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Chapter 716
Chapter 716:
She stopped mid-sentence with the venture capitalists and handed her champagne flute to a passing waiter. The crowd parted naturally as she walked toward the press scrum, the crimson dress cutting through the sea of black tuxedos like a blade.
She stepped directly into the circle of journalists and stood face-to-face with Belle.
“Is that so, Ms. Escobar?” Isolde asked. Her voice was smooth, polite, and absolutely lethal.
Belle’s smile faltered. A flicker of genuine panic crossed her eyes.
“Since your team is responsible for the breakthrough,” Isolde continued, angling herself slightly so the Forbes microphone would capture every word, “perhaps you can explain to the press how you utilized the Navier-Stokes equations to resolve the singularity problem within the high-dimensional fluid dynamics model p>
It was a graduate-level physics trap, elegantly laid.
Belle froze. Her brain short-circuited. She stared at Isolde, her mouth opening and closing. She had absolutely no idea what those words meant.
у𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗻e𝘹𝘵 𝖿𝘢v𝘰𝗋𝗶𝘁е 𝗋𝖾𝘢𝘥 𝘪𝗌 𝗼ո ѕ.𝖼𝘰m
“I… well, that is…” Belle stammered, sweat breaking out on her forehead. “That specific calculation is proprietary. I cannot discuss it p>
Isolde let out a sharp, ringing laugh — pure, unadulterated mockery.
“Proprietary?” she repeated, her voice rising so the entire ballroom could hear. “Or is it because you do not possess even a basic undergraduate understanding of fluid mechanics? You are a fraud, Belle. You steal other people’s work and put your name on it p>
The journalists erupted. Microphones surged toward Belle’s face. Camera flashes fired like strobe lights.
“Ms. Escobar, can you answer the question?” the Forbes reporter pressed.
Belle backed away, her face burning with humiliation. Her eyes swept frantically around the room until they found Grayson, silently begging him to save her.
Grayson pushed through the crowd and grabbed Isolde’s bare wrist, his grip tight and punishing.
“That is enough, Isolde,” he hissed, attempting to pull her away from the cameras. “Stop making a scene p>
Isolde wrenched her arm from his grasp with violent force and turned on him with absolute disgust.
“I am not making a scene,” she said loudly. “I am taking out the trash that is trying to defraud investors using the Lancaster name p>
Grayson’s eyes dropped to the plunging neckline of her crimson dress. His jealousy and anger curdled into something toxic.
“You wore this dress and came over here just to humiliate me,” he growled, his voice vibrating with possessive rage. “You are trying to get the attention of every man in this room just to punish me p>
Isolde looked at him and felt a profound, settled pity for his massive, fragile ego.
She leaned in close.
“You think entirely too highly of yourself, Grayson,” she whispered, the words cutting straight to bone. “I did not wear this for you. I wore this to welcome the true king of this family p>
Grayson’s brow furrowed in confusion.
Before he could speak, a massive, echoing boom shook the ballroom.
The towering, twenty-foot brass doors at the main entrance were thrown open simultaneously. Two lines of elite, heavily armed private security contractors marched into the room, forcefully pressing the guests back and cutting a wide, clear path down the center of the ballroom.
The orchestra stopped mid-note. The chatter died instantly.