Chapter 301
That evening, the air inside “The Alchemist” bar in lower Manhattan was warm and smelled of expensive gin and crushed juniper berries.
Isolde sat in a dark, velvet-lined booth in the back corner. Harper Vance sat across from her. Two crystal martini glasses rested on the polished wooden table between them.
Harper picked up her glass. The liquid inside caught the dim light.
“To Isolde Carson,” Harper said, a fierce grin on her face. “Back from the dead.”
Isolde picked up her glass. The cold crystal felt grounding against her fingertips.
“To freedom,” Isolde said.
They clinked their glasses together. The sharp chime cut through the low jazz playing in the background.
R𝖾𝖺𝘥 𝘵h𝖾 𝗹𝘢𝘁eѕ𝘁 t𝗿е𝗻𝗱𝘀 о𝗇 gа𝗅no𝘃e𝗅𝗌.𝖼𝗈𝗆
A moment later, Arland Roth slid into the booth beside Harper, wearing a dark leather jacket, his face unusually serious.
“Do not look at Instagram,” Arland said, looking directly at Isolde.
Harper frowned and immediately pulled her phone from her purse. Her thumbs flew across the screen. She gasped softly, then turned the phone around and set it on the table.
It was Belle’s Instagram story. The photo showed two tall crystal champagne flutes clinking together. In the background, slightly blurred but entirely recognizable, was the distinctive marble fireplace of the Lancaster penthouse. The caption read: “To new chapters and finally breathing free.”
Isolde stared at the glowing screen. The image was a deliberate, calculated strike — a declaration that Belle had not only won the man but had already occupied Isolde’s home, her life. They were celebrating the death of her marriage like it was a holiday.
Harper’s face turned red. “That disgusting woman. I am going to comment on that post right now.”
Isolde reached across the table and grabbed Harper’s wrist firmly.
“No,” Isolde said. Her voice was terrifyingly calm. “Let them celebrate.”
She released Harper’s wrist. Her gaze drifted sideways, a flicker of memory crossing her features.
“They think this is their victory,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to a low, intense murmur. “They have no idea what they’ve just started.”
She looked from Harper to Arland, her eyes dark with resolve. “I signed an agreement that binds me to silence on certain family matters. The penalty for breaching it is astronomical.” She paused, choosing her words with the precision of an engineer designing a weapon.
Arland leaned forward, reading the gravity in her face. “A legal gag order on family secrets?” His voice slowed as the implication hit him. “What kind of secrets are we talking about, Isolde?”
Isolde’s jaw tightened. “Secrets that would shatter his carefully constructed reputation. Secrets that involve his biological son, Kaiden — whom he allowed me to raise under false pretenses for five years.”
Arland’s eyes widened. “He made you sign an NDA about his own son?”
He stopped. The color drained from his face.
“Jesus,” Arland breathed. “The hypocrisy.”
.