Chapter 299

Chapter 299:

“You cut yourself out, Victoria,” Isolde said, her voice softening just a fraction while her resolve remained ironclad. “You cut yourself out the day you let Belle Escobar sit at your dining table while I was still his wife.”

Isolde took a step back from the gate.

“Go home, Victoria. There is nothing for you here.”

She turned and walked back up the long driveway toward the house.

Victoria stood at the gate for a long moment. She set the thermos and the gift bag on the stone pillar outside, then got back into the limousine — her face a mask of cold fury, looking old, tired, and utterly defeated.

Inside the house, Effie was standing on a chair, watching from the front window.

“Was that Grandma?” Effie asked as Isolde walked in.

In𝘵е𝘯𝗌𝗲 𝗋𝗈𝘮ance on 𝗀𝘢𝗅𝘯o𝘃𝖾𝗅𝘴.с𝗼𝗺

“Yes,” Isolde said, taking off her coat.

“Did she come in?” Effie asked, still watching the door.

“No,” Isolde said. She walked over and lifted Effie off the chair. “We are safe here. Just us.”

Effie nodded. She wrapped her good arm around Isolde’s neck and didn’t ask why Grandma hadn’t come in. She trusted her mother completely.

Isolde’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out. An email notification.

Sender: Sterling Stone. Subject: Project Phoenix — Phase 2 Approved.

Your math was flawless. The cavitation is gone. We are moving to physical prototyping. You can deny it all you want, but that kind of mathematical intuition belongs to only one person. Get ready to fly, Sophia.

Isolde smiled — a real, genuine smile that reached her eyes.

The past was locked behind the iron gate. The future was glowing on her screen.

She opened her contacts app and scrolled to Grayson’s name. She pressed Delete Contact.

Are you sure you want to delete this contact?

Isolde pressed Yes.

It was final.

The purplish-red sky over Manhattan threatened a heavy downpour. The air was thick and humid, clinging to the skin like a wet blanket.

Isolde stood on the wide marble steps of Manhattan City Hall. She checked the silver watch on her left wrist.

It was exactly 9:00 AM.

Attorney Davis paced beside her, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the stone. “He is late,” Davis muttered, checking his phone. “It’s a classic power play. He wants you to sweat.”

Isolde did not sweat. She reached down and smoothed the fabric of her crisp white coat.

At 9:05 AM, a black SUV sped around the corner, its tires screeching against the asphalt before it jerked to a stop at the curb. The rear door flew open and Grayson stepped out.

He looked terrible. His expensive silk tie was crooked, his hair slightly disheveled, his eyes heavily bloodshot — the look of a man who hadn’t slept in days. Hayes, his shark of a lawyer, scrambled out from the other side of the SUV, looking apologetic and out of breath.

Grayson climbed the marble steps, his heavy footsteps echoing in the damp air. He stopped exactly three feet from Isolde.

“Isolde,” Grayson said, his voice thick and raspy. “You didn’t have to rush this. We could have done this in a private office.”

Isolde looked directly into his bloodshot eyes. She didn’t blink.

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