Chapter 521

Chapter 521:

The doorbell rang. Isolde moved carefully to the window and looked down to see a black luxury sedan parked below, the Lancaster family driver standing respectfully at the curb. Moments later he called her phone, his tone polite and practiced.

“Miss Carson, I’m the driver sent by Mr. Lancaster to collect you and the little miss for the East Hampton estate p>

Isolde’s response was immediate and flat. “Tell him I have my own car. I won’t be riding in his p>

She had no intention of being confined in an enclosed space if Grayson was present, and she refused to accept even the smallest favor from him — least of all when she was already unwell.

𝘙е𝗰о𝗆𝘮е𝘯𝗱 g𝖺𝘭𝘯𝘰vеlѕ.𝘤о𝗺 t𝗈 yоu𝗿 𝘧r𝗶еո𝘥𝗌

She hung up, found ibuprofen, swallowed two tablets with water, and splashed cold water on her face to force herself alert. She looked at Effie’s bright, eager expression, gritted her teeth, grabbed her keys, and led her daughter outside.

Luck was not on her side. The moment she merged onto I-495, she hit the full weight of Friday’s outbound traffic — cars crawling, the road stretching endlessly ahead. The fever worsened. Her vision blurred at the edges, the lanes doubling, her head feeling dense and unreliable. Every moment of focus demanded pure willpower.

Effie sang happily in her car seat, chattering without pause, completely unaware of her mother’s struggle. Isolde gripped the wheel and kept answering her, refusing to let her guard slip for even a second.

What should have been a short drive took three full hours. When the Lancaster private estate finally appeared in East Hampton, it spread before them like a cold monument to old money — a grand European-style main house, immaculate grounds, manicured greenery reaching in every direction.

The driveway was lined with Bentleys, Rolls-Royces, and Ferraris glinting in the late afternoon sun. Isolde’s plain Volvo settled into a space among them like an apology.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door. The moment she stood, a violent wave of dizziness struck. Her legs gave way beneath her and she grabbed the car door, catching herself, her face draining to the color of paper.

On the main house steps stood a young woman in a couture gown, champagne flute in hand, posture exquisitely arrogant. Grayson’s younger sister, Seraphina, had been watching from the beginning.

Her eyes moved over Isolde’s pale, unsteady figure with open amusement, and a mocking smile curved her lips.

“What — weak at the sight of the Lancaster estate? Not surprising, considering you’re no longer welcome here p>

Isolde waited for the dizziness to recede, then lifted her head and met Seraphina’s gaze, her voice tired but level.

“Move, Seraphina p>

She had no energy for this. She wanted nothing but a room and a flat surface to lie down on.

Seraphina did not move. She stepped forward, twirling her champagne glass, her sneer sharpening.

“Still got a temper. I heard you won some engineering award lately — don’t think a little prize earns you a way back into this family. You’re out. For good p>