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Chapter 664
Chapter 664:
These women were foolish, but they were not creative. A rumor this specific — targeting genetic markers to obscure a paternity scandal — did not originate at a country club lunch.
Isolde’s eyes swept the room.
Near the exit, speaking quietly into a headset, was Silas. Grayson’s chief executive assistant.
The truth hit her like a physical blow to the chest.
Grayson’s public relations team was actively seeding this rumor. They were sacrificing Effie’s reputation to construct a smokescreen for Kaiden and Belle. And Grayson — the CEO, the man who shared Effie’s blood — was allowing it to happen.
A wave of pure, unadulterated hatred moved through Isolde. It burned away the last microscopic shred of grief she had ever held for her marriage.
𝗠оs𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 t𝗁is 𝗐ее𝗄 o𝗇 ѕ.𝗰𝗈𝘮
She pulled out her phone and opened an encrypted messaging app. She typed a single sentence to her private lawyer.
Draft a formal warning to the Lancaster PR division. I am going to war tomorrow.
Isolde approached a passing waiter, took a fresh glass of champagne, and swallowed the cold liquid in one smooth motion.
She was done playing defense. Tomorrow morning, Grayson Lancaster was going to bleed.
The digital clock on the dashboard read exactly 10:00 AM.
Isolde stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of SkyLine Technologies headquarters. She wore a tailored slate-grey suit and black stiletto heels. Every step she took against the polished hardwood floor rang like a hammer striking an anvil.
She radiated a freezing, untouchable hostility.
Silas sat at his desk outside the CEO’s office. When he saw Isolde marching down the corridor, his eyes widened in panic. He jumped out of his ergonomic chair and held his hands up in a desperate attempt to block her path.
“Ms. Carson,” Silas stammered, his voice tight with anxiety. “You can’t be up here. Mr. Lancaster is in the middle of a critical transatlantic video conference with the London board. He left strict orders not to be disturbed p>
Isolde did not slow down. She did not even blink.
“Move, Silas,” she commanded, her voice low and carrying a lethal vibration.
“I will lose my job,” Silas pleaded, stepping directly in front of the heavy walnut doors.
Isolde stopped. She looked at the assistant, her eyes flat and dead.
“If you do not step aside right now,” she said softly, “I will make sure you lose a great deal more than your job p>
Silas swallowed hard. He studied her face, saw the absolute resolve simmering just beneath the surface, and slowly moved aside.
Isolde reached out and shoved both walnut doors open with a single, violent push.
They crashed against the interior walls with a deafening bang.
Inside the massive, sunlit office, Grayson Lancaster sat behind a sprawling mahogany desk, staring at a flat-screen monitor displaying six London executives. His head snapped up. His dark eyebrows crashed together in instant, furious irritation.
He saw Isolde in the doorway.
Grayson reached out and pressed a button on his console. “Gentlemen, we will pause for five minutes.” He closed his laptop with a sharp snap. The wall screen went black.