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Chapter 682
Chapter 682:
The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the SkyLine Technologies CEO office, but the light offered no warmth.
Grayson Lancaster sat behind his massive mahogany desk, jaw locked tight, the muscles in his neck aching from a sleepless night. The memory of Isolde’s voice on the phone — cold and begging in the same breath, pleading for her uncle’s life before turning to absolute ice — still clawed at the inside of his skull.
The heavy walnut doors swung open.
Belle Escobar walked in wearing a blindingly white tailored skirt suit that demanded attention. Two senior public relations managers trailed behind her, carrying thick leather portfolios.
Belle crossed directly to Grayson’s desk and slid a heavy, gold-embossed binder across the polished wood.
“The Centennial Gala Joint-Hosting Proposal,” Belle announced, her voice dripping with manufactured sweetness.
Grayson stared at the binder. He did not touch it.
Yо𝗎𝘳 ո𝖾x𝘁 𝗳𝖺vorі𝗍𝗲 rеa𝖽 𝗂𝗌 o𝗇
“To truly showcase the depth of the InnoTech and SkyLine partnership,” Belle continued, leaning forward slightly, “the market needs a visual representation. I should stand beside you on that stage. I should be presented as co-hostess of the evening p>
The PR managers stepped forward immediately, spreading several glossy mock-ups across the desk.
“Mr. Lancaster,” the lead manager said quickly. “The media analytics are undeniable. Having Ms. Escobar on the red carpet will generate a forty percent increase in social media engagement. It projects modern corporate synergy p>
Grayson leaned back in his leather chair. His dark eyes moved across the mock-ups. A familiar, suffocating pressure built in his chest.
Belle read his silence as hesitation. She walked around the edge of the desk and reached out, her manicured fingers moving to rest on the broad curve of his shoulder — applying the soft, physical pressure she had always used to manipulate him.
Just as her fingertips brushed the expensive wool of his suit jacket, Grayson shifted. He leaned forward, smoothly and deliberately evading her touch.
Belle’s hand froze in midair. A flash of hot, ugly embarrassment crossed her face. She pulled her hand back and forced a breathy laugh to cover the moment.
Grayson picked up the heavy binder.
The instant he touched the leather, Matriarch Beatrice’s voice echoed in his head. Do not let your weakness for a flawed woman jeopardize this empire again. The old woman had threatened to strip him of his CEO title. And right behind his grandmother’s voice came Isolde’s — calm, lethal, and absolute. Isolde held the DNA forensic report. She held the divorce non-disclosure agreement. She held a nuclear button capable of vaporizing his entire life.
Allowing Belle to hijack the Gala was practically begging Isolde to press it.
Grayson dropped the binder back onto the desk. The heavy thud echoed through the quiet office.
“The Gala logistics are finalized,” Grayson stated, his voice a flat, mechanical monotone. “Organizational authority belongs entirely to Isolde. No one else will interfere p>
Belle’s eyes widened in absolute shock. Her breath hitched.