Chapter 457

Chapter 457:

Mr. Lee raised the heavy kettle. His vision was blurred by madness and rage. He lunged wildly toward the head of the table, aiming for Belle — but his foot caught on the leg of a hastily abandoned chair. He pitched forward, losing his grip.

The kettle flew from his hands, tumbling end over end. It was no longer a targeted attack. It was a random, terrifying projectile.

The metal spout tipped downward mid-air. A deadly sheet of boiling water erupted in a wide arc — aimed directly at the chair where Isolde was sitting.

Time stretched into a thick, agonizing crawl.

Be 𝗍h𝗲 𝗳ir𝘀𝘁 𝘁o 𝘳𝘦а𝘥 𝗈𝗇

The boiling water erupted from the spout of the kettle, forming a deadly, steaming arc in the air aimed directly at Isolde.

She was trapped between the heavy dining table and the high back of her chair. There was no physical space to dodge.

Her survival instinct took over. She squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arms up to shield her face, muscles locked tight, bracing for the horrific agony of boiling water against her skin.

A massive dark shadow lurched from her right.

A raw, guttural sound of alarm tore from Grayson’s throat — not a name, just a pure, instinctual noise. He shoved himself forward with his good arm, his body moving clumsily, ignoring the cast on his right. He didn’t launch himself so much as fall — a desperate, agonizing lunge from his chair — placing himself directly between the kettle and Isolde.

A sickening splash echoed through the room, followed immediately by a low, guttural groan of pure agony.

Isolde did not feel the skin-melting heat she had braced for. A few stray drops of lukewarm water splattered against the back of her hands.

She opened her eyes.

Grayson was on his knees on the carpet directly in front of her, his back turned to her. Thick white steam rolled off his expensive charcoal suit. The fabric was soaked dark. His entire body was locked in a violent, uncontrollable tremor.

“Gray! Oh my God!” Belle screamed, her voice sharp enough to shatter glass.

Mr. Lee froze. The heavy metal kettle slipped from his hands and clattered onto the floor, hot water pooling into the carpet.

“I did not —” Mr. Lee stammered, staring at his empty hands. “I did not mean to hit him p>

Two security guards finally rushed through the open doors and tackled Mr. Lee to the ground, pinning his arms behind his back.

Grayson ground his teeth together. Sweat poured down his pale forehead. He planted his good left hand on the floor and tried to push himself upright. The movement pulled the fabric tight across his back. The burned skin underneath tore. He stumbled and nearly collapsed again.

Isolde stared at him. Her lungs forgot how to pull in air.

“Grayson… you…” Isolde whispered.

Grayson turned his head slightly. His face was completely drained of color, his lips blue. His first instinct, through the blinding haze of pain, was to look at her.

“Are you hurt?” Grayson rasped.

Belle shoved her way past the overturned chairs and threw herself onto the floor beside him, roughly pushing Isolde’s chair back.