Chapter 597

Chapter 597:

The red taillights of the Cadillac SUV bled into the gray mist of the storm and vanished.

Isolde’s arm dropped slowly to her side. Her fingers were numb.

“He left,” Harper whispered, her voice barely audible over the crashing rain. Then the shock curdled into explosive rage. “That son of a bitch. That is his own flesh and blood p>

The rain poured down Isolde’s face. It was impossible to tell whether she was crying. Her eyes were completely hollow, fixed on the empty street ahead.

Effie looked up from beneath the soaked trench coat. Her lips were turning a pale shade of blue. “Mommy,” she whimpered, her voice trembling violently. “Did Daddy leave because he does not want us anymore p>

That small, broken question hit Isolde’s chest like a defibrillator.

The paralyzing shock shattered, replaced by a fierce, burning resolve. The last thread of hope she had ever held for Grayson Lancaster snapped cleanly and finally in two.

Isolde crouched down in the freezing puddle and pulled Effie tightly against her chest, letting her own body take the brunt of the wind. “No, Effie,” she said, her voice steady and devoid of tears. “He left because he is weak. And we do not need weak people in our lives. Remember this cold. Remember this moment. From now on, we only rely on ourselves p>

She stood up.

𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗻

She reached down and unbuckled the straps of her designer heels, kicked them off, and watched them tumble into the gutter and wash away in the filthy street water. She planted her bare feet directly on the freezing, abrasive concrete of the Manhattan sidewalk.

She bent down and scooped Effie into her arms, wrapping the heavy, wet coat completely around the child. “Harper, grab my purse,” she said, her jaw set like stone. “We are moving p>

“Moving where?” Harper yelled, wiping the rain from her eyes. “There are no cabs! The street is flooded p>

“The subway. There is a station two blocks down p>

Isolde began to walk.

The freezing water soaked through the hem of her trousers. The rough concrete scraped the soles of her bare feet, sending sharp spikes of pain up her legs with every step. She ignored it, focusing entirely on the weight of her daughter in her arms. They pushed through the torrential downpour—two women in ruined designer clothes, fighting the wind one step at a time.

They reached the subway entrance and descended the concrete stairs into the humid, acrid underground station. The platform was packed with hundreds of stranded commuters seeking shelter from the storm.

Isolde walked into the crowd—dripping wet, barefoot, holding a shivering child. People turned to stare. Whispers broke out.

A young woman nearby gasped and pulled out her smartphone. “Oh my god,” she said loudly. “Is that not Grayson Lancaster’s ex-wife? The one from the tabloids p>

A camera flash went off, bright and blinding in the dim station. Then another.

Harper immediately stepped in front of Isolde, raising both hands. “Back off!” she shouted. “Put the phones away! Have some basic human decency p>