Chapter 397

Chapter 397:

Isolde dropped her hand and picked up the cold stem of the martini glass. “I can’t,” she said, her voice raspy. “The trap needs one more spring. If I sleep now, Belle might actually accidentally do something competent p>

Her phone buzzed violently against the wooden table.

Isolde flinched. The sudden noise grated against her raw nerves. She flipped the phone over.

An Instagram notification. She didn’t follow Belle, but her corporate monitoring software flagged any public posts from InnoTech executives.

She tapped the screen. A photo loaded. The geolocation tag read: Aspen, Colorado.

The image was high-definition and perfectly filtered. Grayson stood in the center wearing sleek, expensive ski gear, the snow-capped mountains providing a stunning backdrop. Belle was pressed tightly against his right side, her arm around his waist. And standing in front of them, holding a pair of bright red skis, was Kaiden.

The caption below read: Family recharging before the big victory. #InnoTech #LancasterLegacy

Isolde stared at the screen. Her lungs tightened, refusing to draw in the smoky bar air.

She studied Grayson’s face. He was smiling — not the stiff, corporate smirk she had come to know, but something genuine and relaxed. The kind of smile he used to give her in the very beginning, before the coldness set in.

A sharp, physical pang struck her chest. It wasn’t love. That had burned away a long time ago. It was a heavy, suffocating regret — the sickening realization of how many years she had wasted trying to carve out a space for herself in a man who had already given her place away.

𝖳𝘩𝗲 b𝖾𝗌t r𝘦𝖺𝖽і𝗻g ex𝘱𝖾𝗋іe𝗻𝗰𝖾 o𝗇 ga𝗹novе𝗹ѕ.𝖼𝗈m

Arland reached across the table. His large hand covered the phone screen, blocking the image. “Don’t look at it,” he said softly. He pulled the phone from her grip.

Isolde’s fingers curled into empty fists, her nails biting into her palms.

“He never took Effie skiing,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the low jazz. “He always said she was too fragile. Too weak for the altitude p>

Arland’s jaw tightened. He raised his hand toward the bartender. “Check, please.” He looked back at Isolde. “We are leaving p>

The drive back to her apartment building was entirely silent. The city lights blurred past the window, but Isolde didn’t see them. She saw only the bright red skis.

She swiped her keycard and took the private elevator up to her floor. She pushed open the heavy front door. The lights were dimmed. The air smelled faintly of lavender.

She slipped off her heels and walked silently through the living room, where the nanny lay asleep on the plush sofa, a book resting open on her chest.

Isolde moved down the hallway toward Effie’s bedroom.

She stopped outside the slightly ajar door.

A sound seeped from the darkness — a soft, wet hiccup. A muffled sob.

Isolde’s heart slammed against her ribs. The exhaustion vanished, replaced in an instant by a violent spike of maternal adrenaline.

She pushed the door open.

Effie was huddled under her thick duvet, the blanket pulled over her head, forming a small, trembling tent. A harsh blue light glowed from beneath the covers.

Isolde pulled the duvet back.