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Chapter 723
Chapter 723:
She ripped her arm free and shoved her mother hard in the chest. “I am useless?!” Belle roared, her face twisted with rage. “If you hadn’t forced me to walk up to that stage tonight, I wouldn’t be sitting in the gutter right now p>
The two women began shoving and slapping each other in the pouring rain. The paparazzi recorded every second of the ugly, pathetic brawl with eager precision. The footage was already being uploaded to Twitter.
A sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb, splashing dirty water across the sidewalk — the car Grayson had pre-arranged to take Belle to a victory dinner that would never happen. The driver stepped out with a large black umbrella, opened the rear door without a glance at either woman, and waited.
Belle saw the dark interior of the car like a lifeline. She scrambled off the concrete, pushed past a photographer, and threw herself into the back seat. Cheryl climbed in right behind her, panting heavily.
The heavy door slammed shut. The chaotic noise of the rain and the shouting reporters was instantly cut off.
𝖰𝗎а𝗅𝗶𝘁𝘺 𝗍𝗿𝗮𝗇𝘀lаti𝗼nѕ 𝗼ո
The silence inside the luxury cabin was thick and suffocating.
Belle slumped back against the premium leather seat. Cheryl sat in the opposite corner, shivering uncontrollably, glaring with a mixture of resentment and fear — but Belle ignored her completely. Her entire body shook from the cold and the adrenaline. She stared out the tinted window at the glowing sign of the Waldorf Astoria.
The crushing humiliation in her chest began to curdle and mutate, hardening into a pure, toxic, highly concentrated hatred for Isolde Carson. Belle refused to blame her own stupidity. She convinced herself that Isolde had orchestrated the entire public execution.
She reached into her wet designer bag with trembling fingers and pulled out her phone. The screen lit up, showing a confirmation email for a highly exclusive venture capital roadshow in Silicon Valley.
Her eyes narrowed into dark, venomous slits.
“You think you won, Isolde?” Belle whispered to the empty air. Her teeth ground together. “Wait until I show Silicon Valley that revolutionary algorithm. When I secure that one hundred and fifty million dollars, I will buy your family’s company and make you scrub my floors p>
The Maybach accelerated into the stormy Manhattan night, carrying a desperate thief straight toward her own total annihilation.
Thirty minutes later, Secretary Warren walked out through the heavy oak door, clutching three pages of hotel stationery covered in Isolde’s complex equations as though they were made of solid gold.
The door clicked shut. The cigar lounge fell into a deep, weighted silence.
Alistair sat across from Isolde. He slowly crushed the glowing cherry of his cigar into a crystal ashtray, his sharp eyes studying her face, searching for any sign of weakness. He found none.
“You are far more dangerous than I anticipated, Isolde,” he said, his voice carrying a rare note of appreciation. “You gave him the exact solution to his problem, but you never once mentioned that you are the legendary ‘Sophia.’ You let the math prove your value p>
Isolde picked up a crystal glass of sparkling water and took a slow sip, her expression unnervingly calm.