Chapter 137
Chapter 137:
Grayson watched her go. The blue box sat open on the seat beside him, a mocking mouth. With a roar of frustration, he snatched it and hurled it at the partition window. It struck the reinforced glass with a dull, pathetic thud that only amplified his impotence. The sapphire bounced off the dashboard and disappeared into the dark footwell, forgotten.
“Drive,” he snarled at Liam. “Just drive.”
Isolde’s phone buzzed as she stepped back into the lobby. It was Arland.
“Change of plans for the Gala tonight. InnoTech just announced they’re presenting. Cheryl Juarez is going to be there.”
Isolde stopped walking. A cold smile touched her lips.
“Perfect,” she whispered.
She typed back: I need a dress. Something that says I didn’t come to play.
Then she turned around and walked back out, hailing a cab. She wasn’t going back to the lab. She was going to Bergdorf’s.
She found it in the back of the showroom — a column of liquid gunmetal silk. Not red, the color of passion and rage she had worn before. This was the cold, unyielding color of a weapon. It had a high neck and long sleeves, but the back plunged dangerously low, framing the scars she usually kept hidden.
“It’s a bit aggressive,” the sales assistant murmured.
Isolde ran her hand over the fabric. It felt like armor.
𝘙𝖾c𝘰𝗺meո𝗱 gа𝗹𝗻𝗼𝗏𝘦𝗅𝗌.c𝗼𝗆 𝗍𝗈 y𝗼𝗎𝗋 𝗳𝗋і𝖾𝗇𝘥ѕ
“I’m not looking for polite,” Isolde said. “I’m looking for inevitable.”
The Tech Innovators Gala was the kind of event where the air smelled of money and desperation in equal measure.
Everyone knew. The Sophia reveal, the divorce filing, the Instagram scandal — it was a perfect storm, and every person in the room was aware of it.
Grayson stood near the bar, nursing a scotch he didn’t want. His tuxedo fit perfectly, but he felt as though his skin was too tight. Beside him, Belle preened in a white lace gown that looked innocent enough — on her, it felt like a costume.
“Stop fidgeting, Gray,” Belle whispered, clutching his arm. “Everyone is looking.”
“They’re looking because you posted that photo,” he muttered.
“I took it down!”
“The internet is forever, Belle.”
Cheryl Juarez swept over to them, a vision in gold lamé and aggressive ambition. “Grayson, darling. Chin up. Tonight is about the future. Wait until they see the InnoTech presentation. We’re going to bury Orbital.”
Grayson nodded absently, his eyes drifting to the entrance. He was waiting. He didn’t know what for — only that a magnetic tension kept pulling his gaze back to the massive glass doors.
Then the room went quiet.
It began as a ripple near the entrance, a hush that spread outward like a wave until the only sound was the delicate clinking of silverware.
Arland Roth walked in. He looked striking in a midnight blue tuxedo, but no one was looking at him.
They were looking at the woman on his arm.
Isolde Carson.
She was wearing silver — not a sparkling, festive silver, but a deep, liquid gunmetal that seemed to absorb the light and return it as pure, cold power. The silk clung to her body like a second skin, tracing curves Grayson had long forgotten she possessed. Her hair was swept up, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck.
.
.
.