Chapter 393

Chapter 393:

Grayson stood near the massive carved oak doors of the main entrance, wearing a bespoke tuxedo that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. He held a glass of scotch he wasn’t drinking. He checked his watch. 8:45 PM.

Belle stood a few feet away in a shimmering silver gown, laughing loudly with a group of hedge fund managers while throwing desperate, needy glances in Grayson’s direction, trying to draw him into her orbit.

Grayson ignored her completely. His dark eyes were fixed on the driveway, tracking every car that pulled up to the valet stand.

Daron McKnight appeared at his side, martini in hand. He followed Grayson’s gaze and sneered. “She’s not coming, Gray. She probably chickened out. She knows she doesn’t belong in this crowd anymore without your name attached to her p>

уo𝘂𝗋 dai𝗅𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝗌𝖾 𝘰𝘧 ոо𝘷𝗲ls о𝗻.с𝗼𝗆

Grayson’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking visibly under his skin. “She doesn’t get scared, Daron. She calculates p>

By 9:30 PM, dinner service had begun inside the massive grand ballroom.

Grayson sat at the absolute center of the long head table. To his immediate right was Belle. To his immediate left was an empty chair.

In front of the empty plate sat a gold-embossed place card: Ms. Isolde Carson — Corporate Partner.

The empty chair was a screaming, physical insult. It drew the eyes of every billionaire and politician in the room — a blatant display of disrespect, a public rejection of his power. Grayson’s stomach twisted with dark, heavy frustration.

At 10:00 PM, he rose and tapped his crystal glass with a silver spoon. The room fell silent immediately.

He walked to the podium set before the massive fireplace, gripped its edges, and let his authority settle over the room.

“Welcome,” his deep voice boomed through the hidden speakers. “Welcome to the dawn of a new era for the Lancaster Group p>

At that moment, Arthur approached the head table — not the podium, but Grayson’s recently vacated seat. Grayson caught the movement in his peripheral vision and paused, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. The interruption was subtle, but it broke his momentum. He gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. He would deal with it after the speech.

But word traveled fast. By the time he finished his remarks and stepped down from the podium, a low buzz of conversation had already gathered around the main entrance hall, and guests were drifting that way, drawn by the promise of drama.

Grayson cut through the crowd. In the center of the grand foyer — positioned where every single guest had to pass it — stood a massive, heavy terracotta pot.

It was not a bouquet of apology roses. It was not a peace offering.

It was a five-foot-tall arrangement of desert cacti. The plants were thick, architectural, and covered in thousands of razor-sharp spines.

Arthur stepped forward and offered a small white card on a silver tray. Grayson opened the envelope slowly.

The handwriting was sharp and elegant.

Too busy working to pay off my equity. Enjoy the party. — Carson Dynamics.

A sharp bark of laughter erupted from a tech billionaire nearby. A ripple of low, amused chuckles spread through the foyer.