Chapter 490

Chapter 490:

“You are apologizing because you found out I am Sophia,” she said, her voice cutting cleanly through the cold air. “If I were still just the ordinary housewife who cooked your meals and waited for you to come home — would you be standing in the snow apologizing to me right now p>

Grayson opened his mouth. No words came. His throat locked. He could not lie to her.

“No,” Isolde answered for him. “You wouldn’t. Your apology has absolutely nothing to do with respect or love. It is entirely based on my market value p>

The chauffeur stepped out of the Rolls-Royce and opened the rear door.

Isolde turned and walked toward the car.

Panic seized Grayson’s chest. He lunged forward, his left hand reaching out to catch her arm — desperate to stop her from leaving.

Isolde anticipated the movement. She pivoted her shoulder smoothly, deflecting his reach with the effortless grace of someone stepping around a puddle, and slid into the luxurious leather seat.

“Goodbye, Grayson,” she said.

She pulled the heavy door shut. The tinted window hummed as it rose, severing the connection between them completely.

The Rolls-Royce accelerated smoothly away, its taillights dissolving into the snowy night.

𝘛𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘰𝘯

Grayson stood alone in the freezing dark, his hand still suspended in empty air.

The brutal truth settled over him at last. He had not lost her because of a misunderstanding. He had lost her because his capacity to love was fundamentally broken — and she had finally understood that she deserved better.

In the shadows near the resort entrance, Belle stood shivering, dragging her suitcase through the slush. She watched Grayson, motionless and broken in the snow, and did not dare approach him. In this game of power and pride, they had both lost everything.

The air in New York was different from the high-altitude clarity of the ISSDC victory in Florida. It lacked the scent of ozone and rocket fuel, replaced by the metallic tang of exhaust and ambition.

Isolde pushed through the revolving doors of the Pierre Hotel, the wheels of her silver Rimowa suitcase gliding silently over the marble floor. The lobby was a cavern of gold leaf and fresh lilies, humming with the specific frequency of high-stakes capital.

Giant holographic displays rotated slowly in the center of the atrium, projecting wireframe models of her Aether prototype. This was the Global Aviation Investor Summit. The shark tank.

“Schedule check,” Harper murmured, matching her stride and tapping furiously on her tablet, looking like a Secret Service agent with a chaotic bun. “Registration is on the mezzanine. Keynote at six. And — oh, great. Lancaster’s name is on the attendee list p>

Isolde’s stomach tightened — a physiological reflex she couldn’t quite train out of her system.

“Ignore him,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the elevator bank. “We’re here for the funding, Harper. Not the drama p>

She pressed the call button for the VIP elevators. The arrow glowed a soft, expensive amber.

The doors slid open with a whisper.

She stepped forward, then stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.

Grayson was standing in the center of the car.