Chapter 172:


    Isolde didn’t flinch. She finished capping her pen, the click sounding like a gunshot in the small space between them, and looked up, her eyes cold and clear.


    “Technology evolves, Daron,” she said, her voice steady. “But thews of physics tend to stay the same. Gravity doesn’t care about your marketing budget. And drag coefficients don’t care about your ego.”


    Daron opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. He looked at her — really looked at her — and for the first time didn’t see the woman he had mocked at the g. He saw a wall he couldn’t climb. He scoffed, a sound of pure frustration, and stormed off toward the bar.


    Isolde let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She turned, scanning the room.


    Across the lounge, Belle was reapplying her lipstick in apact mirror. The shade was aggressive — a bright crimson meant to signal power. She snapped thepact shut, smoothed her gold dress, and surveyed the room like a predator spotting prey.


    Her target was Professor Eldridge Nelson.


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    The old man sat in a leather armchair, reviewing a stack of data sheets, a ss of water untouched beside him. He was the gatekeeper of the Summit. His approval was the gold standard.


    Isolde watched from the shadows as Belle approached him, hips swaying, that practiced, perfect smile fixed in ce.


    “Professor Nelson,” Belle purred, extending a hand. “It’s such an honor. I’m Belle Escobar, the Chief Designer for InnoTech — and the vision behind the Phoenix project.”


    Nelson didn’t look up. He flipped a page, his brow furrowed. “Escobar. The firm that was gged for giarism on the guidance systems five years ago?”


    Belle’s smile froze. It didn’t drop, but the corners twitched. A few people nearby chuckled into their drinks.


    “That was a corporate misunderstanding,” Belle said, her voice tightening. She lowered her hand. “I actually wanted to pick your brain about theputational fluid dynamics of the supercritical airfoil. We’re encountering some interesting boundaryyer separation data at high angles of attack.”


    Nelson finally looked up. He pushed his sses down his nose and peered at her over the rims, his gaze withering.


    “Pick my brain?” he repeated. “Young woman, even if you’ve memorized a page from a textbook, I doubt we speak the samenguage. I don’t discuss fluid dynamics with people who think ‘drag’ is just a term for a bad day.”


    Belle’s face drained of color as though he had pped her. She took a step back, her mouth opening and closing.


    Grayson stood near a pir, watching. He frowned, his hand half-raised as if to intervene — but he stayed put. He saw the humiliation. He saw the crowd’s amusement. And he didn’t move to save her.


    Isolde felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Administrator Sterling’s personal secretary — a sharp-looking woman with a tablet.


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