Chapter 375
Grayson stiffened. He pulled his hand free from Belle’s grasp and leaned forward. “Kaiden is complicated right now.” His eyes met Isolde’s, dark and serious. “The press is starting to ask questions — about his mother, about the timeline of his birth. The story is fragile. We need you to maintain the public front as his legal guardian. We need the image of a stable, unified family, even in divorce.”
Isolde stared at him, revolted by his cowardice. “For how long, Grayson? Until Belle decides she wants the Lancaster name?”
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“I’m ready now!” Belle interjected, her voice shrill.
“No.” Grayson cut her off with a sharp bark, still not looking at her. “The current valuation is built on pure speculation. Any scandal — especially one about parentage — would shatter it overnight.” He turned back to Isolde. “You stay as the legal guardian on paper. You play the part for the cameras. For now.”
Isolde leaned back in her chair. “And what do I get for playing the doting guardian to your son?”
Grayson didn’t flinch. “I will double your alimony payments. Starting today.”
Isolde stood up and looked down at the two of them. “Keep your money, Grayson,” she said, her voice ringing with absolute finality. “I don’t need it. I have a new job.”
Belle let out a loud, mocking laugh. “What — did that dusty old professor offer you a job as his tea-lady? Don’t tell me you think one dinner is your ticket back into the world of adults.”
Isolde leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the table, and looked directly into Belle’s eyes.
𝗥еad 𝘧𝗿𝘰𝗺 𝘺o𝘶r 𝗉h𝗼ոe 𝘰𝗻 𝗴а𝗅𝘯o𝗏e𝗅𝗌.𝗰𝘰𝗺
“Something like that,” she whispered. “Enjoy your vision, Belle.”
She turned and walked out of the cafe, leaving the doubled alimony sitting on the table.
The Institute occupied a nondescript brutalist concrete building on the edge of the city. There were no glowing logos, no glass walls, no press pools.
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Isolde walked through the heavy steel front doors, bypassed the visitor desk, and moved directly to the reinforced security turnstiles. She placed her hand flat on the biometric scanner. A red laser swept over her palm, reading her fingerprints and the subdermal heat signature.
The screen flashed solid green. Above the confirmation, a single line of text appeared: ACCESS GRANTED: VALKYRIE.
The armed security guard behind the reinforced glass checked his monitor, then looked up and gave a sharp, respectful nod. “He’s expecting you, Ms. Carson,” he said, hitting the release button.
The heavy steel gates parted. Isolde walked through.
She navigated a labyrinth of sterile white hallways until she reached Nelson’s private lab and pushed the door open.
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The room was a controlled chaos of exposed wires, humming server racks, and massive holographic displays. Nelson stood in the center, loudly berating a young, terrified-looking researcher who clutched a clipboard to his chest. Nelson looked up and saw Isolde. He stopped mid-sentence.
“Finally,” he grumbled, waving her over. “Someone in this building who can actually read numbers.” He snatched the tablet from the researcher and shoved it into Isolde’s hands. “Look at this. The orbital satellite drift is currently at 0.04 percent — unacceptable. If it drifts another fraction, the entire array loses synchronization.”
Isolde didn’t hesitate. She didn’t need to sit down. Her eyes moved across the cascading lines of telemetry data.
.