"I'm paying for my child to attend this elite academy to learn, not to be dragged here every other day for reprimands. If your institution can't manage simple conflicts between children, perhaps you should reconsider your operations before wasting everyone's valuable time."

The teachers stood frozen, heads bowed like chastened schoolchildren. These students were treated like royalty—no discipline, no raised voices. The only option was summoning the parents.

But facing Alexander Blackwood, they couldn’t deflect blame. Their voices trembled. "You're absolutely right, Mr. Blackwood. We’ll ensure this doesn’t happen again."

Alexander gave a curt nod before handing an envelope to Amy. "This is for you."

Amy took it without needing to look inside. "Thank you."

Alexander glanced at Oliver. "Amy has matters to attend to. You’ll come home with me today."

Oliver nodded obediently. "Okay, Amy. I’ll go with Dad. We can practice piano tomorrow."

"Of course." Amy smiled as they left. The teachers scattered like leaves in the wind.

Once alone, Amy turned to Alexander. "We need to talk."

Alexander’s expression was unreadable. "At home."

This wasn’t the place for a discussion. Amy didn’t argue.

Outside the academy, they walked toward Alexander’s sleek black car.

His gaze lingered on Victoria’s reddened cheek. "I’ll take you home first. Do you need to stop by the hospital?"

Victoria forced a smile. "Alex, you and Ms. Sinclair have things to discuss. I can manage on my own."

His voice brooked no argument. "Get in the car."

Victoria hesitated, but the steel in his tone silenced her. At least this bought her time to think of an excuse.

She reached for the front passenger door—only for Alexander’s voice to freeze her. "The back."

A flicker of irritation crossed her face before she smoothed it into sweetness. "Of course."

She opened the rear door instead, gesturing to Liam. "After you, Liam."

"Thank you, Ms. Langley," Liam said politely.

Victoria’s fingers curled.

Whenever Liam grew suspicious, he reverted to formalities. If not for Amy, she’d have already secured his affection. Now, both father and son were slipping away. Her resentment burned hotter.

Amy slid into the front seat.

As she reached for the seatbelt, a small label caught her eye: Reserved for Victoria.

Her lips twisted. So, this was her throne?

Before Victoria’s return, Amy rarely rode with Alexander. On the rare occasions she did, she always sat in the back with Liam.

Now, the car was a shrine to another woman—a delicate crystal charm dangling from the mirror, floral-patterned floor mats, even the lingering trace of Victoria’s cloying perfume.

The realization hit like a slap. This space reeked of another woman’s claim, and it turned her stomach.