Chapter 533
Chapter 533:
She groaned and turned her head. The fog in her mind had lifted, replaced by a dull, throbbing headache and a dry throat. But the fever was gone. Her skin felt cool. The oppressive weight on her chest had dissolved, leaving her feeling almost weightless by comparison.
The room was quiet — unnervingly so. Grayson was nowhere in sight. Only Effie was there, sitting on the plush carpet with her small back to the bed, absorbed in an iPad.
Isolde pushed herself up on her elbows. “Effie p>
Her daughter startled at the sound of her voice and scrambled to her feet, the large tablet clutched in both hands. “Mommy! You’re awake!” She ran to the bedside. “Bad daddy went to take a shower p>
Isolde glanced toward the en-suite bathroom, from which the faint sound of running water drifted. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
𝗗оwո𝘭o𝘢𝖽𝘢𝘣𝗹𝖾 рDFѕ 𝗼𝘯
Effie climbed onto the massive bed and pressed close to her mother, her expression turning conspiratorial. “Mommy, I have to tell you a secret p>
Isolde smiled weakly and smoothed her daughter’s tangled hair. “What secret, baby p>
Effie held up the iPad with visible pride. “Bad daddy’s tablet lit up just now, and I saw his screen picture p>
Isolde’s interest was minimal. “Was it a stock market chart?” she asked absently.
Effie shook her head with great emphasis. “No. It was me. It was a picture of me on the swings in the park p>
Isolde went still. “Are you sure p>
“Yes!” Effie nodded. “It’s the one Uncle Arland took when he brought me to the park. But I don’t know how bad daddy got it p>
Isolde’s heart knocked unevenly. Grayson using a photograph of their daughter as his wallpaper — it made no sense. He had barely looked at Effie during their marriage, treating her like a ghost moving through his own house.
Her mind turned it over quickly, and a cold, cynical answer took hold before anything warmer could. She remembered her lawyer’s words, precise and clinical: He’ll likely launch a PR campaign to paint himself as a loving father. It’s a common tactic in high-stakes custody battles.
Of course. A prop. A carefully curated image for the judge, for the lawyers, for anyone who needed convincing.
Isolde’s expression cooled. “Effie, listen to me. Don’t be fooled. Some people put on a show for the judge to see p>
Effie looked at her with a furrowed brow. “But… he was wiping your tears last night p>
The words struck like something physical. Isolde crushed the flicker of feeling immediately.
“He was probably just checking to see if I was dead,” she said, her voice brittle. “And whether I was going to stain his expensive bedsheets p>
The bathroom door clicked open.
Grayson walked out with a white towel slung low around his hips. Water traced paths down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, catching the morning light.
Isolde’s breath caught. She pulled her eyes away, her heart hammering. She hated him for it.
Grayson saw she was awake. His expression remained unreadable, his tone matter-of-fact. “You’re up. Dr. Sterling said you need two more IV drips to be safe p>
“There’s no need,” Isolde said, her voice flat and cold. “I’m fine. I’m taking Effie and leaving p>