The next morning, Chase pulled the car into the visitor’s parking lot of the triplets’ elite private school nestled behind gates and manicured hedges. Ariel sat in the passenger seat, her jaw tight, fingers clenched around her handbag. She hadn’t spoken much during the drive, but her silence screamed with rage.
The moment the engine stopped, she turned to Chase.
“If they let her near him… if they even let her in—”
“We’ll find out,” Chase said, voice equally tight. “And whoever allowed it will deal with the consequences.”
They walked into the school office together, a striking couple—Ariel in a sleek black blazer and leggings, Chase in a crisp shirt, both visibly restrained in their fury. The receptionist, a woman in her fifties with a clipped British accent, offered them a polite but
