Chapter 309
The image of Isolde sitting in Arland’s car, wearing that razor-sharp smile, burned in his mind. The thought of Arland touching her sent a violent, ugly jealousy clawing up his throat.
“She has a degree from Caltech,” Grayson snapped, his voice harsher than he’d intended. “But that was a lifetime ago. Five years of planning charity galas turns a brain to mush.”
Belle rolled her eyes. “Please, Gray. Arland Roth dates supermodels and actresses. Isolde is a mother. She’s desperate.” She leaned closer to the table. “She’s trading her body for a lifestyle she can no longer afford. It’s pathetic.”
Grayson slammed his wine glass down. Dark red liquid sloshed over the rim, bleeding into the pristine white tablecloth.
“Stop talking about her,” he ordered, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
Belle flinched. She reached out quickly and touched his hand.
“I’m just making an observation, Gray,” she said softly, playing the victim. “Don’t feel guilty for her choices. She moved on quickly.”
Grayson pulled his hand away and stared out the rain-streaked window.
“She threatened me the other night,” he said quietly.
𝘋𝗼n’t 𝗆i𝗌𝘴 n𝖾𝘄 𝗿𝘦𝗅𝗲𝗮𝘀𝘦𝗌 𝘰n 𝘨𝗮𝗅𝗻𝗈𝘃𝘦𝘭𝘴.сom
Daron choked on his wine, coughing violently into his napkin. “She what?”
“She hates me,” Grayson said, his eyes dark and restless. “If she is sleeping with Roth, she is dangerous.”
“Why?” Daron asked, wiping his mouth. “Roth is just a competitor.”
“Because she knows my secrets,” Grayson said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. “She knows the family secrets.”
Belle’s face went pale. “The NDA covers everything, right? She can’t say anything about Kaiden.”
“Legal documents don’t stop pillow talk,” Grayson said, his jaw clenched tight. “If she tells Roth about our internal structure, or about the Vanguard bid, we are exposed.”
He looked at Daron. “We need to lock down the government contract before SkyLine does. Whatever it takes.”
Belle nodded quickly. “Don’t worry. I’m meeting with Felix Thorne from the procurement committee tomorrow. I’ll handle it.”
Grayson nodded, but his mind was not on the contract. It was on Isolde, sitting in the passenger seat of that McLaren.
She hadn’t looked like a desperate mistress. She had looked like a queen.
Later that night, at the Carson Estate, Isolde sat at the heavy oak desk in her grandfather’s study. The only light came from the soft glow of her laptop screen. She sneezed suddenly and rubbed her nose.
“Someone is talking about me,” she murmured.
She clicked her mouse and opened a heavily encrypted folder. The file name read: Project Phoenix — Sub-module 04.
She began to type.
Two days later.
The main conference room at the Institute was a sterile environment of white walls, glass tables, and high-definition screens.
Grayson, representing SkyLine Technologies, sat on one side of the long glass table, his expression set in grim determination. Belle sat beside him, though her demeanor suggested she was there more as an observer than a participant in SkyLine’s pitch. They were there to present SkyLine’s new AI integration system for the upcoming satellite project.
Professor Nelson sat at the head of the table, resting his chin on his hand, looking profoundly bored.
.