Chapter 516

Chapter 516:

Isolde turned to Grayson. Her eyes were winter — flat and without warmth.

“Control your companion,” she said. “And stay away from Effie. You do not deserve her p>

Grayson stared at her — fierce and defensive, every part of her closed against him. Regret, guilt, grief, and a quiet, shapeless ache pressed together in his chest until it was difficult to breathe. He opened his mouth, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Isolde, I never meant to hurt her. I just p>

“Enough.” Her voice cut across his, final and without patience. “Your very existence hurts her. There is nothing left to say p>

Without another glance at either of them, Isolde turned and lifted Effie gently from Arland’s arms. She held her close, one hand moving in slow, soothing circles across her back. Her voice changed completely — soft and warm, a total contrast to everything that had come before.

“Don’t worry, baby. Mommy’s here. We’re going home p>

Harper appeared at her side immediately, ready. The group closed around Isolde and Effie and moved together toward the staircase — steady, unhesitating, without a single backward glance.

Grayson stood alone in the hallway, frozen, watching Isolde’s retreating figure. He watched Effie rest her small head on her mother’s shoulder, curled close, eyes drifting back to him over Isolde’s arm — wide and uncertain, the look of a child who no longer knew what to make of him.

𝗝𝗈𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝘦 c𝗼𝗆𝗺𝘶n𝘪𝘁𝘺 аt

Then Effie wrinkled her nose, stuck her tongue out at him in one loud, decisive grimace, and buried her face in Isolde’s neck, refusing to look at him again.

That small, childish gesture wrapped around his heart and squeezed. Five years of absence and coldness, laid bare in a single expression from a five-year-old.

Belle clicked her tongue beside him.

“What a rude child. No manners at all. Making faces like that is completely disrespectful p>

Grayson turned and looked at her. The look in his eyes made her go quiet.

“Shut up,” he said. Low, cold, and final.

The planned birthday party ended early, the evening undone by the sudden, ugly confrontation. Harper walked alongside Isolde, still muttering under her breath — a continuous, indignant stream about Belle’s cruelty and Grayson’s indifference, furious on her friend’s behalf.

Isolde moved quietly through the middle, holding Effie tightly against her chest. The little girl had exhausted herself over the long night and fallen asleep, her cheek pressed warm against her mother’s shoulder, breathing softly. In her small fist, she still clutched an unfinished piece of birthday cake, knuckles white, unwilling to release it even in sleep.

The night breeze was cool, lifting the fine hair from Effie’s forehead. Arland stopped immediately, slipped off his dark suit jacket, and draped it gently over the child, tucking the edges carefully to keep out the chill. His movements were deliberate and tender, without a trace of haste.

“Let me drive you home,” he said, his voice quiet. “My driver is waiting at the corner. The car is smooth — it won’t wake her p>