Chapter 317
“Look,” Daron said, nudging the man beside him. He raised his voice, making sure it carried over the crowd. “Roth brought his pet.”
He stepped forward. “Isolde! Shopping trip didn’t work out? Or are you here to find husband number two?”
The chatter nearby died. Heads turned.
Isolde didn’t flinch. She stopped walking and turned slowly, pivoting on her heel to face him.
“Hello, Daron,” she said, her voice cool, calm, and perfectly projected. “Still leveraging your father’s portfolio to pretend you have a job?”
ѕa𝘃𝗲 у𝗈𝘶𝗋 f𝖺vо𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘦 ո𝘰𝘃e𝗅𝗌 𝘰ո 𝗴𝖺𝗹n𝗈𝘷el𝘴.сo𝗆
Daron’s face flushed blotchy red. He sneered and stepped closer.
“At least I belong here,” he spat. “What are you — a booth babe? Did Arland hire you to hand out flyers?” The men around him chuckled nervously. “Trophy wife without the husband,” he muttered. “Pathetic.”
Arland stepped forward, shoulders squaring, aggression radiating off him. “Watch your mouth, McKnight.”
Isolde placed a hand lightly on Arland’s chest. It stopped him instantly.
“Don’t,” she said softly.
She turned back to Daron and looked him up and down, dismissing him in a single glance.
“I am the Chief Technical Consultant for Carson Dynamics’ new venture,” she said, her voice ringing clear across the surrounding space. “And unlike you, Daron, I can read a balance sheet without a tutor.”
She held his gaze for one beat longer — just enough to let the insult land — then turned away.
“Let’s go, Arland,” she said.
She walked past him. The air shifted in her wake. She hadn’t crumbled. She hadn’t raised her voice. She had simply flattened him.
From the balcony above, Grayson watched the entire exchange, his hands gripping the railing.
He saw the white suit. He saw the way she carried herself — spine straight, chin high, utterly unshakable.
“She is embarrassing herself,” Belle murmured, appearing at his elbow. “Playing dress-up in a suit. Who does she think she is?”
Grayson didn’t look at Belle. He couldn’t take his eyes off Isolde.
“She looks different,” he murmured.
It wasn’t just the clothes. It was the energy. The Isolde he had known — the one who baked pancakes and organized charity dinners — was gone. The woman standing below him was steel.
Belle’s eyes narrowed. She sensed his distraction.
“Let’s go greet Felix Thorne,” she said sharply, pulling at his arm. “Before she does.”
Down in the main hall, Arland exhaled.
“You handled that well,” he said. “I wanted to punch him.”
Isolde adjusted her cuff. Her pulse was steady.
“I’m saving my energy for the investors,” she said. “Daron is just noise. We are here for the signal.”
The VIP Lounge was a sanctuary of velvet sofas and dim lighting, separated from the chaos of the main floor by heavy velvet ropes.
Felix Thorne held court at the center of the room — an older man with silver hair and a reputation for making or breaking tech startups, presently surrounded by sycophants competing to pitch him their ideas.
Arland approached the circle.
“Mr. Thorne,” he said smoothly. “A moment for Carson Dynamics?”
Felix looked up and swirled the ice in his glass. “Roth. I heard your stock is volatile.”
.
.