Chapter 357
“Henry,” she said to the doorman at the desk, her voice clear and unhurried. “If that man attempts to enter this building, you are to call the police immediately. He is a trespasser.”
“Yes, Ms. Carson,” Henry replied, his posture straightening as he cast a wary glance toward the street.
Isolde crossed the lobby with her head high and her spine perfectly straight.
Outside, on the wet sidewalk, Belle wound her arms tightly around Grayson’s waist.
“Let’s go home, Gray,” she murmured, trying to steer him toward the SUV. “I’ll take care of you.”
Grayson didn’t move. Slowly, quietly, he reached down and lifted her arms away from his body.
𝗪𝗵а𝘁 e𝗏𝘦𝗋уо𝗇е іѕ 𝗋𝘦а𝘥𝗶n𝘨 о𝗻 gа𝗹𝗻o𝘷e𝗅𝘀.𝗰o𝗆
He stood in the rain and stared through the thick glass doors at Isolde’s retreating back. A sudden, overwhelming wave of loss broke against his chest — so heavy it made his knees buckle slightly.
Inside, the elevator doors slid shut.
The moment Isolde was alone in the metal box, the rigid control snapped.
She sank against the back wall and slid down until she was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest. She did not cry. Tears were a waste of hydration.
Instead, a hot, blinding anger ignited deep in her gut. It burned away the fear. It burned away the lingering ghosts of her marriage.
She pulled her phone from her clutch, opened her contacts, and found Grayson’s profile. Then she deleted the photo of the two of them smiling in Paris.
Monday morning at Carson Dynamics Headquarters felt like the inside of a pressure cooker.
The air in the open-plan office was drawn tight. Engineers typed furiously, their eyes darting toward the glass-walled executive suites. Something was wrong, and everyone could feel it.
Isolde stepped off the elevator at exactly 8:00 AM, dressed in a tailored grey suit that looked like modern armor.
Sarah, the HR Manager, was already pacing outside Isolde’s office door, a thick manila folder clutched to her chest.
“Ms. Carson,” Sarah said, her voice tight with anxiety. “We have a problem.”
Isolde unlocked her door, set her briefcase on the desk, and picked up her ceramic coffee cup. “Tell me.”
Sarah followed her inside and pulled the door shut behind her. “Belle Escobar. She filed a formal complaint with the State Labor Board this morning.”
Isolde lowered her coffee cup slowly. The ceramic clicked against the glass desktop.
“On what grounds?” Isolde asked.
Sarah opened the folder. “Wrongful termination. Creating a hostile work environment. And intentional infliction of emotional distress based on a personal conflict of interest.”
Isolde studied her HR manager for a moment. For one brief second, she thought it must be a joke.
“She worked here for three days,” Isolde said, her voice dangerously quiet. “She produced absolutely nothing.”
“She alleges you targeted her due to personal bias,” Sarah read from the document, “and humiliated her in front of the engineering staff.”
“I did humiliate her,” Isolde said flatly. “Because she is incompetent. She suggested we build aerospace drones out of brittle metals.”
She rounded her desk and sat down, opening her laptop. Her fingers moved across the keyboard before Sarah had time to respond.
.