Chapter 307
An hour later, Isolde walked out through the heavy glass doors of the Institute.
The sky had opened up. A torrential downpour hammered the pavement, turning the parking lot into a shallow lake. Isolde stood beneath the concrete awning, shivering slightly in the damp air, sheltered by a large dark umbrella whose wide canopy obscured her face. A pair of oversized sunglasses completed the shield. She was waiting for Arland to pull his car around from the VIP garage.
A sleek silver Bentley glided through the rain and pulled up directly in front of the awning.
It wasn’t Arland’s car.
The tinted passenger window rolled down smoothly.
Grayson was in the driver’s seat. Belle sat beside him in the passenger seat, wearing a designer trench coat.
𝗗𝗈𝗐𝗻𝗅о𝖺𝘥 𝗣𝖣𝘍𝘴 𝖿r𝘦𝖾 𝘰ո 𝗴a𝗅𝗇оv𝗲ls.c𝗈𝗆
Grayson leaned across the center console, peering out through the rain-streaked glass.
“Isolde?” he asked, his brow furrowing. The wide umbrella made it difficult to get a clear view, but he recognized the familiar posture, the line of her jaw. “What are you doing out here in New Jersey?” He squinted, trying to read the plastic badge clipped to her blazer, but it was tucked beneath her coat, and the rain and distance made the small print impossible to decipher.
Belle leaned forward, a sickly sweet smile spreading across her face.
“She’s probably interviewing for the receptionist job, Gray,” Belle said loudly, making sure her voice carried over the rain. “I heard the Institute is hiring front desk staff.”
Grayson frowned, taking in Isolde’s damp hair and simple blazer.
“Isolde, you don’t have to do entry-level admin work,” he said, his voice settling into that familiar, patronizing tone of a man who believed himself a savior. “Has the alimony not cleared the bank yet? I can advance you some cash if you’re struggling.”
Isolde stared at them.
The sheer, suffocating arrogance of his words made her stomach churn. He truly believed she was helpless without his money.
“I am not here for an interview,” she said, her voice cutting through the rain like a blade. “And I do not need your money, Grayson.”
Belle let out a short, mocking laugh.
“Oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s pouring out here. Stop being so proud.” She turned to Grayson. “Actually, Gray, we could give her a ride. I need someone to hold my dry cleaning in the back seat so it doesn’t get wrinkled.”
Grayson sighed, performing the role of the reasonable adult. “Belle, stop. Isolde, get in the car. We’ll drop you off at the train station.”
He assumed she was taking public transit. He assumed she was broke.
Isolde gripped the handle of her leather bag, her knuckles whitening around it. She wanted to scream at them, to shatter their delusional reality.
Then, without warning, a low, guttural roar tore through the sound of the rain.
The ground vibrated beneath her feet.
.
.