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Chapter 661
Chapter 661:
“You still have contacts in the Upper East Side prep school circles,” Belle said, her voice dropping to a toxic, conspiratorial whisper. “The mothers who buy study aids for their children. I need Adderall. The highest milligram dosage you can find on the black market. The pure stuff p>
A stunned silence fell over the line.
“Belle, are you out of your mind?” Cheryl gasped. “He’s five years old! A high dose of amphetamines could fry his central nervous system. It could cause permanent heart damage p>
“I don’t care!” Belle screamed into the phone, her face twisting into something ugly and unrecognizable. “If we lose the Lancaster trust fund, his health won’t matter because we’ll be starving. Get the pills, Mom. Get them tonight p>
𝘑oin t𝘩𝗈𝘂𝘀𝘢n𝗱ѕ 𝗼𝘧 𝗳а𝘯ѕ 𝘰ո
She hung up. She stared at her own reflection for a long moment. Then she unlocked the door and walked back down the hall to Kaiden’s room.
She stepped over the broken toys and sat on the edge of the bed. She placed a gentle, soothing hand on Kaiden’s trembling back and forced a sweet, maternal smile onto her face.
“Don’t cry, baby,” Belle cooed softly, stroking his hair. “Mommy has a secret. Mommy is going to get you a magic pill. It’s going to make you the smartest boy in the whole world. You’re going to crush Effie p>
Kaiden stopped crying. He looked up at her, his red-rimmed eyes filling with a desperate, naive hope.
He had no idea his mother had just signed his death warrant.
The crystal chandeliers of the Manhattan charity gala threw harsh, fractured light across the ballroom.
Isolde Carson stood near the edge of the crowd in a minimalist black haute couture gown that clung to her frame. The fabric offered no embellishments — only sharp, architectural lines that mirrored the cold precision in her eyes. She held a flute of champagne, the chilled glass pressed against her palm, grounding her.
She was hunting. Carson Dynamics needed a secondary supply chain ally to solidify the deal with Harrington Capital, and this room was filled with the apex predators of Wall Street.
A tall man detached himself from a cluster of hedge fund managers and walked directly toward her.
Elias Cole. A venture capital giant known for hostile takeovers and a terrifyingly accurate intuition.
“Ms. Carson,” Elias said. His voice was smooth, but his dark eyes moved across her face like a scanner.
“Mr. Cole,” Isolde replied. She did not extend her hand — only offered a polite, millimeter-deep nod.
“I have been following the recent volatility surrounding SkyLine Technologies,” Elias noted, stepping a fraction of an inch too close. “There is a rumor circulating in the deep tech forums. They say the architecture for the Phoenix-X7 wasn’t built by their internal team. They say a ghost built it — someone operating under the handle Sophia p>
Isolde’s heart executed a single, hard thump against her ribs.
She kept her breathing perfectly even and took a slow sip of her champagne.
“The tech industry runs on ghost stories, Mr. Cole,” Isolde said, her voice a flat, unreadable surface. “People prefer myths to the boring reality of corporate data entry p>