CHAPTER 53: THE ART OF DOMINANCE

—Alyssa—

I carefully arranged the essentials into my Birkin 25, adding a little charm to match. I think it goes with my academy uniform... or maybe I’m overdressed? No one at school carries a Birkin. Or anything from Hermès, for that matter.

"Alyssa! You’re gonna be late!" David yelled from downstairs. Classic. That brother of mine never fails to drag me out of bed and rush me like we’re in some kind of emergency.

I sighed, giving myself one last check in the mirror. Hair: perfect. Lip gloss: subtle. Outfit: borderline scandalous for a prep school, but who cares? I headed down the stairs and there she was—my stunning sister-in-law, standing like a queen in a black designer dress. No necklace, but the ring on her finger could probably buy three mansions.

"Good morning, sis!" I chirped, trying not to look too dazzled.

She smiled, effortlessly elegant. "Good morning, Aly. I’ll be escorting you to school today. Your mother has an important meeting, so I’ll be attending the PTA in her place."

PTA? That’s today? Great. Just my luck. Hopefully, she won’t believe any of the crap those moms spew. They always make me out to be some villain, and Mom always buys it. I glanced at Jane—bodyguard/nurse/human fashion statement—carrying a customized Mini Kelly. Wow. My sister-in-law really is perfect for our family.

"What necklace are you wearing?" she asked.

"Uhh... nothing. I don’t usually wear one."

"Wear this."

She handed me a black velvet box. I hesitated, opening it slowly. My jaw dropped. Inside was a diamond-studded crown pendant, elegantly curved, the kind that screamed royalty and danger.

"Is this real?"

She gave me a half-smile. "I don’t wear fakes, my dear."

I slipped it on with a grin, practically glowing as I turned to David. "Look!"

He yawned, barely registering it. "That’s nice. Be good at school." He kissed the top of my head like always.

"Don’t lose it, alright?" she said, her tone suddenly sharp. "It’s insured, and if anything happens to it, investigators will be involved."

"Okay," I muttered, half-amused.

"The same goes for the bag," she added, cool and commanding. Honestly, she’s kind of amazing.

We stepped outside, and I blinked. I expected the usual van, but nope—there was a sleek black Rolls-Royce waiting, tinted like a spaceship. I don’t even remember us owning a car like this?

She slid inside, the door held open like royalty, and I followed, setting my bag neatly between us.

"Whoa," I breathed, eyeing the mini-cooler and polished wood trim. "So... PTA?"

"Yes. Your mother already briefed me, and Jane will be filling me in on every detail."

"Oh-kay..." I exhaled, suddenly anxious. Wearing this bag at school definitely won’t stop Tiffany from mocking me. If anything, it’ll make things worse. But whatever. An hour in this car? I can survive that.

When we arrived, the Rolls pulled right up to the main building. The driver opened the door for Livana, while Jane opened mine.

I stepped out and picked up my purse. Livana held out her left hand at waist level, and I instinctively took it. Her walking stick rested gracefully in her other hand, with that Mini Kelly dangling like jewelry on her wrist.

"Lead the way, Aly," she said warmly.

We entered the building, and I knew people were staring. Not at me, of course—at her. She had this aura that sucked up all the attention in the room.

"I’ll walk you to your classroom," she said.

"Okay," I shrugged. "But... you’re seriously turning heads."

"My dear," she said with a soft laugh, "I’ve been turning heads since the first time I stepped into this school."

I couldn’t help but grin. "I heard."

We took the elevator to the third floor, and when we reached my classroom door, I paused.

"Okay, this is it. I’ll head in and—"

"Hmm," she interrupted gently, "make sure you’re the most powerful one in that room."

It sounded soft, but it was a command. I knew what she meant: don’t get bullied. Easy to say. Harder to do when I’m outnumbered every single time.

"Okay. Enjoy the PTA?" I said, forcing a smile.

"I certainly will." She reached for my face, and I leaned in. She kissed my temple and wiped it gently. "The Birkin has a hidden camera. If anyone tries to steal or damage it, they’ll regret it. And yes—it’s insured."

I nodded, shooting a quick glance at Jane before stepping inside.

I walked straight to my seat, placed my bag on the desk like it was my throne, and pulled out my tablet to check today’s schedule.

That’s when Tiffany sauntered over.

"It’s the first time your brother’s mistress had the guts to drop you off," she sneered.

I slowly lowered my tablet. "Mistress?" I scoffed. "Wow, Tiffany. Is your sister that delusional she didn’t tell you? They’re married. That’s right—my brother married that goddess."

Tiffany’s face twisted as eyes from all corners of the room turned toward us.

"Your sister tried so hard to claw her way back into our family. But guess what? My sister-in-law? She’s not just suitable—she’s overqualified to be my brother’s wife."

"You’re lying," she hissed, her eyes twitching.

"Sure," I said sweetly. "And yet, your sister’s out here shading my sister-in-law on social media, acting like she still has a chance. Meanwhile, my other brother’s already filling in for the engagement parties—and, well, in bed too. So technically? She’s engaged to him now."

Tiffany raised her hand, eyes blazing, but before she could move, I slammed my hand on the desk and stood up.

"Go on. Slap me," I dared, staring her down. My voice dropped, low and lethal. "I dare you."

My glare locked onto hers, my heart pounding but my stare unfaltering.

"You know nothing, Tiffany. I’m sick of you trying to destroy me. But this time? I’m destroying you—and your entire pathetic family."

—Livana—

I arrived earlier than expected, so I stopped by the café and sat with Jane. I planned to be a few minutes late for the meeting. I ordered a cup of tea while waiting for the meeting to begin. My earpods were in, and I listened intently to my dear sister-in-law defending herself—this time, with fire in her voice. I’m proud of her. But I know it won’t end there.

Girls like Tiffany? They grow into women like her sister—delusional, entitled, and utterly foolish most of the time.

Earlier, my mother-in-law handed me a file containing detailed records of each PTA officer. I had already reviewed them during the drive here. Their tricks, their affiliations, their children’s antics—I know all of it. My mother-in-law remained silent in the last meeting, even though she knew they were lying about Alyssa. But now? Now, we have evidence. This time, I will dismantle every false accusation—and if it comes to it, I’ll destroy their children’s futures. I can do that, right?

"Miss Carrington?"

A familiar voice called out. I removed my sunglasses and reached for my walking stick, turning toward the voice’s direction.

"Oh, it’s you!" the woman said brightly, her voice crisp, slightly high-pitched—refined. "Oh, Miss Carrington, it’s so good to see you again."

I stood, poised. "Miss Carly?"

"Yes," she replied.

I extended my hand, which she took with both of hers.

"What a surprise," I said smoothly.

"Hmm, indeed. I just happened to be around when I heard. You’re escorting your sister-in-law today?"

"Yes. I walked her to her classroom, and I’ll be filling in for her mother at the PTA meeting."

"Oh, perfect. The meeting is just about to begin. Shall I escort you?"

"Yes, please," I said, extending my walking stick.

She took a step closer and gently held my left arm.

"Wh–what happened?" she asked softly.

"It’s a long story. It’s been three years..."

"Oh, I’m so sorry, dear."

I offered a small, graceful smile. I could hear Jane’s quiet footsteps behind us, always close.

We chatted as we made our way to the meeting room. As we entered, I caught the scent of sweets—likely pastries, perhaps those cheap ones they serve to seem hospitable.

"Mrs. Smith," Miss Carly called out, "this is Livana Carrington. She’ll be filling in for—"

"Oh, Livana?" came Mrs. Smith’s voice, touched with a subtle British accent, if I wasn’t mistaken.

"Yes, it’s Livana Carrington-Blackwell," I corrected, clearly and calmly. "I believe my mother-in-law, Ameliee, informed you?"

"Yes, yes! Please, have a seat. I’ll introduce you to everyone."

She sounded overly cheerful—fake. I turned slightly toward Miss Carly.

"Blackwell, huh?" she said teasingly. "Never thought you’d marry a Blackwell. Is it... Damon?"

I smiled faintly. "Long story, Miss Carly."

"I’ll see you around," she said with a light pat to my hand.

"Jane," I murmured. She gently guided me to my seat. The chair was plush and comfortable—one thing they managed to do right.

"I apologize, Mrs. Blackwell," Mrs. Smith began. "We didn’t prepare a Braille copy of today’s agenda for your condition."

"No need to worry," I replied. "My assistant is here for that."

Today’s agenda focused on student conduct, extracurricular activities, and cyberbullying. Of course, one of the officers present was Tiffany’s mother. I doubt she was thrilled to see me here. I could hear the whispers already—gossip, scandal, judgment.

"The reason we’ve called this meeting," Mrs. Smith began, "is the current behavioral climate among our students. We do not tolerate bullying, and I plan to speak with each of you regarding the matter."

"I think we should address it now," came a voice from across the table. Mrs. Dela Vega, the vice president.

"Well, if you suggest that, Mrs. Dela Vega," Mrs. Smith replied smoothly.

"I believe we need to discuss Alyssa Blackwell and her friends," another mother chimed in. Jane quietly whispered her name to me—Mrs. Yu. I mentally filed it away.

"She’s been... problematic," Mrs. Yu added.

"Problematic? How so?" I asked, my voice even.

"Well, Miss Livana..." she began, attempting politeness. "A few weeks ago, my daughter returned home with her uniform soaked in orange juice. She said Alyssa threw it at her."

"Allegedly," I interjected calmly. "You should say ’allegedly,’ Mrs. Yu."

"Pardon?"

"You’re making a serious claim. Does your daughter have any evidence that Alyssa threw the juice?"

"My daughter said so, and there were students who witnessed it," she replied defensively.

"Who were those students?"

"Her friends were there, Miss Livana," she snapped, trying to assert herself.

I hummed lightly. "Well... let’s take a look, shall we?"

Jane, ever efficient, played the video. She had already described it to me. In the footage, Tiffany and her group were harassing Alyssa and her friends. Tiffany threw water on Alyssa’s clothes first. When Alyssa stood up to defend herself, Tiffany grabbed an orange juice, intending to throw it—until Alyssa twisted her wrist and the juice spilled onto Tiffany’s own friend.

"Jane," I said, "please explain to the room what they’re seeing."

"This is the raw footage from the cafeteria," Jane announced. "The time-stamp matches the day in question. You can clearly see the sequence of events."

Silence fell across the room.

"My mother-in-law couldn’t make it today," I began, "but she ensured we had all the evidence prepared. Now, I propose we move forward with suspension—or, in severe cases, expulsion—of students who’ve repeatedly acted as bullies in this institution."

I turned my head slightly. "What do you think, Mrs. Dela Vega?"