Chapter 430

Chapter 430:

“Your hand looks bad,” Isolde interrupted, glancing at his sling. “You should go p>

“Mr. Lancaster!” Arthur, his assistant, ran up holding a phone. “The medevac helicopter is landing in the field. We need to get you to Mount Sinai immediately. That hand needs a surgeon p>

Grayson didn’t move. He kept staring at Isolde, searching for something in her face.

“Go,” Isolde said coldly. “Belle needs someone to hold her hand. Yours is broken, but I’m sure you’ll manage p>

Grayson’s jaw tightened. He turned and walked away toward the sound of the approaching rotors.

Belle was loaded into an ambulance. As it passed, she mouthed a single word at Isolde through the window.

𝘠𝗼𝗎𝗿 n𝖾х𝗍 𝘧𝖺𝘷𝗼𝗿𝘪𝘵e 𝗿е𝗮𝖽 iѕ 𝗈𝘯

Isolde watched them leave. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her cold and hollow.

A black Audi screeched to a halt at the police barricade. Arland Roth jumped out, ducked under the yellow tape, and sprinted toward her.

“Isolde!” Arland called.

He reached her and grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes scanning her for injuries.

“I’m okay,” Isolde said, leaning into his touch. “Just shaken p>

“I got the crash alert from the tracker I put in your phone,” Arland said, his voice dark. “Brake failure p>

“Total loss of pressure,” Isolde confirmed. “The pedal went to the floor p>

Arland looked at the wreckage of her sedan being winched onto a flatbed truck.

“I’ll have our mechanics inspect it before it goes to the scrapyard,” Arland said quietly. “If someone cut those lines p>

“Let the police do it,” Isolde said. “We need an official record p>

She looked up at the dark sky where the helicopter was disappearing. “Grayson saved us,” Isolde admitted, the words tasting sour. “He wrecked his Escalade to stop me p>

Arland raised an eyebrow. “He has a conscience. How inconvenient p>

“He asked about Belle first,” Isolde said.

Arland squeezed her shoulder. “Then he is an idiot. Come on. Let’s get you home p>

Mount Sinai Hospital. VIP Wing.

The hallway smelled of antiseptic and expensive lilies.

Isolde stood outside Room 402, took a slow breath, and smoothed the front of her blouse. She was holding a basket of organic fruit — a generic, polite gesture.

She knocked.

“Enter,” Arthur’s voice called.

Isolde pushed the door open.

Grayson was sitting up in the hospital bed, his right arm encased in a heavy cast and elevated on a pillow. He looked pale, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes. He was holding a tablet in his left hand, awkwardly trying to swipe the screen.

He looked up. When he saw her, his hand froze.

“Isolde,” he said, his voice raspy.

“I brought vitamins,” Isolde said, setting the basket on the side table. “Arthur said you had surgery p>

“Two pins and a plate,” Grayson said, glancing at his cast. “Bone shattered p>

“That’s what happens when you use a steering wheel as a brace against a mountain,” Isolde said.

She stayed at the foot of the bed, keeping her distance.