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Chapter 696
Chapter 696:
He walked toward her, his eyes moving over her with respectful but unmistakable intensity.
βYou look breathtaking,β Maxwell murmured, offering his arm.
Isolde slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow. βYou clean up nicely yourself, Mr. Hayes p>
They settled into the back of a waiting Rolls Royce. The ride to the restaurant was filled with easy, unhurried conversation β European history, vintage wines, the architecture of Boston. The intellectual chemistry from the lab had transitioned seamlessly into a warm, magnetic tension.
SπππΏiΠ΅s πΊπu ππΌπ―βπ΅ π½ππ π₯πΌππ» π°π
The car pulled up to the discreet entrance of the restaurant. Maxwell guided Isolde inside, and they walked down a long, dimly lit VIP corridor lined with thick Persian carpets and dark mahogany walls.
At that exact moment, rounding the corner from the private dining rooms, were Grayson Lancaster and Belle Escobar.
Grayson had not arrived at this particular restaurant by coincidence. He had paid the Four Seasons head concierge a small fortune for the details of Isoldeβs reservation, cross-referencing it with the GPS tracker data Silas had pulled earlier. He had endured two hours of excruciating boredom with local politicians at a nearby table, waiting for precisely this moment. He was exhausted, agitated, and his mind had been entirely consumed by thoughts of Isolde since the moment he landed.
He turned the corner.
His leather shoes stopped dead on the carpet.
He looked down the corridor.
He saw Isolde. He saw the way the black lace moved with her. He saw the radiant, confident, breathtaking smile on her face β a smile that was wholly, devastatingly genuine.
And then he saw the tall, broad-shouldered man whose arm she was holding.
Graysonβs heart stopped. The air left his lungs in a single, silent blow. A wave of pure, homicidal jealousy detonated somewhere behind his eyes.
The silence in the VIP corridor was absolute. The thick Persian carpet absorbed every sound, turning the hallway into a vacuum of suffocating tension.
Grayson stood frozen, his eyes locked onto Isolde.
He felt a physical pain in his chest, as though his ribs were cracking under immense pressure. He had never seen her look like this. She was glowing β powerful, radiant, and entirely untouchable.
And she was holding another manβs arm.
Belle, standing slightly behind him, followed his gaze. When she saw Isolde, her face twisted with bitter jealousy. Then she saw the opportunity.
She stepped forward, her heels clicking loudly, and plastered a wide, dramatically performative smile across her face.
βIsolde!β Belle gasped, her voice echoing shrilly in the quiet hall. βMy goodness, what a surprise. I didnβt know you frequented places like this. Who is yourβ¦ friend p>
Isoldeβs smile vanished the instant she saw Grayson.
Her facial muscles locked. Her eyes turned into twin pools of frozen mercury. She did not release Maxwellβs arm. She tightened her grip, her spine straightening into a posture of absolute defiance.