Chapter 567

Chapter 567:

She spun on her heel and marched toward the doors, stilettos stabbing the carpet with every furious step. She slammed the heavy doors behind her.

Grayson stood alone in the quiet office and reached up to rub his temples, working at the pounding headache taking root behind his eyes.

He picked up his phone from the desk. Unlocked the screen. Opened his messages and tapped on Isolde’s name.

The screen was blank. They had not exchanged a single message in months.

𝗣𝖣F𝘴 оո

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to ask if her cheek still hurt. He wanted to ask if she was eating.

His thumb trembled.

He locked the phone and dropped it back onto the desk. He had no right to ask her anything.

The morning air outside Mount Sinai Hospital was biting.

Belle Escobar stood near the emergency room entrance, shivering in her thin designer trench coat. She had been pacing the concrete sidewalk for thirty minutes.

She pulled a slim cigarette from her purse and lit it with shaking hands. The harsh smoke burned her lungs, but she needed the nicotine to steady her racing pulse. She smoked it down to the filter, dropped it, and crushed it beneath her heel.

She had no lawyer today. No assistant. No leverage.

She walked through the sliding glass doors. She was here to surrender.

The VIP ward was quiet. The antiseptic smell turned her stomach.

She found Saul’s room. The door was slightly ajar.

Belle peered inside. Morning sunlight streamed through the large window, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. Isolde sat in a chair beside the bed, holding a small paring knife, carefully peeling a red apple in one long, unbroken ribbon.

She looked serene. Untouchable.

Belle knocked softly on the doorframe.

Isolde stopped. The knife hovered over the fruit. She turned her head — and the serenity vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, hard stare that made Belle’s skin crawl.

Isolde set the knife and the apple down on a napkin, stood, and walked into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind her.

“I told you I did not want to see your face again,” Isolde said. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and it landed like a physical blow.

Belle drew a slow breath and lowered her gaze to the tips of Isolde’s shoes.

“Isolde, I lose,” she said. The words tasted like ash in her mouth. “Please drop the charges against my mother p>

Isolde leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms.

“You lose?” A mocking smile played on her lips. “Which part are you referring to? The part where your mother assaults people in public, or the part where your company is hours away from bankruptcy p>

Belle’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide with terror. “You know p>

Isolde let out a short, cold laugh. “There are no secrets on Wall Street, Belle. Your primary supplier is drinking bad coffee with federal agents. Your credit lines are frozen solid. You are a walking corpse p>