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Chapter 708
Chapter 708:
The wind howled across the terrace, biting through Isolde’s soaked clothes.
A security guard rushed forward and wrapped a thick silver foil emergency blanket tightly around her trembling shoulders. Maxwell dropped to one knee beside her, pulling the edges of the foil together, trying to trap whatever body heat she had left.
Isolde’s teeth chattered violently. Her skin had gone the color of skim milk. But her eyes, staring out from beneath her wet, plastered hair, were completely lucid — cold, calculating, and entirely awake.
The glass doors to the lobby burst open.
Grayson Lancaster ran onto the terrace, three of his private security men flanking him. He had heard the commotion from the lobby bar.
When he saw Isolde sitting in a puddle of freezing water, wrapped in foil and shivering uncontrollably, his heart stopped. A spike of pure, agonizing terror pierced his chest. He sprinted toward her.
“Isolde!” he yelled, reaching out to grab her arms, wanting to pull her up and away.
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Maxwell instantly shifted his body, creating a solid wall between Grayson and Isolde. He shoved Grayson’s hands away with brutal force. “Do not touch her,” Maxwell snarled, water dripping from his jaw. “You cannot even control your own mistress. You almost got her killed p>
Grayson stumbled back. His gaze dropped to the ground. Sterling lay unconscious in a pool of blood. Then he saw Belle.
She was sitting on the wet stone, her designer dress ruined. When she spotted Grayson, she let out a loud, wretched wail and scrambled across the deck on her hands and knees, throwing her arms around his legs. “Gray! Help me!” Belle sobbed, burying her face against his trousers. “Isolde slipped, and that maniac attacked us! He broke Sterling’s face! He’s going to kill me p>
Grayson looked down at Belle clinging to him. He looked at the blood on the deck. He looked at Maxwell’s violent posture. For one crucial, fatal second, his brain stalled. He hesitated, trying to process the chaos, trying to determine who was actually at fault.
Isolde saw that hesitation.
It lasted only a second — but it was enough. It was the exact same hesitation he had shown for five years whenever Belle cried.
Isolde pushed Maxwell’s hands away. She gathered the silver foil blanket against her chest and forced her freezing, trembling legs to stand. Her bare feet slapped against the wet stone. She walked slowly toward Grayson and Belle, each step deliberate.
Belle saw her coming. She let out a whimper of feigned terror and scrambled behind Grayson’s broad back, using him as a human shield.
Isolde stopped two feet away. She looked at Grayson. Her eyes were completely dead.