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 ising?” 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 ipetence — 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 ck coffee. She scrolled through the parents’ group chat on WhatsApp — someone had leaked the invite link to her.


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    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 ce in education. We must protect our children.


    Below it, a stream of sycophanticments 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 hourter, an email st 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 yground 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 y 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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