Chapter 371
Nelson ignored Belle’s boast. He turned back to the blueprints, produced a pair of reading glasses from his pocket, and leaned in close, tracing a complex line of equations in the margin.
“This line,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a confused whisper. “It’s her hand. I would know this syntax anywhere.”
He looked up sharply, his eyes sweeping the room — as though he suspected the theft, or suspected Isolde herself was somehow tangled up in this corporate circus.
He turned abruptly back to Belle.
“Solve this equation,” he ordered. “Right now.”
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a pen, and grabbed a cocktail napkin from the table. In rapid, aggressive strokes he scribbled a complex differential equation across the paper, then slammed the napkin down in front of her.
Belle stared at it.
All the color drained from her face. Her mouth opened slightly. The symbols on the paper were entirely beyond her — an alien language, dense and impenetrable.
A heavy silence fell over the alcove.
Belle swallowed hard. Her hand trembled as she reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Qu𝗮𝘭𝗂𝗍𝗒 t𝗋a𝗻sl𝗮𝗍𝘪𝗈𝘯𝘀 o𝘯 𝗴𝘢𝘭n𝗈vе𝗅𝘴.𝗰𝗈𝘮
“I…” she stammered, her voice high and thin. “I’ve had a bit too much champagne to do high-level math right now, Professor.”
Belle let out a high, nervous laugh and used one manicured finger to push the napkin away across the table.
“Professor, please,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “This is a party, not an exam.”
Nelson’s expression turned to absolute stone. The deep lines on his face hardened into a mask of pure academic fury.
“Engineering is always an exam, Ms. Escobar,” he said, his voice carrying clearly through the sudden quiet of the alcove. “Because when buildings fall, people die. Lives depend on the math.”
He picked up the napkin and held it in front of her face. “You didn’t design this.” It was not a question — it was a brutal, undeniable fact. “You don’t even understand the basic load factors holding your own models together.”
Belle’s smile dropped completely. Her eyes widened with panic. “Are you accusing me of plagiarism?”
“I am accusing you of mediocrity,” Nelson shot back, his voice thick with contempt. “Which, in my field, is far worse.”
The cluster of investors and reporters gathered around the alcove gasped in unison. Daron McKnight, standing near the back, looked physically stunned, his mouth hanging open.
“I will not supervise your thesis,” Nelson said, turning his back on the blueprints. “And I certainly do not mentor tourists.”
Belle’s composure crumbled. The public humiliation flooded through her, turning her skin a blotchy, ugly red. Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw breath.
From the edge of the crowd, Arland let out a loud, deliberate, and thoroughly mocking laugh.
Belle whipped her head around. Her eyes found Arland — and then, standing just beside him in the shadows, she saw Isolde in the crimson dress.
Her eyes narrowed to slits of pure hatred. She raised a shaking finger and pointed it directly at Isolde.
.