Chapter 372
“Did you put him up to this?” Belle shrieked, her voice cracking with hysteria. “Did you poison him against me? Is this your revenge?”
Grayson stepped immediately in front of Belle, his broad shoulders forming a shield between her and the staring crowd.
“Enough,” he said, his voice carrying the full weight of his authority.
He turned to Nelson, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched. “Professor, perhaps you are tired. It has been a long evening.” He stepped closer to the old man, his tone dropping to a quiet, threatening rumble. “Belle is the face of this company. Disrespecting her in public is disrespecting me.”
Nelson looked up at the towering billionaire. His eyes held nothing but profound pity.
“Then you are both fools,” he said simply.
He turned on his heel, his cane clicking sharply against the marble floor as he moved to leave the alcove. As he turned, his gaze swept past the crowd and caught on the shadows near the pillar — the flash of a red dress, the sharp and familiar lines of a face.
Rеa𝖽 𝘧𝘳𝗼𝘮 𝘺𝗼𝘂𝘳 𝗉𝗵оnе 𝗈n 𝗀𝖺𝘭𝘯𝘰𝘃𝗲𝗹s.𝘤o𝘮
Nelson stopped dead. He squinted, adjusting his spectacles.
“Sophia?” he asked.
Isolde held her breath. Her lungs burned. She stepped out of the shadows and into the harsh light of the alcove.
“Hello, Professor,” she said softly.
She kept her spine perfectly straight. “I didn’t run. I took a detour.”
Nelson walked directly past Grayson, ignoring the billionaire and the weeping mistress entirely. He stopped in front of Isolde and looked her up and down.
“A five-year detour?” he asked, his tone balanced somewhere between anger and relief. “In a kitchen?”
“I learned some things,” Isolde said, a small, genuine smile finally reaching her lips. “About structural integrity. And about resilience.”
Behind Nelson, Belle and Grayson stood frozen in stunned silence, watching in bewildered disbelief as the most respected academic in the room turned his back on the hosts of the gala to speak to the discarded housewife.
Nelson lifted his heavy wooden cane and tapped it sharply on the marble floor, breaking the stunned silence of the alcove.
“Come,” he ordered, looking directly at Isolde. “Dinner. I am starving, and the food at these corporate circuses always tastes like plastic.”
Isolde hesitated for a fraction of a second and glanced back at Arland. “Professor, I came with Arland —”
Nelson waved a dismissive hand in Arland’s direction without looking at him. “Then he can drive. I assume he can handle more than basic valet duties.”
Arland’s lips curved into a slight grin. “I can also calculate the optimal trajectory for a hypersonic glide vehicle, sir. But I’m happy to drive.”
Nelson stopped and actually turned to look at him, a flicker of surprised interest crossing his sharp eyes. He grunted — a sound that was almost approval. “Fine. He can come too.”
He turned his back on the alcove. He did not say goodbye to Grayson. He did not spare a single glance for Belle. He simply began walking toward the main exit, expecting Isolde to follow.
.
.