Chapter 406
Chapter 406:
“Isolde is building the future,” Arland continued, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute conviction. “You are buying defective parts and hoping they stick together. I wouldn’t work for you if you offered me the entire company p>
He straightened up.
“You are going to regret this,” Belle hissed, her voice shaking with rage.
“I doubt it,” Arland replied.
He turned and walked out of the café, leaving the cream-colored envelope sitting on the counter beside a puddle of spilled milk.
Ten minutes later, he dropped into the chair across from Isolde’s desk and recounted the entire interaction.
Isolde didn’t look up from her monitors. “She is terrified. She is trying to isolate me by buying my generals p>
J𝗈𝗶ո 𝗼𝘶𝗋 с𝘰𝗆𝗺𝘂𝘯i𝘵у 𝗼n ѕ.со𝗆
“She doesn’t understand loyalty,” Arland scoffed, taking a sip of his coffee.
Isolde stopped typing. She looked out the large glass window at the city skyline.
“Grayson never understood it either,” she said quietly.
A heavy silence settled over the office. Isolde thought about her marriage — the five years she had spent quietly supporting Grayson, fixing his mistakes in the background, sacrificing her own genius to elevate his name. And she thought about how easily he had discarded her the moment she became inconvenient.
“They think people are assets,” she murmured, her voice laced with cold, hard truth. “They think loyalty is something you can purchase and replace when it depreciates p>
She turned back to Arland and looked at him for a long moment. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Arland offered a small, genuine smile. “Always, boss p>
The secure phone line on Isolde’s desk rang — a harsh, jarring sound. She looked at the caller ID display.
Her blood ran cold. The muscles in her back locked instantly.
The screen read: Matriarch Beatrice Lancaster.
Arland saw her face go pale and leaned forward. “Don’t answer it. It’s a trap p>
Isolde stared at the blinking red light. “Beatrice doesn’t set traps,” she said, her voice tight. “She issues commands p>
She reached out and picked up the receiver. “Hello, Beatrice p>
“Isolde p>
The voice on the other end of the line was ancient, raspy, and carried the undeniable weight of absolute authority. Beatrice Lancaster did not speak; she pronounced.
“It has been too long,” Beatrice continued.
Isolde kept her voice perfectly neutral. “Not since the divorce proceedings began p>
“I hear you are making noise in the city,” Beatrice said. It was not a compliment — it was an observation of a disturbance. “I do not like noise p>
Isolde gripped the phone tighter. “I am conducting business p>
“Come for tea on Sunday,” Beatrice ordered. “The estate. Three o’clock p>
Isolde’s stomach twisted. The Lancaster estate in the Hamptons was a fortress of bad memories — the place where she had been systematically ignored, belittled, and erased. “I don’t think that is a good idea,” she said firmly. “My relationship with Grayson is strictly adversarial p>
“I am an old woman, Isolde,” Beatrice snapped, a thread of steel bleeding through the rasp. “Humor me. And bring Effie. I wish to see my great-granddaughter p>