Chapter 289
Chapter 289:
Grayson snapped out of his paralysis. He stepped quickly between them, grabbing Isolde’s wrist before she could swing again. His grip was bruising.
“Have you lost your mind?” Grayson hissed, his face inches from Isolde’s. “This is a hospital. You can’t just attack people!”
Isolde didn’t flinch. She yanked her arm back violently, breaking his grip.
“She broke our daughter’s arm,” Isolde said, her voice vibrating with lethal calm. “She let her crack her skull against a wall, and she dares to stand here and call her clumsy?”
“It was an accident, Isolde!” Grayson argued, his voice rising. “Accidents happen with kids. You are being completely hysterical.”
I𝗇𝗍𝖾nsе 𝗋оmаn𝘤𝘦 𝗼ո 𝗀a𝘭ո𝗼𝘷𝖾l𝘴.𝗰𝘰𝗺
“Hysterical?” Isolde let out a short, breathless laugh. “I am the only person in this room seeing clearly.”
She pointed a shaking finger at Belle, who was slowly picking herself up from the floor. “She wasn’t watching her, Grayson. She was on her phone.”
“That’s a lie!” Belle cried, clutching Grayson’s sleeve. “I was spotting her! I was cheering her on!”
Isolde reached into her dust-covered pocket and pulled out her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen. She typed a quick message to Harper Vance, her best friend and social media expert.
Harper, run the archive grab on Belle Escobar’s account for the last hour. I need the story she just deleted. Pull a high-res screenshot of Effie’s harness. NOW.
A moment later, her phone vibrated. Isolde opened the message.
“I saw the story she posted five minutes ago,” Isolde said. “The one she deleted right after Effie fell. But the internet is forever, Belle.”
She shoved the phone screen directly into Grayson’s face.
It was a screenshot — a blurry, poorly lit photo. In the foreground, Belle was posing for the camera, a heavy filter smoothing her skin. In the background, twelve feet up the wall, was Effie. Her face was contorted in absolute terror, her small hands slipping off the hold. And clearly visible in the high-resolution crop, the carabiner on her harness was hanging open, unclipped, twisted dangerously sideways.
“Look at her face, Grayson,” Isolde whispered, her voice cracking for the first time. “Look at your daughter. She was scared to death. And your whore was busy picking a filter.”
Grayson stared at the screen. The color drained from his face. He saw the open clip. He saw the terror in Effie’s eyes.
He hesitated. The foundation of his reality wobbled.
Belle saw his hesitation. She sobbed louder and buried her face in his shoulder. “I was trying to encourage her, Gray! I wanted to build her confidence! I didn’t know the clip was broken!”
Grayson blinked. He looked away from the phone and wrapped an arm around Belle’s shaking shoulders. “Belle had good intentions, Isolde,” he said, his voice hardening again as he chose the comfortable lie over the painful truth. “She made a mistake. You are twisting everything to fit your narrative.”
Isolde stared at him.
He was hopeless. A hollow man. He would always choose the lie that protected his ego over the truth that protected his child.
.
.
.