Chapter 130:


    The boy’s mother — a woman with an expression made rigid by too much Botox — rose to her feet. “That is psychological bullying! My son is sensitive, and your daughter is a savage! He pushed her and she fell!”


    “Your son was repeating nder,” Isolde said, her voice perfectly cold. “And it appears my daughter responded with facts. He put his hands on her, and she got a scratch. If he bullies my daughter again, I won’t teach her to use her words. I’ll teach her to sue for defamation.”


    She took Effie’s hand. “We’re leaving.”


    In the car, Isolde checked her phone.


    Belle had posted again. This time, she had tagged Isolde.


    The photo was taken inside the Penthouse. In the background, clearly visible, hung Isolde’s favorite painting — a gift from her father.


    The caption read: Redecorating! Out with the old, in with the new. @IsoldeCarson — thanks for the space!


    Isolde stared at the screen.


    They were in the Penthouse.


    “Driver,” Isolde said. “Change of ns. Take us to 100 Central Park South.”


    “Mommy?” Effie asked.


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    “We have some trash to take out,” Isolde said.


    The elevator opened directly into the Penthouse foyer.


    The main security codes had been changed, of course. But Grayson had forgotten who designed the system. Isolde pulled out her phone, her thumb moving across the screen with quiet precision. A simple script activated a ghost protocol she had embedded in the source code years ago, for exactly this kind of emergency. The electronic lock clicked open with a weing chime Grayson had never even known existed.


    She stepped inside.


    “Hello?” a voice called from the living room.


    Isolde walked in.


    Belle was lying on the white sofa — Isolde’s white sofa — eating strawberries. Kaiden ran in circles nearby, buzzing a toy drone close to the ceiling.


    Belle sat up and dropped a strawberry. It left a red stain blooming across the white fabric.


    “How did you get in?” Belle shrieked.


    “I have my ways,” Isolde said. “This is still my legal residence until the divorce is final. You’re trespassing.”


    “Grayson said I could stay!” Belle stood and smoothed her dress. She was wearing the emerald brooch.


    Isolde’s eyes fixed on it.


    “Take it off,” Isolde said.


    “Make me,” Belle smirked. “Possession is nine-tenths of thew.”


    Isolde walked past her without another word, heading straight for the master bedroom.


    “Hey — where are you going?” Belle ran after her.


    Isolde pushed the bedroom door open.


    The room was a disaster. Clothes nketed every surface — Belle’s cheap, shy pieces tangled among Isolde’s tailored suits as though they belonged there.


    Isolde reached into the closet and pulled out a ck trash bag.


    She began yanking Belle’s clothes from the hangers.


    “Stop it!” Belle screamed, grabbing Isolde’s arm.


    Isolde spun around. She did not use her injured arm. She used her body weight, driving her shoulder forward and shoving Belle back hard.


    “Don’t touch me,” Isolde said.


    She swept an armful of dresses into the bag — sequins, polyester, feathers.


    “You’re crazy!” Belle yelled. “Kaiden! Help!”


    Kaiden came running. He saw the woman he called Mommy being threatened, and his small face twisted with fury.


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