Chapter 228
Isolde didn’t look at him. She held a dustpan in her uninjured hand, methodically sweeping the last few shimmering crystals from the floor. With a sharp tilt of her wrist, she dumped them into the trash can. The beads struck the metal bottom with a brittle, final sound.
“Ask your son,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
Grayson frowned and stepped closer to the trash can. Inside, amid the dust, lay a pile of familiar crystal beads. He recognized them instantly — a necklace Isolde used to wear often. Simple, elegant. One of her favorites.
“Kaiden did this?” he asked, looking up at her, disbelief and realization fighting for ground.
Isolde let out a short, humorless laugh. “He wanted to make a gift for Belle. He thought my necklace would look better as a bracelet for her. Truly touching filial piety.”
Grayson’s face darkened. He turned and walked into the living room, where Kaiden was sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep. The boy’s breathing was heavy, his mouth slightly open, a smear of chocolate at the corner of his lips. A piece of rough twine was still clutched loosely in his small, sticky hand.
The evidence was undeniable.
A𝗱𝖽𝘪c𝗍𝗶v𝗲 ѕ𝘁𝗼𝗋𝗂e𝘴 o𝘯 ga𝗅𝘯𝗈vе𝗹ѕ.cо𝗺
Grayson turned back to Isolde, his eyes moving to her bandaged arm. “Your hand —”
“It’s fine,” she cut him off, turning to grab her purse.
“Let me see it,” he said, stepping forward with an instinct to check the wound, to offer something.
Isolde reacted as though he were a hot iron. She stepped back sharply, dodging his hand with a look of pure repulsion. “Don’t touch me.” Her eyes were cold, hard flint. “Since you’re back, give me the vase. I’m leaving immediately.”
Grayson glanced at the window. Rain lashed against the glass in a torrential downpour that turned the city lights into bleeding streaks of color. “It’s late, and the weather is terrible. Stay tonight. You can leave in the morning.”
“I don’t want to stay here a single second longer than I have to,” Isolde said, her voice trembling with suppressed rage.
A sudden wave of panic moved through Grayson. He remembered a time when she would have invented any excuse to stay near him, to linger in his space. Now she looked at his home as though it were a prison — or worse, something beneath contempt.
“Belle is still in San Francisco,” Grayson said, grasping for any reason to keep her there. “I can’t handle Kaiden alone when he wakes up. You know how he gets.”
Isolde’s expression turned cold and precise. “That is your problem, Grayson. Our deal was for the weekend. You are back. The weekend is over. The transaction is complete.”
She didn’t wait for a response. She walked past him into the guest room, and a moment later emerged with The Tear of Time cradled securely against her chest. It was heavy, but she held it like a lifeline.
Grayson moved to fill the doorway, his frame blocking the exit. “Isolde, wait.” He looked at her — really looked at her — searching for the woman who used to look back at him with adoration. “Why did we become like this? Why do you hate me this much?”
.