Chapter 222
Belle stood amidst the luggage as though she had stepped out of a travel magazine — a flowing floral resort dress, a wide-brimmed hat already perched on her head. Grayson stood nearby checking his phone, looking impatient.
“Oh, Isolde!” Belle exclaimed, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. “You’re finally here. I’m so sorry to trouble you like this. You know how it is — Kaiden has been a little spirited lately.”
Isolde didn’t glance at Belle’s perfectly made-up face. Her expression was flat, her eyes cold. “Where is the vase?”
Grayson looked up, gesturing vaguely toward the corner of the living room. “It’s over there. As we agreed, you can take it when you leave Sunday night.”
Isolde walked past them, her sneakers silent on the expensive rug. She approached the pedestal where the antique vase stood — and leaned in close, her breath catching. The cracks were painfully obvious. Spiderweb fractures ran along the delicate porcelain neck, hastily glued back together but forever marred. It was like looking at her own heart. The pain was sharp and suffocating, but she forced it down.
𝗥ea𝘥 𝘁𝗵𝘦 𝗹𝗮𝘁eѕ𝗍 𝘵r𝘦n𝗱s оո g𝖺𝗹n𝘰ve𝘭s.𝘤𝘰𝗆
“Hey!”
Before she could turn, a stream of cold water hit her square in the face.
Isolde gasped. Water dripped from her eyelashes and down her nose. She wiped her eyes and found Kaiden standing behind the sofa, a large neon-colored Super Soaker in his hands, grinning maliciously.
“Look at the drowned rat!” Kaiden shrieked, jumping up and down. “Ugly! You look so ugly!”
Belle let out a small, tinkling giggle before covering her mouth with a manicured hand. “Oh, Kaiden — you really shouldn’t do that to Auntie Isolde.” There was no real reprimand in her voice. Only amusement.
Isolde stood motionless, water dripping from her chin onto her old sweater. She looked at Grayson. He was frowning — not at his son, but at his watch.
“We’re going to be late for the flight,” Grayson muttered, entirely ignoring the fact that his ex-wife had just been doused in his living room.
Isolde wiped her face with her sleeve, her movements slow and deliberate. She turned her gaze on them both — her eyes dark, hollow voids.
“Get out,” she said softly. Then louder, her voice cutting through the room like a whip: “Get out. Now.”
Grayson paused, his hand on the handle of his suitcase. He looked as though he wanted to say something — a defense, perhaps, or a warning — but the look in Isolde’s eyes stopped him. He shook his head, took Belle’s hand, and pulled her toward the elevator.
“Let’s go, Belle.”
The doors slid shut. The moment the mechanism clicked, the penthouse fell into heavy silence, broken only by Kaiden’s snickering.
Isolde didn’t move for a long moment. Then she turned slowly to face the boy.
“Listen to me,” she said, her voice stripped of the warmth she had once given him freely. “I don’t expect you to call me Mom. For this weekend, we stay out of each other’s way. You do your thing, I do mine.”
Kaiden stuck out his tongue and made a grotesque face. “This is my house! I can do whatever I want!”
.
.