Chapter 562
Chapter 562:
“Tell you?” she said, her tone laced with ice. “Would you have believed me? Or would you have assumed I was simply jealous of Belle p>
Grayson went silent. The truth of it hit him like a fist. Yesterday, that was exactly what he would have thought.
“Enjoy this mess, Grayson,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to something just above a whisper. “This is the result of your indulgence p>
She turned away. Arland was instantly at her side, draping a heavy wool coat over her shoulders. He placed a steady hand on her back and began guiding her toward the exit.
Behind them, the scene had devolved entirely. Belle was being jostled by the furious investors crowding in around her. Her chignon had come undone, strands of hair plastered to her tear-streaked face, her makeup completely ruined. She saw Grayson turning away with Isolde, and a raw, desperate sound tore from her throat.
“Gray! Help me p>
Grayson stopped. He turned and looked back at her one final time.
The pity was gone. In its place was the cold, hard fury of a man who understands, at last, the full depth of how completely he has been deceived. The distance between them had become a chasm.
Jo𝗂𝘯 𝗍hе 𝖼𝗼𝘮𝘮𝘶n𝗂t𝘆 аt 𝗀𝗮𝗅ոo𝗏𝘦𝘭ѕ.𝘤о𝗆
He turned to his assistant, his voice stripped of all feeling.
“Freeze every Lancaster account connected to InnoTech. Cooperate fully with the FBI investigation p>
The words were a death sentence. Belle’s legs gave out. She collapsed onto the stage in a heap — a broken figure amidst the wreckage of her own ambition, no longer weeping, simply staring into an empty middle distance with nothing left to reach for.
Isolde stepped out of the convention hall and into the blinding afternoon sun.
She took a long, shuddering breath. Something tight in her chest — a knot she had been carrying for longer than she could account for — began, very slowly, to loosen.
But it was not enough. Belle was financially ruined. Not imprisoned. And Grayson, for all that he had lost today, was still Grayson Lancaster — powerful, untouched, and unreachable in the ways that mattered most.
Isolde’s fingers drifted to the faint scar on her cheek. The next stage, she thought, with quiet and grim determination, was to get Effie back.
She slid into the waiting car and let the exhaustion of the day wash over her. She closed her eyes.
“Arland,” she said, her voice weary but steady. “Take me to the hospital. I want to see my uncle p>
Belle Escobar had just spent six agonizing hours in an interrogation room, deflecting federal questions about wire fraud before her high-priced legal team secured her temporary release without formal charges. The sharp clack of her stiletto heels echoed down the sterile corridor of the 19th Precinct — a frantic metronome against the scuffed linoleum floor. She was free, for now. Her mother was not.
The waiting area smelled of cheap bleach and stale sweat. It turned her stomach.