Chapter 440
Chapter 440:
“You never built a single thing with Effie,” she said. She turned to face him. “Not a dollhouse. Not a block tower. You never sat on the floor with her. Not once p>
Grayson opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The truth struck him like a physical blow. He flinched.
“I was busy,” he whispered weakly. “The company p>
“You were busy playing house with another family,” Isolde corrected. “Let’s call it what it is p>
She hoisted the stack of boxes. They were heavy, straining her arms, but the physical exertion felt grounding.
D𝗂ѕ𝘤𝘰𝘃𝘦𝗋 𝗇е𝘸 𝘴𝘁оr𝗂𝗲𝘀 𝗈𝗻
“Move,” she said.
Grayson instinctively reached out with his good hand. “Let me help. Those are too heavy. I can call Arthur p>
Isolde recoiled. She stepped back so sharply her hip struck the desk.
“Don’t,” she hissed, her eyes wide and flashing with a sudden, feral warning. “Don’t touch my things. And do not touch me p>
Grayson’s hand hovered in the air, useless. He slowly lowered it.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay p>
Isolde adjusted her grip and walked past him without looking at his face. She couldn’t afford to see the regret there. Regret was cheap. Regret didn’t fix brake lines or heal trauma.
She marched back into the living room.
Belle was waiting. She had stretched her legs out across the path to the door — subtle enough for plausible deniability, but Isolde caught the tension coiled in Belle’s calf muscle. She was waiting to trip her.
Isolde didn’t slow down. She didn’t walk around.
She kept her eyes fixed on the front door and stepped directly over Belle’s legs. As her right foot came down, she drove the stiletto heel of her shoe squarely onto the bridge of Belle’s velvet slipper and put her full weight on it.
“Ahhh!” Belle shrieked, dropping her iPad and yanking her foot back. “You broke my toe p>
Isolde paused at the door and turned around.
Grayson was staring at her, stunned. Kaiden was crying from the noise. Belle was cursing on the floor.
It was a circus. And she was finally not the clown.
“Change the locks, Grayson,” Isolde said, her voice cutting cleanly through the chaos. “I’d hate to walk into the wrong apartment one day and see this — whatever this is — again p>
She stepped out into the hallway and let the heavy door slam shut behind her.
The silence of the corridor washed over her. It was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard.
The Upper West Side apartment was smaller than the master closet at the penthouse, but it had one feature that made it a palace: it was hers.
Isolde wiped the sweat from her forehead with a towel. She had just finished a five-mile run along the Hudson, trying to burn off the lingering image of Grayson playing Legos.
The doorbell rang.
Isolde frowned and checked the peephole.
Mrs. Higgins, the Lancaster family’s head housekeeper, stood in the hallway, shifting her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Behind her, two delivery men held insulated catering boxes.
Isolde opened the door.
“Mrs. Higgins?” Isolde said, leaning against the frame. “I didn’t order room service p>
Message from Noa: Hope you have a great weekend dear readers. God loves you and Noa wishes you all the best. (ɔO‿=)ɔ ♥