Chapter 93
Chapter 93:
Belle rolled down the window. “Gray! What are you doing? Let’s go p>
Grayson didn’t look at her. “Quiet, Belle p>
Isolde pulled her hand away. “You can file whatever motion you like, Grayson. But I am gone. And Sophia? She works for the highest bidder. And that isn’t you p>
She got into Arland’s car.
“Drive,” she said.
As they pulled away, Isolde watched Grayson in the rearview mirror. He stood on the curb, watching her go — a man who had just realized he’d thrown away a winning lottery ticket.
“He’s going to come after you,” Arland said quietly. “Harder than before p>
𝗔𝘥𝗱𝗶𝘤𝘵i𝗏е 𝘀𝗍𝗼𝘳іe𝘴 o𝘯
“I know,” Isolde said. “He wants the money p>
“What are you going to do p>
Isolde watched the city lights blur past the window.
“I’m going to make sure that by the time he gets to court,” she said, “there’s nothing left of SkyLine for him to save p>
She pulled out her phone and texted Stone.
He knows about Sophia. He wants to reconcile to get the IP. Proceed with the nuclear option.
Stone replied instantly.
Understood. Filing for emergency asset freeze tomorrow. And Isolde?
Yes?
Happy hunting.
The air on the terrace of Le Bernardin was crisp, carrying the faint, salty tang of the Hudson River mixed with the expensive perfumes of New York’s elite. Inside, the celebration for Orbital Systems’ latest government contract win was in full swing — a cacophony of crystal clinking and polite laughter.
Arland Roth stood near the limestone railing, his back to the party. He held a glass of club soda with a slice of lime, the condensation cold against his fingertips. He wasn’t antisocial, but he had a low tolerance for sycophants, and tonight the room was full of them.
“Mr. Roth,” a voice purred from behind him. “All alone? The view is certainly… inspiring p>
Arland didn’t need to turn around. The scent of Midnight Rose — heavy, floral, and cloying — announced Belle Escobar long before she stepped into his peripheral vision.
He turned slowly. Belle was standing too close, wearing a silver dress cut low enough to be a conversation starter. She held two flutes of champagne, her smile practiced and predatory.
“Ms. Escobar,” Arland said, his voice flat. “I’m waiting for a partner p>
“Oh, don’t be so serious.” Belle stepped into his personal space and extended one of the glasses toward him. “I heard Orbital is looking for a new Director of Public Relations. I think I’d be a perfect fit. SkyLine is… limiting my potential p>
She leaned forward, resting a hand on the railing, her posture carefully arranged. It was a move she had used on Grayson a hundred times. She assumed it was a universal key.
Arland didn’t take the glass. He looked at her, then at the champagne, then back to her face. His expression wasn’t one of desire — it was the look a scientist might give a petri dish that had grown something unexpected.
“Orbital hires professionals, Ms. Escobar,” Arland said, his tone conversational but precise. “Not social climbers p>