Chapter 418

Chapter 418:

The older doorman at the desk looked up, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Mrs. Lancaster —” he started, then quickly corrected himself. “Ms. Carson. He is waiting for you upstairs p>

Isolde stepped into the private elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.

As the elevator shot upward, the change in air pressure made her ears pop. It felt like traveling backward through time. She remembered standing in this exact elevator five years ago — sobbing uncontrollably, clutching a single suitcase — as she left him.

The silver doors slid open directly into the private foyer.

It was completely silent. The minimalist gray-and-white decor was exactly the same — cold, unchanged, and unlived in. It felt like a sterile museum dedicated to their failed marriage.

Isolde moved cautiously into the main living space. Grayson’s suit jacket had been thrown carelessly over the back of a pristine white sofa. On the glass coffee table sat a small, bright pink backpack. Effie’s.

She turned and walked quickly down the long hallway toward the master bedroom. The heavy oak door stood half open.

Isolde stepped into the doorway and froze.

𝘘𝗎𝖺𝗹𝗂𝘵у 𝘵𝗋𝗮n𝘴𝗅a𝗍i𝘰𝗻s 𝘰𝗻 𝗀al𝗻𝗼𝘃е𝘭𝘀.с𝗼𝘮

Effie was asleep in the exact center of the giant king-sized bed. Her small left arm was wrapped in a thick, bright pink fiberglass cast. Her face was streaked with dried tears, but her breathing was slow and peaceful.

Sitting in the leather armchair right beside the bed was Grayson.

He was asleep too — leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. He looked utterly, physically exhausted. Every trace of the arrogant CEO was gone.

Isolde stood in the doorway, her hand resting against the wooden frame.

The violent, burning anger that had fueled her drive across the city evaporated without warning, draining out of her body and leaving behind a dull, hollow ache in her chest.

For one single, agonizing moment, she looked at the man in the chair and the child on the bed, and they looked like a real family.

It was a beautiful, fragile, and utterly heartbreaking illusion.

Isolde took a slow step into the bedroom.

Her shoe pressed against a loose floorboard near the rug, and it let out a sharp, high-pitched creak.

Grayson didn’t simply wake up — he jolted upright as if electrocuted. His body coiled instinctively, his hand reaching toward his hip for a weapon that wasn’t there. His eyes, wide and wild, swept the room for threats before they locked onto her.

Only then did the combat readiness melt away, replaced by a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. He let out a long, ragged breath and rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

“She is okay,” Grayson whispered, his voice thick with sleep and raw emotion. “It was a clean break. The radius bone. No surgery required p>

Isolde didn’t look at him. She walked slowly around the edge of the mattress until she reached Effie’s side. With a trembling hand, she gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Effie’s forehead. The child’s skin was warm.