Chapter 527

Chapter 527:

Grayson stood in the doorway. He had discarded his suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms taut with tension. He held a fresh glass of water in one hand.

He took in the scene in an instant. The empty IV stand. The drop of blood on Isolde’s hand. The sheer, trembling exhaustion in her posture.

His face darkened — a storm rolling in over open water.

“Get back in bed,” he said. His voice was low, carrying a command that left no opening for negotiation.

Isolde straightened her spine. It took everything she had.

“Move,” she rasped, her throat raw. “I am taking my daughter and I am leaving p>

Grayson walked into the room and kicked the door shut behind him with his heel. He set the glass down on the dresser with a decisive click. “You are delirious,” he said, moving toward her. “Your temperature was a hundred and three an hour ago. You are not going anywhere p>

“I would rather collapse on the Long Island Expressway than spend another minute in this house,” Isolde said.

She tried to step around him.

Grayson didn’t reach for her. He simply moved into her path — a solid wall of heat and composure.

“Isolde,” he said. “Don’t make me tie you to that bed p>

𝖡𝗲 ра𝗿𝘵 𝗈𝘧 о𝘶𝗋 с𝗼𝗆𝗺uni𝗍𝘺 𝘰𝘯.со𝗆

She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, rimmed with red. He looked exhausted. He looked dangerous.

“You have no right,” she whispered. “You have no rights over me. Not anymore p>

“I have a liability,” Grayson said. The word was cold, clinical — a business term. “If you crash your car five miles from my gate, the press will tear me apart. I am not letting you kill yourself — and Effie — because you are stubborn p>

A surge of rage, hot enough to cut through the fever, moved through her. “My car keys. Where are they p>

Grayson reached into his pocket. He produced her key fob and let it dangle from one finger. The metal caught the dim light.

“I confiscated them,” he said. “For public safety p>

“Give them to me p>

Isolde lunged — a desperate, uncoordinated movement. Her fingers brushed the cool plastic of the fob.

Grayson simply raised his arm.

Isolde overbalanced. Her legs, drained by the fever, folded beneath her.

She didn’t reach the floor.

Grayson’s arm hooked around her waist and hauled her up against him. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. She was pressed flush against his chest, and through the thin fabric of his shirt she could feel the heat of his skin — scorching, or perhaps she was the one burning.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The scent of cedar was overwhelming now, filling her lungs, drowning her senses.

“Let me go,” Isolde said, her voice breaking. She pushed against his chest, but her hands had no strength left in them. They rested there, motionless, directly over his heart. It was beating fast. Far too fast.

“You can’t even stand,” Grayson murmured, his voice stripped of its polished composure. “Look at you. You’re shaking p>