Chapter 334
“I played the man,” Isolde said, stacking her chips. “Not the cards.”
Belle’s face turned a blotchy red that clashed violently with her pink dress.
“This is ridiculous! He let you win out of pity! You didn’t earn this!”
Isolde stood and turned to the dealer. “Cash this out.”
She looked at Arland. “I believe Daron bet his vintage Aston Martin in the side pot two hands ago?”
Daron went pale. “That was a joke. A figure of speech.”
“I have it on recording,” Arland said, holding up his phone. “Hand over the keys, Daron.”
Daron cursed under his breath. “Witch.” He dug into his pocket and threw a heavy set of keys onto the green felt.
Isolde picked them up. The metal was cool in her palm.
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She didn’t put them in her purse. She tossed them to Arland.
“Happy Birthday, Arland,” she said. “I know you like British cars.”
Arland caught the keys, visibly stunned. “Isolde — this is a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car.”
“You’re my partner,” Isolde said simply. “You deserve it.”
Grayson watched the exchange, and his smile faded.
He saw the look Arland gave her — pure loyalty, bordering on adoration. He saw Isolde’s casual, effortless generosity. Cold, sharp jealousy twisted in his gut. She was giving away fortunes to another man.
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping hard against the floor. “Belle, we’re leaving.” He took her arm, his grip a little too tight.
Isolde walked past him, her purse heavy with the cashier’s check.
“Thanks for the donation, Grayson,” she said.
Grayson stepped close, his voice dropping low and urgent. “I folded because I owed you. For Effie. For the check you tore up.” He held her gaze. “Now we are even.”
Isolde stopped. She turned her head slowly and looked at him with eyes at absolute zero.
“Even?” she repeated. “You think a poker pot pays for a childhood? You think money fixes the soul?”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that cut like a razor.
“We will never be even.”
She walked away, the velvet of her gown swishing softly against the floor. Arland followed, twirling the Aston Martin keys around his finger.
At the bar, Director Caldwell watched them leave. He took a slow sip of his scotch, then pulled out his phone and typed a message.
Carson has the signature. Initiate deep background check. Potential contact.
The parking garage was a cavern of concrete and echoes, the air heavy with the smell of oil and dampness.
Arland unlocked the silver Aston Martin. The lights flashed, illuminating the dark corner.
“You are insane, Isolde,” he said, shaking his head. “Brilliant, but insane.”
Isolde leaned against the car with her arms crossed. “I’m calculating. Daron is afraid of me now. Fear is a useful currency.”
The elevator doors pinged open.
Grayson and Belle emerged. Belle’s voice carried across the concrete walls, sharp and relentless. “Why did you fold? We lost so much money! You humiliated me!”
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