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Chapter 740
Chapter 740:
She wore a plush white bathrobe and held a glass of dark red wine. Her phone screen lit up on the marble counter. She glanced at the notification — Belle’s text.
Harper leaned over to read it. Her face turned red with instant fury, and she gripped the edge of the counter. “That delusional woman! She is literally standing on a trapdoor with a noose around her neck, and she’s bragging about the view p>
Isolde did not frown. She did not get angry.
Instead, a low, incredibly cold chuckle moved through her throat — a sound so devoid of human warmth that the hairs on Harper’s arms stood on end.
“Harper,” Isolde said, swirling the red wine slowly in her glass, her voice as calm as a frozen lake. “Do you know which pigs are the quietest in the slaughterhouse p>
Harper blinked. “No p>
“The ones that have just been fed,” Isolde whispered, taking a slow sip. “They are full, happy, and completely convinced they are walking into paradise — right up until the blade finds their throat p>
She tossed her phone onto the sofa without typing a reply. You don’t argue with a corpse.
Dо𝘄𝗇𝗹𝗼𝘢𝗱аb𝗅𝗲 р𝗗𝖥ѕ о𝗇
She walked to her laptop and opened the real, uncorrupted file of her Nature paper. The critical active cooling loop — the exact segment of code Belle had deleted, convinced it was redundant — pulsed on the screen with a soft, lethal blue light.
Isolde closed the laptop. Her eyes were completely still, locked into the absolute, clinical mindset of an executioner.
“Get some sleep, Harper,” she said, reaching over to turn off the desk lamp. “On Wednesday, we are going to Capitol Hill to watch a one hundred and fifty million dollar firework show p>
The sky over Washington, D.C. was a heavy, oppressive gray on Wednesday morning.
A line of black, armored SUVs with government license plates crawled through the high-security checkpoints of the Rayburn House Office Building on Capitol Hill. The massive neoclassical stone structure was imposing and historic, housing the absolute core of American legislative and military oversight.
A sleek, understated black Lincoln pulled up to the secondary clearance gate.
Isolde and Harper stepped out wearing severe, impeccably tailored dark suits. Isolde’s hair was pulled back into a tight, flawless chignon, and she wore rimless glasses. The glamorous New York socialite had vanished entirely. She radiated the freezing, untouchable authority of a top-tier federal scientist.
They moved through the retinal scanners and biometric fingerprint readers without a single beep. A heavily armed military police officer immediately fell into step beside them, escorting them toward the inner sanctum.
Two minutes later, a conspicuously stretched Maybach pulled up to the civilian visitor gate.
Grayson stepped out, adjusting his expensive tie. Belle slid out beside him in the stark white Chanel haute couture suit, her makeup heavy and flawless — as though she were attending a fashion week gala rather than a classified military hearing. She clung tightly to his arm, projecting her manufactured dominance.
Grayson’s jaw was tight. He noticed the cold, judgmental stares from the military personnel walking past. Belle’s outfit was a screaming signal of unprofessionalism, but he kept his mouth shut.
Message from Noa: Have a great Tuesday dear readers. God loves you and Noa wishes you all the best. /