Chapter Three

The voice wasn’t loud.

But it slammed into the room like a stone into still water.

Silence fell.

Just then, the door opened sharply.

Someone strode in, breath slightly short like they’d been rushing.

It was Gregory.

He looked flushed, suit slightly crooked like he’d run out of a meeting. He must’ve come in a hurry.

A few parents glanced at him but quickly looked away. Their attention stayed locked on the man at the center of the room.

Tiffany’s face lit up when she saw him, a slow smile stretching across her lips. But Isabelle stood stiffly, her gaze sharp as glass as she stared at him. Gregory hesitated, unsure where to go. His eyes flicked between the two women briefly and then he stepped forward, choosing to stand beside Isabelle.

Tiffany’s smile faltered.

Isabelle exhaled quietly as she folded her arms, her cold gaze softening, just barely.

Gregory leaned in and whispered, “What’s going on?”

But before she could speak, Aimee’s guardian did. His voice was even colder now.

He didn’t look at any one person yet every gaze dropped away from his.

“A child was humiliated. Point fingers later if you must,” he said. “Every one of you scrambling to deny your child’s part like I’m blind.”

His eyes swept the room. “My ward was bullied for no reason. Yet no one is ready to take responsibility.”

“Very well. We’ll meet in court.”

Gasps filled the room instantly.

His assistant stepped forward, sleek and professional, carrying a slim black case. He opened it and began handing out crisp business cards — one to each parent.

They accepted them hesitantly until a sharp gasp broke the air.

A father squinted at the card in his hand.

“Wait… this name. Thorne?

A murmur instantly rippled in the room.

“Thorne Corporations…?”

“I thought he looked familiar.”

Recognition bloomed like wildfire across the room.

​

Even in an international kindergarten where CEO parents were no rarity, a lot knew that name. It was a name well known in the business sector. Even Gregory looked at the man, squinting his eyes as though he just recognized him too.

The parents changed tunes instantly.

“It’s not like that, Mr. Thorne…”

“Of course, we’re very sorry.”

“The children didn’t mean…”

They were pulling their kids by the wrists, faces stiff with panic. One by one, they nudged them toward Aimee stammering apologies and forcing little hands to offer remorse.

“Say sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have done that…”

“To the young lady, now.”

Isabelle turned to her son. Ryan was still curled into Tiffany’s side, red-eyed and trembling.

She approached him quietly. “Ryan.”

Her voice was calm. But firm.

“You know better. Laughing while someone’s being hurt?” Her tone sharpened. “I didn’t raise you like that.”

Ryan flinched.

But he didn’t move. He only pressed deeper into Tiffany, shoulders shaking.

Tiffany gently stroked his hair.

“Don’t make him cry again,” she said softly. “He’s just a child. It’s not that serious.”

Isabelle’s eyes turned ice-cold.

​

“This is between me and my son.” She shot Tiffany a sharp glance. “Don’t interfere.”

Tiffany turned to Gregory.

He hesitated. Then reached out, touching Isabelle’s arm lightly.

“Isa, please,” he murmured. “Don’t push him. It’s not like he poured the paint. He just laughed.”

Isabelle recoiled like she’d been slapped.

“So that makes it okay? That’s the lesson now? That as long as you’re not the one throwing the paint, it’s fine to laugh at someone else’s pain?”

Gregory looked away.

Isabelle crouched again, voice gentler.

“Come on, sweetheart. You have to apologize.”

But Ryan whimpered, turning further away.

“Nooo! I don’t want to! I want to go home!”

Isabelle exhaled, trying to stop herself from snapping.

“See her over there?” Her voice lowered. “She’s sitting all alone, still wearing those stained clothes. Ryan… would you want someone to laugh if it happened to you?”

He looked over and seemed to understand but still wouldn’t move. He clung to Tiffany, refusing her hand.

Isabelle knew then that she couldn’t coax him to do it unless she dragged or lashed at him. So, she sighed trying to contain her anger and stood up, ignoring the two adults beside her.

Her eyes turned to Aimee.

The girl still sat in the same chair, quiet and alone. She didn’t look up as children and parents crowded around. But she was listening.

Isabelle walked over and crouched beside her.

“Hi.”

No response. The girl flinched subtly.

“I’m Ryan’s mother,” Isabelle continued, voice low. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. What happened wasn’t right. My son was wrong to laugh.”

No reaction.

Then, just briefly, Aimee looked up.

Their eyes met. And then, she looked down again.

Isabelle’s heart clenched.

She glanced at the girl’s hands stained with dried black paint. Quietly, she opened her bag and took out a soft, floral pack of tissues, placing it beside her.

“For your hands. Or anything else. No pressure.”

The assistant moved to stop Isabelle from getting closer. But the man beside him lifted a hand slightly and the assistant stopped.

Isabelle looked up and found him staring at her.

His gaze was calm but piercing. Like he could see the mess behind the smile she wore like armor.

So, she looked away avoiding his gaze.

When she turned—

She froze.

Tiffany and Gregory stood side by side, gently stroking the back of her son who was still sniffling like he was the victim.

Very much like a family.

Isabelle’s stomach twisted.

At that moment, all she wanted to do was unleash the anger rising within her. But she remembered that this was Ryan’s school. She wasn’t about to embarrass her son by causing a scene there.

So, she turned instead to Miss Donna.

The teacher looked anxious. “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Torres. I didn’t recognize you earlier—”

“That’s not your fault,” Isabelle replied coolly. “From now on, please contact me directly regarding Ryan.”

The teacher stared at her under those glasses and seemed to fully understand what she meant. She was the mother and should be the one contacted. She slowly nodded in understanding.

Isabelle gave a polite smile. “Are we to take the children home now?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Torres. School’s not over yet. We still have a few classes left.”

“Alright. I’ll get going, then.”

Then Isabelle turned and strode out without glancing at anyone.

But as she passed the hallway, she saw her husband already walking toward Aimee’s father. Probably about business.

But the other man didn’t give him—or anyone—any face.

He carried Aimee up into his arms and turned to leave, ignoring Mrs. Donna who tried to persuade him to let Aimee stay.

And in the background, Tiffany rubbed Ryan’s back gently, whispering softly to him.

Isabelle stopped and stared.

At the other woman.

At her son.

Then… she left.

What she didn’t know was that just a few minutes later, in the parking lot, the assistant whispered beside Aimee’s guardian doubtfully, “That woman really looks like… Isabelle Monroe. The one who won the Best New Actress six years ago. She doesn’t really look like her, though, so I can’t be sure. But who knows? She suddenly disappeared from the limelight. Maybe, she got married and gave birth?”

The man didn’t answer. He just glanced at the car driving away.

And even as he carried Aimee into the back seat, his eyes never left the taillights disappearing in the distance.

As if…

He had recognized her after all.