Chapter 524

Chapter 524:

“Look at the breaks. The porcelain is rough, the repairs are old — this is a cheap reproduction. You used a piece of worthless fake to frame my daughter p>

As an engineer, her eye for materials was not something that could be argued with.

Victoria slammed her hand down on the table, her voice rising to call Isolde insolent and defiant. Isolde stood her ground, pale and unsteady, and looked back at her without flinching.

“If you will not be fair to Effie, we are leaving. I want no part of this gathering p>

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The tension in the room had reached its peak when Grandmother Beatrice’s voice cut through it, sharp and definitive.

“Enough. Isolde, you are running a severe fever p>

Before Isolde could force out the words to respond — to insist they were leaving, to hold the line one moment longer — her body reached its limit. The fever drained the last of her reserves. Her vision collapsed to black. The room spun. Her legs gave out entirely.

She fell backward, unconscious, before she could say another word.

Isolde’s consciousness faded completely. The world tilted and spun around her, a nauseating weightlessness pulling her downward. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the cold shock of marble and the bite of porcelain shards.

The pain never came.

One second before she reached the floor, the heavy parlor door slammed open from outside. A rush of cool air swept through the room, cutting through the thick scent of tea and perfume and shattering the charged silence.

A tall figure crossed the room with startling speed, urgency radiating from every line of his body. Strong, steady arms closed around Isolde’s falling frame — firm enough to catch her, gentle enough not to hurt her.

It was Grayson.

He had come directly from the office. His suit jacket was still on, his tie still straight — he had not paused for a single moment after receiving word. His chest rose and fell with an uncharacteristic urgency, his usual composure entirely gone.

Isolde lay limp in his arms, too weak to open her eyes, only dimly aware of the familiar cedar scent clinging to his jacket. The smell, once so close and constant, now felt distant — it stirred something in her foggy mind without giving her the strength to respond to it.

Grayson looked down at her, his expression darkening to something dangerous and raw. Her skin was paper-white, her cheeks flushed an unnatural pink, her forehead scorching. He had never looked like this in a room full of family — fear, fury, and something fiercely protective moving across his face in open, unguarded succession.

Effie, who had been sobbing in the corner, stumbled forward and seized his pant leg with both hands, tears streaming down her face.

“Daddy mean! Mommy’s sick! Aunt Seraphina was mean to us and she lied about me p>

The child’s raw, honest accusation cut through him. Grayson lifted his head slowly, his gaze hardening into something blade-sharp as it moved across the room and settled on Seraphina — pale-faced, guilty, her usual arrogance entirely replaced by panic.