Chapter 325
Kaiden approached with two friends.
He knocked the book out of her hand. Then he kicked her in the shin. Hard. Effie tried to walk away. Kaiden grabbed her by the hair and shoved her into the metal slide pole.
It wasn’t a fight. It was an execution.
Grayson watched in silence, his face draining of color. “My god.”
He clicked to the previous day.
Another clip. Kaiden stealing her lunch and throwing it into the dirt.
Click. Kaiden locking her inside a bathroom stall while she cried.
It had been going on for months. Systematic, deliberate torture.
Grayson closed his eyes. “He’s a monster.”
“We didn’t want to disturb you, sir,” the Headmaster whispered.
Pо𝗉𝘶𝗅𝗮𝗿 stо𝗿ieѕ on 𝗴a𝘭ո𝗼𝘃el𝘀.𝗰𝗈𝗆
“Copy the files to this drive,” Grayson said.
The next morning, Isolde was summoned to the Lancaster Office.
She walked in expecting an apology. She expected to hear that Kaiden had been suspended.
Grayson sat behind his desk looking tired and unshaven.
“I saw the footage,” he said. “You were right.”
Isolde nodded. “And? Is he expelled?”
Grayson slid a check across the desk.
Isolde looked at it. $100,000.
“This is for Effie’s pain and suffering,” he said quietly. “And a donation to her college fund.”
Isolde stared at the check. “I don’t want money. I want safety.”
Grayson rubbed his face. “Kaiden is troubled. Expelling him would ruin his permanent record and destroy his chances at the Ivy League.” He exhaled heavily, the weight of it settling across his shoulders. “Kaiden is a Lancaster heir. Expelling him from St. Jude’s would follow him to every elite preparatory school, close doors before he’s old enough to open them himself. This isn’t about a single record, Isolde — it’s about the family’s standing in this city. Every parent in the St. Jude’s network, every board member, every donor, would look at us differently. It would affect everything.”
Isolde felt the air leave the room.
“I think it’s best,” Grayson said carefully, “if Effie transfers to a different school.”
Isolde couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“You want to move the victim?” she whispered.
“St. Jude’s is high pressure,” Grayson reasoned. “Maybe she needs a softer environment. It avoids conflict. It solves the problem.”
Isolde rose slowly from her chair. The last remaining ember of respect she had held for him went out in that moment.
“It solves your problem,” she said.
She didn’t touch the check.
“You just chose your son over your daughter,” Isolde said. “Again.”
She turned and walked out.
Grayson sat alone in his office, staring at the check on the desk. He knew he was a coward. But he was a Lancaster. And Lancasters protected the heir.
Even when the heir was rotten.
Isolde stopped at the elevator doors. The polished metal reflected a woman she barely recognized — pale, trembling, but with eyes that burned like dry ice.
She stared at her own reflection. He chose the abuser. Again.
.
.