Chapter 420

Chapter 420:

Grayson didn’t answer. He simply held her gaze for one last, lingering moment.

“Lock the door behind me, Isolde,” he said.

He stepped out into the hallway. Seconds later, the heavy thud of the front door closing echoed through the empty penthouse.

Isolde stood frozen for a long moment.

Then she walked slowly to the heavy oak dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Lying perfectly folded in the corner was a set of dark blue silk pajamas, smelling faintly of lavender detergent.

She stared at them — a tool of sentimental manipulation, left like a breadcrumb. A surge of cold fury rose in her chest at his quiet attempt to evoke a past she had surgically removed from her heart. She picked up the silk, feeling its coolness against her fingers, then dropped it back into the drawer as if it were contaminated.

She slammed the drawer shut. The sharp, definitive thud echoed through the quiet room.

The next morning.

Bright, blinding sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the still air.

Isolde woke in the guest bedroom. She hadn’t slept in the master bed.

She walked out into the living room to find Effie already awake, sitting cross-legged on the plush white rug, watching cartoons on the massive flat-screen TV.

𝖳𝗵𝗈𝗎ѕ𝗮𝘯ds o𝖿 𝘳𝗲a𝗱e𝗿𝘴 𝗼n

“Mommy, look!” Effie called out, holding up her left arm.

Isolde crossed the room and knelt beside her.

“My cast has a signature,” Effie beamed, pointing to the white fiberglass.

Isolde looked closely. Written in thick black permanent marker was a single word: Daddy. The letters were surprisingly hesitant, the lines not perfectly straight — as if drawn by a hand unaccustomed to such a simple, gentle task.

A sharp pang hit Isolde’s chest. She forced a warm smile for her daughter.

She rose and moved into the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, opening cabinets automatically and finding the pans exactly where she had left them five years ago. She made scrambled eggs and toast. As the smell of butter filled the air, a strange, terrifying sense of belonging washed over her. This place had been designed for her. It had been her home.

She gripped the edge of the marble counter and shook her head, physically dislodging the thought.

“Eat up, Effie,” Isolde called out, her voice brisk. “We are leaving p>

They drove straight to the prep school. Effie walked through the wrought-iron gates and was immediately surrounded by friends clamoring to sign her pink cast, the undisputed star of the morning.

Isolde watched her disappear inside, then pulled the Audi back into traffic.

The transition was instantaneous. The worried mother vanished. The CEO of Carson Dynamics took the wheel.

She walked into the Brooklyn office an hour later. Arland was waiting by the elevators and fell into step beside her.

“How is she?” he asked.

“She is fine,” Isolde said, staring straight ahead. “Grayson… he actually helped p>

Arland raised a thick eyebrow, sensing the complicated emotional undercurrent, but didn’t press the issue.