Chapter 304
Grayson remained frozen against the wall. The skin on his cheek was cold, yet he felt a phantom burn: a mark left not by her hand, but by her contempt.
A full minute passed before Daron McKnight rounded the corner. He stopped dead in his tracks, taking in Grayson’s pale, disheveled state.
“Whoa,” Daron said, his eyes wide. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Grayson glared at him, his hands curling into tight fists.
“Shut up,” he snarled.
The next morning.
Grayson woke up in the master bedroom of the penthouse.
ѕ𝘁𝘰𝗋𝗂𝗲𝗌 уou 𝘄o𝗇’t p𝘶𝗍 𝖽о𝘸ո 𝘰𝗇 𝗀𝗮ln𝗼𝘃e𝗹s.𝗰о𝗆
The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows felt like daggers in his eyes. His head throbbed with a vicious hangover. He sat up, rubbed his face, and winced as a sharp pain flared in his temple — a purely internal agony born of alcohol and stress. He pressed his fingertips gently against the skin. It was tender beneath the surface.
Then the memory of the dark hallway hit him like a physical blow.
He dropped his hand and stared at the empty space beside him on the massive bed.
“She threatened me,” Grayson whispered to the empty room.
It hadn’t been a playful push or a dramatic, theatrical argument. It had been a declaration of war, fueled by pure, unadulterated hatred.
Cold, sharp panic suddenly cut through the fog of his hangover.
He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opened his contacts, and dialed Isolde’s number. He pressed the phone to his ear.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“The number you have dialed is no longer in service,” an automated voice announced.
Grayson frowned. He pulled the phone away, double-checked the number, and dialed again.
The exact same message played.
She had changed her number.
His heart began to beat faster. He opened his email app and typed a quick message to her personal address: We need to talk about last night. He hit send.
Three seconds later, a notification appeared.
Message Bounced. Delivery Failed. Address Blocked.
Grayson’s breathing grew shallow. He opened the Lancaster family cloud account and tried to access the folder where Isolde kept Effie’s medical records and school schedules.
Access Denied. You do not have permission to view this folder.
He stared at the blank white wall of the bedroom.
She had erased him. Systematically, methodically, she had severed every single digital and physical connection they had ever shared. He was completely locked out.
A sudden, terrifying emptiness opened in his chest. It wasn’t anger. It was the horrifying realization that he had lost all control.
The bedroom door opened.
Belle walked in carrying a silver tray with a cup of black coffee, wearing a silk robe. She crossed the room and set the tray on the nightstand, then paused, studying his face.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” she said brightly. Then her brow furrowed. “You look awful. Did you sleep at all?”
Grayson looked away toward the window.
“I bumped into a door,” he said flatly.
Belle sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to gently stroke his forehead, brushing his hair back.
“Poor baby,” she cooed softly. “Let me kiss it and make it better.”
.
.