Chapter 610
Chapter 610:
She struck her cane against the floor with each word that followed. “Isolde is the wife I chose for you. She possesses the intellect and the breeding required to carry this family forward. You will not humiliate her. You will not humiliate me p>
Grayson’s chest felt as though it were locked in a vice. He grasped at the only lifeline available to him. “The company’s stock is stable,” he said. “The board is satisfied with the current trajectory p>
Beatrice stopped inches from his face.
“I am the board,” she whispered. “I hold ultimate veto power over your voting shares. If you do not end this disgusting public spectacle immediately, I will strip you of your CEO title by tomorrow morning. I will freeze your assets and banish you from this estate p>
Grayson’s pupils dilated. The threat was not empty. She possessed the legal authority to dismantle his entire life’s work with a single signature.
He was backed into a corner with no room left to maneuver.
The panic finally broke through his iron control. “I am not betraying my marriage,” he said, his voice low and trembling with a desperate, unguarded truth. “I do not want a divorce p>
It was the first time he had spoken those words aloud. The admission tasted like ash.
Beatrice narrowed her eyes and studied his face, searching methodically for the lie. She found only genuine terror.
She leaned slowly back onto her cane. “If you do not want to lose her,” she said coldly, “then put your dog back on its leash. Clean up this mess, Grayson p>
She turned her back on him and walked toward the door. “I will be having tea with Isolde tomorrow afternoon,” she announced, without looking back. “I will hear the truth from her own lips p>
𝗗о𝘸𝗻𝗹о𝖺𝗱 P𝘋𝘍ѕ 𝖿𝘳𝘦𝗲 𝘰𝗻
Grayson’s heart stopped.
If Beatrice questioned Isolde—and Isolde revealed the truth about the divorce papers and the NDA—Beatrice would execute him. The fragile web of lies he had constructed was about to be torn apart from every direction at once.
The afternoon sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the private tea room, casting fragmented patterns of color across the thick Persian rug. The air smelled of dried lavender and expensive Earl Grey.
Isolde sat on the edge of a velvet chair, her posture flawless and her expression serene. But beneath the table, her palms were slick with cold sweat, her heart hammering against her ribs in a frantic, painful rhythm.
She was sitting directly across from Beatrice Lancaster.
Under the ironclad terms of the Non-Disclosure Agreement she had signed with Grayson, she was legally obligated to maintain the illusion of a happy marriage for another six months. If she breathed a single word about the separation, Grayson’s lawyers would instantly file a breach of contract, and she would lose custody of Effie.
She was trapped in a cage, forced to smile at the warden.
Beatrice poured a cup of tea and pushed it across the table. Her sharp eyes analyzed every micro-expression on Isolde’s face. “Drink,” she commanded softly. “You look pale p>