Chapter 365
She stepped out into the strobing flash of a hundred cameras.
The crimson dress moved around her legs like liquid fire. The crowd of reporters — expecting the pathetic ex-wife — went momentarily silent before erupting into a frenzy.
“Ms. Carson!” a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone over the velvet rope. “Are you here to support your ex-husband’s new venture?”
Isolde paused on the bottom step. She turned to the cameras and offered a smile that was dazzling and utterly terrifying.
“I am here,” she said, her voice carrying cleanly over the chaos, “to see the future.”
She turned and climbed the stone stairs, the red silk of her dress trailing behind her, bleeding into the carpet like a river.
Inside the grand foyer, Grayson stood near the entrance reviewing the security monitors. He glanced at the screen showing the red carpet feed.
He saw the flash of crimson. The sharp, aristocratic profile. The absolute, unhurried power radiating from her every step.
His hands closed around the edge of the security podium. His lungs seized.
He stopped breathing entirely.
The Great Hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art was a cavern of echoing voices and clinking crystal. Isolde stood just inside the massive entrance, her crimson dress a beacon of absolute defiance against the sea of safe, muted colors surrounding her.
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The relentless popping of paparazzi flashbulbs outside finally died away, leaving bright, floating spots in her vision. She blinked them clear, reached out, and lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s silver tray. Her hand was perfectly steady. The cold crystal grounded her.
“Ms. Carson.”
Isolde turned. Dr. Lewis, the venture capitalist from Silicon Valley, was making his way toward her in a tuxedo that looked slightly too tight across the shoulders. His eyes, however, were sharp and unmistakably impressed.
“That entrance was strategic,” he said, stopping beside her.
Isolde offered a razor-thin smile. “Strategy is my profession, Doctor.”
Dr. Lewis chuckled and took a sip of his drink, leaning in to lower his voice. “About those drone stabilization specs your team sent over yesterday —”
A loud, braying laugh cut through the refined hum of the room — a harsh, grating sound that raised the hair on the back of Isolde’s neck.
Daron McKnight strode over. He ignored Dr. Lewis entirely, planting himself directly in front of Isolde and letting his eyes rake up and down her crimson dress with a blatant, ugly sneer.
“Isolde,” Daron said loudly. “Did you get lost on the way to the coat check?”
Isolde did not flinch. She took a slow sip of her champagne. “Hello, Daron. Still riding Grayson’s coattails, I see. Be careful not to trip.”
The flush was immediate — an ugly red creeping up his thick neck. “I am a board member of InnoTech.”
“Yes,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to a dead calm. “The board needed a mascot.”
.
.