Chapter 211
Daron let out a short, sharp laugh. “Consumer downgrading is a harsh reality, isn’t it? From high fashion to… whatever this is.”
Effie’s face flushed red. She stepped in front of Isolde, her small voice ringing out clearly. “Don’t talk to my Mommy like that! You’re the one who looks messy!”
Grayson’s brow furrowed. He shot a warning look at Daron. “Enough. Be quiet.”
But Isolde had stopped listening. Her gaze had drifted past all of them to the center of the room, where a single blue and white porcelain vase sat on a lit pedestal.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught in her throat.
It was The Tear of Time — the final masterpiece created by her grandmother, Evelyn Carson. The piece that had been auctioned off to cover the family’s debts during the bankruptcy years ago. Isolde had spent three years searching for it across every auction house in Europe.
D𝗼w𝗇𝗅о𝖺d𝖺𝗯l𝗲 P𝘋𝗙𝘴 𝘰𝗻 𝗴𝗮l𝗇o𝘃𝗲𝘭ѕ.𝗰𝘰𝘮
She walked toward it as if in a trance, her hand trembling slightly as she reached toward the glass casing.
Belle noticed the shift in Isolde’s energy immediately. She drifted over and peered at the vase with a bored expression that quickly curdled into a predatory grin. “Oh, Gray, look! This is stunning. It would look perfect in our new foyer, wouldn’t it?”
Belle knew nothing about porcelain. But she knew Isolde wanted it. And that was enough.
Isolde turned, her eyes flashing with a rare, cold fire. “This is my grandmother’s work, Belle. It is a family heirloom. You wouldn’t understand its value if it hit you.”
Belle arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “It’s in a gallery, Isolde. That means it belongs to the highest bidder. Gray, you’ll buy it for me, won’t you? As a gift?”
Grayson looked at the vase. Then he looked at Isolde — at the raw longing and desperation in her eyes. For a fleeting moment, he thought about buying it and handing it to her. A peace offering. A way to bridge the widening chasm between them.
But Belle’s grip on his arm tightened. “It’s to celebrate us winning the InnoTech project, remember?” she whispered, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
Daron chimed in from the sidelines, his voice smooth and oily. “Come on, Grayson. Surely a Lancaster isn’t going to let a simple vase go to someone else? Especially when Belle has her heart set on it.”
The weight of the room, the pressure of his reputation, and Belle’s clinging presence pressed down on him. Grayson looked away from Isolde’s expression and nodded to the curator. “We’ll take it. Wrap it up.”
The coldness that settled in Isolde’s bones was absolute. He knew. He knew exactly what that vase meant to her, and he had trampled on it anyway — for the sake of his pride and his mistress.
“No,” Isolde said. Her voice cut through the air like a blade.
She reached into her clutch and produced a matte black card — the corporate card Arland had given her, backed by the full weight of his empire.
.
.