Chapter 338
She walked to the kitchen, shook open a large black trash bag, and dropped the robe in, followed by a half-eaten box of takeout and a gossip magazine left open on the counter.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, twisting the tie.
She sealed the bag shut — a final, sanitary disposal of a contaminated past. Then she turned back to face the empty room.
It was time to renovate.
Monday morning at Carson Dynamics was usually a symphony of quiet productivity — the hum of servers, the click of keyboards, the smell of burnt coffee.
Today, it looked like a baggage claim.
𝘞𝗵𝗮𝘁 e𝗏е𝗿𝘆onе і𝘀 𝗋𝗲𝗮d𝗶𝘯g 𝗈𝘯 𝗴а𝗹n𝘰v𝘦𝗅ѕ.со𝗆
Isolde walked through the glass revolving doors at 8:45 AM and stopped dead.
In the center of the pristine, minimalist lobby stood a mountain of Louis Vuitton luggage. Six suitcases. A hat box. A garment bag.
The receptionist, a young woman named Sarah whom Isolde had hired just last week, leaned over the desk with an expression of barely contained panic.
“Ms. Carson,” Sarah whispered. “Ms. Escobar brought her things. She told security she’s moving in. The night guard mentioned they were kicked out of the penthouse last night and had to scramble for a hotel room.”
Isolde looked at the luggage. It was a physical manifestation of the chaos she had set in motion yesterday — Belle and Grayson, like water seeking the lowest point, had simply flowed here.
A laugh rose in her throat, sharp and acidic. She suppressed it.
“Moving in?” Isolde said. “This is a place of business, Sarah. Not a shelter.”
She walked past the luggage, her heels clicking steadily against the marble. When the elevator doors opened on the 30th floor, the shouting reached her immediately.
“I don’t care about the plumbing codes!”
Belle was standing in the middle of the hallway, jabbing a manicured finger at the chest of the Facilities Manager, Dave, who looked as though he desperately wished to dissolve into the carpet.
“I need a shower installed in the executive bathroom by tonight!” Belle screamed. “I cannot wash my hair in a sink like a — like a peasant!”
“Problems with your housing situation, Belle?” Isolde asked, her voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel.
Belle spun around. Her eyes were red and puffy, her makeup slightly smudged. She looked exhausted. The homeless look didn’t suit her.
“You!” Belle hissed. “You threw us out on the street! Grayson had to book a suite at the Plaza at 2:00 AM!”
“The Plaza is lovely,” Isolde said, checking her nails. “Excellent room service. Stop complaining.”
She turned to Dave. “No showers.” Then she looked toward the elevator. “Call the mailroom. Have those suitcases moved from the lobby to basement storage.”
“The basement?” Belle gasped. “Those are vintage!”
“This is a tech company,” Isolde said, stepping closer. “Not a refuge for failed mistresses. If you want to work here, you adhere to the dress code and the building codes.”
Belle’s face flushed a blotchy crimson. “I am the Chief Liaison! I demand an office — the main conference room you promised me!”
Isolde smiled. It wasn’t a kind smile.
.