Chapter 520

Chapter 520:

Grayson’s self-righteous gesture. His condescending, wordless apology. It was worth precisely nothing to her. He had expected gratitude, perhaps compliance. This was exactly what his uninvited intrusion deserved.

In the top-floor executive office of Lancaster Group, Grayson sat behind his desk in an atmosphere thick with tension. He had been staring at his phone since morning, waiting — for a message, a text, even a perfunctory acknowledgment. The screen remained dark and silent.

The office door opened quietly. Arthur stepped in with the careful, braced posture of a man delivering bad news, his eyes avoiding Grayson’s directly.

“Sir,” Arthur said, keeping his voice low. “The cake you arranged has been delivered to Miss Carson’s door, as requested p>

Grayson’s eyes stayed on the phone. “Did she say anything? Any message p>

Arthur tensed, hesitated, then forced himself to speak plainly.

“The delivery driver reported that Miss Carson took the cake… and gave it directly to the building guard p>

𝘗𝘰𝗽𝘂la𝗿 s𝘵𝗼𝘳𝘪𝘦s 𝘰n

The calm shattered. Grayson’s face turned dark, fury radiating off him in waves. He snapped his head up.

“What? Say that again p>

Arthur bowed lower, pressing on quickly. “Her exact words to the driver — she said it was a misdelivered sample, that she didn’t want it, and she passed it along to the guard p>

Grayson went still for a moment. Then he let out a short, cold, bitter laugh — rage and frustration colliding into something that had nowhere to go.

Fine. He understood perfectly. Isolde had no intention of extending him so much as a thread of goodwill.

He brought his phone down hard against the desk. The screen cracked on impact. If she was intent on pushing him to the edge — refusing every gesture, closing every door — then he would stop holding back. At the Hamptons family gathering next week, he would handle things strictly on his own terms.

It was Friday afternoon. Sunlight filtered through the living room windows, but it brought Isolde no comfort as she forced herself to pack for the Hampton estate trip. Her fingers moved slowly as she folded clothes, her head heavy and throbbing, waves of dizziness washing through her at intervals. Her throat burned with every swallow, raw and persistent.

She set the clothes down, found a thermometer, and tucked it under her arm. Minutes later she pulled it out — 101°F. A fever had come on suddenly and without mercy. She cursed quietly under her breath. She knew exactly what had caused it — the night breeze on the club balcony, the hours of emotional strain, her body finally surrendering under the accumulated weight. And it had chosen to do so on the eve of the Lancaster family gathering.

Nearby, Effie had already changed into a pretty dress and slung her tiny backpack over her shoulders, stuffed with her favorite doll and picture books. She bounced on her toes with barely contained excitement, entirely unaware of her mother’s state.