Chapter 252
Belle stood awkwardly by the bed, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. She looked at Grayson, silently begging him to let her stay. Beatrice didn’t even glance at her.
“Irrelevant people out, too.”
Belle’s face drained of color. She looked at Grayson once more.
Grayson closed his eyes. The throbbing in his head was getting worse. “Belle, go rest.”
Belle bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, but she turned and hurried out the door, pulling it shut behind her.
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Beatrice pulled up a chair and sat down, resting both hands on the head of her cane. “I am going to ask you this once, Grayson,” she said, her eyes locking onto his. “Whose child is Kaiden?”
а𝖽dic𝘵𝗂𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝘵𝘰𝗿і𝖾s 𝗈n 𝘨al𝗻𝗼vel𝘴.𝖼o𝗺
Grayson’s chest tightened. The lie was automatic, drilled into his brain over five years. He opened his mouth to give the standard answer, but the steel in his grandmother’s eyes told him the old deflection wouldn’t work.
“His biological mother is Belle. You know this. Legally, he is my ward. Evander’s name is on the certificate.”
Beatrice leaned forward. “I am old, Grayson. I am not blind. I was standing right there at the polo club when he called Belle ‘Mommy.’”
Grayson kept his face perfectly blank. “That’s Belle — also his godmother — showing the child’s dependence after being frightened.”
Beatrice let out a long, tired sigh. “You are building a fortress of lies. And to protect those lies, you are pushing away the only woman who ever truly cared about you.”
“Isolde is throwing a tantrum,” Grayson said, his voice hardening.
He clenched his right hand into a fist. The sudden tension in his muscles caused the clear fluid in his IV line to back up, a streak of dark red blood creeping up the plastic tube.
“She is using this divorce as a negotiation tactic,” he continued, ignoring the sting in his hand. “She has no money. She has no career. She cannot survive without the Lancaster trust.”
Beatrice stood up slowly and looked down at him with profound pity. “I hope your arrogance keeps you warm at night, Grayson. Because when it finally breaks, the regret is going to destroy you. Rest. I will monitor the company.”
She turned and walked out.
Grayson stared at the acoustic tiles on the ceiling. A hot, ugly wave of frustration boiled in his stomach. He reached over with his good arm and grabbed his phone from the bedside table. He opened his messaging app and tapped on Isolde’s profile.
Nothing. Not a single text. Not a missed call. Not even a generic inquiry about whether he was alive or dead.
Grayson’s jaw locked. He threw the phone toward the foot of the bed. It bounced off the blanket and clattered to the floor.
Fine. If she wanted to be this ruthless, he would stop holding back. He would handle her exactly as he handled a hostile corporate takeover.
The Upper West Side apartment was quiet.
.
.