Chapter 495
Chapter 495:
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry p>
Isolde stood among the glass shards, her skirt cold and wet, her composure intact despite everything. She bent down to help the waiter collect the pieces.
Belle’s voice rose louder, cutting across the room.
“This is what happens when you have no manners. You can’t even walk properly, yet you show up here to embarrass everyone p>
The murmurs of judgment and mockery swelled. Grayson saw the look on Isolde’s face and felt his chest tighten. He almost stepped forward.
𝘙𝖾𝗮d 𝘧𝗋𝗲𝗲 𝗇𝘰𝘷е𝘭𝘀 оո g𝗮𝗹ո𝘰𝘃е𝗹𝗌.𝖼о𝗆
Belle’s hand clamped down on his arm and stopped him cold. He hesitated, frozen in place.
Isolde felt the weight of every eye in the room pressing down on her — helpless and cornered, exactly as she had felt during those years inside the Lancaster mansion. She straightened her back and pressed her lips together, refusing to let a single crack show.
The crowd parted.
Sterling strode through it, his expression dark and purposeful, heading directly for Isolde. He did not glance at Belle once. His gaze stayed only on Isolde as he reached her side.
Without a word, he removed his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders, covering her wet, stained skirt completely and shielding her from view. Then he turned to the trembling waiter, his voice calm but carrying the full weight of his authority.
“You’re fired p>
The waiter shook, barely able to speak. “Sir, I — ”
Sterling cut him off, a quiet smile on his face — firm and unhurried.
“No. You’re promoted. Because of you, I got the chance to be her hero p>
Sterling let out a genuine laugh, and a moment later, his amusement rippled through the onlookers. A wave of soft, appreciative chuckles broke the tension, the crowd siding entirely with Isolde. The atmosphere eased, if only for a moment.
Sterling’s gaze softened as he looked down at her, his voice low and intimate amid the dispersing crowd.
“Can you still walk? Be careful of the glass p>
Isolde nodded, but as she took her first step, the slender heel of her shoe landed squarely on a shard of broken champagne flute. It skittered across the smooth stone floor.
A small gasp escaped her lips as her ankle twisted and her body lurched backward in an uncontrolled fall.
She never hit the ground. Sterling’s arm shot out with startling speed, wrapping around her waist with unyielding strength and pulling her back from the edge.
Isolde fell directly into his solid frame. Her hands flew up instinctively, clutching at the crisp fabric of his shirtfront, right over his heart.
The moment froze — a perfect tableau. Her back was arched, his body a firm anchor, their faces inches apart. She could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers, could see the sharp focus in his dark eyes.
The press, who had been lurking at the edges of the party, surged forward. Flashbulbs strobed relentlessly, capturing the dramatic, impossibly romantic moment from every angle.