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Chapter 709
Chapter 709:
Then she executed a flawless tactical feint. She took a deliberate step forward, her bare foot intentionally finding a slick patch on the stone where pool water had splashed. Her body pitched forward in a perfectly simulated stumble — to any observer, a clumsy, heavy fall — but her shoulder was aimed with lethal accuracy at Belle, who was peeking out from behind Grayson’s back.
Isolde’s shoulder slammed hard into Belle’s chest.
Belle let out a genuine yelp of surprise. The impact knocked her backward. Her high heels slipped on the wet stone, and she flailed her arms as she fell toward the hard deck.
Grayson did not think. He did not analyze.
His body moved entirely on five years of ingrained, subconscious muscle memory.
𝗙ol𝘭о𝘸 𝗎𝗌 о𝗇 𝗀а𝘭ոo𝘃е𝘭ѕ.𝖼о𝗺
He lunged backward, threw both arms out, and caught Belle firmly around the waist, stopping her head from hitting the stone. He pulled her securely against his chest.
“Belle, are you okay?” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a low, frantic whisper of genuine concern.
The wind seemed to stop blowing. The entire terrace fell into a vacuum of absolute silence.
Isolde stood perfectly still. She had regained her balance instantly. She looked at Grayson’s arms wrapped tightly around Belle.
A slow, incredibly dark, mocking smile spread across her blue lips.
Grayson heard the silence. He realized what his body had just done. He slowly lifted his head and looked at Isolde.
The blood drained completely from his face. His stomach plummeted into an endless abyss. He saw the smile. He saw the absolute, final death of any remaining connection between them.
He had just proven, in front of everyone, that his deepest and most uncontrollable instinct was to protect Belle.
Grayson shoved Belle away as if she were made of burning acid. She stumbled and fell to the deck again.
“Isolde, wait,” he choked out, taking a desperate step forward, raising his hands in a pleading gesture. “It was a reflex. I thought she was going to crack her skull. I didn’t mean p>
“Stop,” Isolde said.
Her voice was not angry. It was not sad. It was a flat, clinical observation. She looked straight into his panicked eyes.
“Grayson Lancaster,” she said, enunciating every syllable with absolute clarity. “From this exact second forward, in my eyes, you are a dead man p>
The words hit him like a bullet to the brain. He stopped breathing. His hands dropped to his sides. He felt his entire world shatter into dust.
Isolde did not look at him again. She turned and held out her hand.
Maxwell stepped forward immediately, wrapped his arm tightly around her waist, and supported her weight. Together they walked past the security guards and through the glass doors, leaving Grayson standing alone in the freezing wind — staring at the empty space where his wife used to be.
The penthouse heat was turned up to maximum, but Isolde could not stop shaking.
She had managed a scalding hot shower, but the damage was already done. The freezing water of the Charles River had shocked her system too severely. Her immune system, already battered by days of extreme stress and sleeplessness, collapsed entirely.