Chapter 44
Chapter 44:
In a small apartment in Brooklyn, the smell of bacon filled the air. Isolde was flipping pancakes. Effie was sitting at the wobbly table, coloring on the back of a printout of the SkyLine stock chart.
Isolde’s phone buzzed on the counter.
Grayson.
She let it ring for a full minute. She flipped a pancake. She took a sip of orange juice. Finally, she picked it up.
“What p>
𝖸оu𝘳 𝗻𝖾𝘹t 𝘧𝗮𝘷𝘰r𝗶𝗍𝖾 𝗿е𝘢d 𝗂𝗌 𝗼𝘯
Grayson’s voice was tight, stressed. “Where are you? We need to talk p>
“Talk about what?” Isolde asked, leaning her hip against the counter. “Harper sent the divorce papers. Did you lose them p>
“Stop it, Isolde,” Grayson snapped. “I don’t have time for this game. SkyLine is in a crisis. I have board members breathing down my neck. I can’t deal with your drama right now p>
Isolde laughed softly. “Your crisis seems self-inflicted. Maybe you shouldn’t have let your girlfriend design life-support systems p>
“Belle made a mistake!” Grayson defended instinctively. “It was a vendor issue. You wouldn’t understand the technical details p>
Isolde stared at the wall. The irony was so thick she could choke on it.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m just a housewife. What would I know about thermal runaway p>
Grayson paused. “What did you say p>
“I said good luck,” Isolde covered quickly.
“Look,” Grayson sighed, his voice softening into a manipulative purr. “Tonight is our anniversary. I kept the reservation at Per Se. Come to dinner. Let’s reset. I’ll get Effie into the best schools. I’ll set up a trust. Just… come home. Stop being difficult p>
Stop being difficult.
Translation: Stop having a personality. Stop having needs. Be the furniture.
“Grayson,” Isolde said quietly. “You don’t love me. You love having a fan p>
“That’s not true,” he protested.
“It is. And I’m done clapping p>
“Isolde, if you hang up p>
She hung up.
She tossed the phone onto the sofa.
“Who was that?” Effie asked, mouth full of pancake.
“Nobody,” Isolde said. “Just a wrong number p>
Back in his office, Grayson stared at his phone in disbelief. She had hung up on him. Again.
He felt a surge of rage. How dare she? When he was down? When his company was bleeding?
He sat down at his computer. On the screen, the search for “Sophia” was still running, returning zero results.
He didn’t know that the ghost he was hunting and the wife he was dismissing were the same person. The gap in his perception was a canyon, and he was falling into it.
He grabbed a velvet box from his drawer. He had bought it weeks ago, just in case.
“Send this to her,” he barked at his assistant who was hovering by the door. “Find out where she’s staying and deliver it by hand p>
“Yes, Mr. Lancaster p>
Grayson turned back to the window. She would come. She always came back. The ring was a pink diamond. No woman walked away from a pink diamond.
The doorbell of the Brooklyn apartment buzzed at 4:00 PM.
Isolde was on the floor, helping Effie construct a complex bridge out of Lego.
“I’ll get it,” Isolde said. She checked the peephole.