Chapter 285
“Mom, look at me,” Isolde said firmly. “Stop listening to Grayson. He lies to control us.”
She reached into her back pocket, pulled out her tablet, and unlocked it with her fingerprint. She opened a secure, encrypted banking application, tapped through several menus past the standard domestic accounts, and opened the offshore portfolio. Then she turned the screen toward her mother.
Ellyn squinted at the numbers. Her eyes widened. She leaned closer to the glowing screen, blinking rapidly.
“Isolde…” Ellyn whispered, her breath catching. “What is this? This isn’t the Vanguard advance you told me about.”
“No,” Isolde said quietly. “The Vanguard money is for the company. This is mine.”
It was the accumulated royalties from the patents she had filed under the “Sophia” pseudonym over the last five years. Every time a subsidiary used a piece of her code, every time a thruster design was licensed, the money had quietly funneled into these hidden accounts — a secret empire built in the shadows of a gilded cage.
“I paid off the Estate in cash,” Isolde said, her voice steady. “I have enough for the roof. I have enough for the plumbing. I have enough to pay for Effie’s tuition at the best private school in the country until she graduates college.”
Ellyn stared at the screen, paralyzed by the eight-figure balance. “But… how? You were a housewife. You were raising Effie.”
Isolde locked the tablet and slid it back into her pocket.
“I was never just a housewife,” Isolde said, her eyes dark and hard. “I was a prisoner. And I was biding my time.”
𝗔с𝘁i𝗏e с𝘰𝗆𝗺𝗎𝗇𝗶𝘁𝘆 𝘰𝘯 g𝖺𝗅𝘯𝗼𝘷е𝗅ѕ.c𝘰𝗆
The private elevator chimed. The doors slid open directly into the foyer.
Grayson stepped out.
He wore a dark suit, his tie loosened, exhaustion written across his face. The faint bruising on his cheekbone was still visible. He stopped dead in his tracks.
He looked at the cardboard boxes. He looked at the bare walls where his expensive modern art used to hang. He looked at Isolde in faded jeans and a dust-covered t-shirt.
“What is this?” Grayson asked. His voice echoed in the emptied space.
“The movers are coming in ten minutes,” Isolde said, not looking at him. She walked back to her box of books.
Grayson marched into the living room, his jaw clenched. “You’re actually leaving? Tonight?”
“I filed the divorce papers three hours ago,” Isolde said, picking up a heavy textbook on fluid dynamics. “I don’t live here anymore.”
Grayson grabbed her arm. His grip was hard. “You are being dramatic, Isolde. Stop this. You cannot maintain that old house. You don’t have the income.”
Isolde looked down at his hand on her arm. She didn’t pull away — she simply stared at it until he felt the weight of her gaze and slowly let go.
“Don’t drag Effie into poverty just to spite me,” Grayson said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “It’s selfish.”
.