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Chapter 612
Chapter 612:
The tea concluded. The butler escorted Isolde out of the room.
The moment the heavy wooden doors closed behind her, she sagged against the corridor wall. The strength drained from her legs. She felt physically ill from the toxic hypocrisy she had just been forced to perform.
She pulled her phone from her purse. Her fingers trembled as she typed a message to Grayson.
I covered for your pathetic mess. The NDA holds. Do not forget what you owe me.
She hit send, shoved the phone back into her bag, and pushed herself off the wall. She needed to leave this suffocating estate.
She turned the corner of the grand hallway—and stopped dead in her tracks.
Walking toward her, wearing a triumphant smirk and a tailored crimson trench coat, was Belle Escobar.
𝘔𝗼𝗋𝖾 𝗇о𝘃el𝗌 𝗈𝗻 𝘨𝘢𝗅𝗇𝘰𝘷еlѕ.𝗰o𝘮
Belle halted in the center of the grand hallway. Her eyes darted toward the heavy oak doors of Beatrice’s private wing, then back to Isolde.
A flicker of surprise crossed her face before it was swallowed by a wave of arrogant superiority. “Well,” Belle said, her voice echoing off the marble walls. “I suppose the old woman finally called you in to negotiate your severance package. Did you get enough alimony to cover your little apartment in Chelsea p>
Isolde stood perfectly still. The exhaustion from lying to Beatrice evaporated, replaced by a cold, crystalline focus. She looked at Belle the way one looks at a profoundly stupid animal walking blindly into a slaughterhouse.
“You are in a remarkably good mood for someone whose company is currently undergoing a hostile forensic audit,” Isolde observed, her voice flat and entirely devoid of emotion.
Belle’s smirk faltered—a flash of panic in her eyes—but she recovered quickly, lifting her chin with practiced defiance. “Grayson will handle the audit,” she sneered, taking a step closer. “He always protects me. In fact, the Lancaster estate called me an hour ago. The Matriarch wishes to see me. For a private dinner p>
She smoothed the lapels of her crimson coat, her eyes gleaming with manic triumph. “She saw the Wall Street Journal article. She knows I am the future of SkyLine. She is officially bringing me into the inner circle tonight. Your time is up, Isolde p>
Isolde stared at her. A slow, dark sense of amusement curled in her chest.
Beatrice Lancaster did not invite mistresses to dinner in order to welcome them. She invited them to destroy them.
Isolde kept the illusion intact and looked at Belle with a gaze of absolute, chilling pity. “Enjoy your meal, Belle,” she said softly. “Just be careful not to choke on the bones p>
She stepped to the side, preparing to walk past her and leave the estate.
“Ms. Carson. Please wait p>
The head butler’s voice rang out from the far end of the corridor. Isolde stopped. Belle turned around, a bright, expectant smile plastered across her face.