife ordered her daughter to beat up the Lancaster heir.
I heard the girl is violent. Unstable. Just like her mother.
Isolde sat at her small kitchen table in Brooklyn, sipping black coffee. She scrolled through the parents’ group chat on WhatsApp — someone had leaked the invite link to her.
𝗗о𝘸𝘯l𝗼𝗮d P𝗗𝗙𝘴 𝖿𝘳𝘦е о𝘯 gаlո𝗈v𝗲𝗹s.𝘤o𝘮
Belle had posted a photo. It was a close-up of Kaiden’s knee adorned with a cartoon band-aid.
Caption: Heartbroken. Violence has no place in education. We must protect our children.
Below it, a stream of sycophantic comments poured in.
So sorry, Belle!
That woman is dangerous.
Poor Kaiden.
Isolde didn’t type a response. She didn’t defend herself. She simply took a screenshot and saved it to a folder named Evidence.
An hour later, an email blast went out from St. Jude’s.
Subject: Junior Math Olympiad & Selection Process
To quell the unrest and “refocus on academic excellence,” the school announced an expedited selection for the State Math Olympiad. It was a thinly veiled attempt to shift the narrative from playground brawls to prestige.
It was a battlefield.
Belle wasted no time. She posted again, this time on Instagram — a photo of Kaiden sitting in front of a stack of books he couldn’t read.
Caption: True nobility is shown through the mind, not fists. Prepping for the Olympiad! #FutureLeader
Isolde looked at Effie. The girl was sitting on the floor, arranging dry pasta noodles into geometric fractals.
“Effie,” Isolde said. “Do you want to play a game with numbers?”
Effie looked up. “Like the rocket math?”
“Yes. But against other kids. Against Kaiden.”
Effie’s eyes darkened slightly, then cleared. “I want to win,” she said softly. “I want to beat him with numbers.”
Isolde smiled. She filled out the registration form. She didn’t hire a tutor. She didn’t buy a prep course.
Grayson texted her at noon.
Grayson: I saw Effie’s name on the list. Don’t do this. Kaiden has been testing in the 98th percentile. Don’t set her up for humiliation just to spite me.
Isolde read the message, a cold smile touching her lips. The arrogance. The utter blindness. He still saw Effie as a pawn, a reflection of his own ego. Engaging with him was pointless — like arguing with a recording. She held her thumb over the screen, swiped left, and deleted the entire conversation thread. Her silence was a more powerful weapon than any retort.
She put the phone down.
That evening, in the penthouse, the air was thick with frustration.
.
.
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