Chapter 300

Chapter 300:

“I am not rushing, Grayson,” Isolde said, her voice flat and cold. “I am escaping. And you are late.”

She didn’t wait for his response. She turned her back on him and pushed through the heavy revolving glass doors.

Inside, the clerk’s office smelled of old paper and stale coffee.

A middle-aged female clerk sat behind a thick pane of bulletproof glass. She looked back and forth between Isolde and Grayson with obvious discomfort.

“New York State requires physical signatures from both parties to initiate the formal filing process,” the clerk said in a flat, practiced monotone. She slid a thick stack of papers through the slot beneath the glass.

𝖶е𝗲𝗄𝘭𝗒 re𝗹е𝘢𝘴е𝘀 о𝗻 𝘨𝘢l𝗇𝗈𝘷е𝗅s.𝘤о𝘮

Isolde picked up the heavy black pen and pressed the nib to the paper. The black ink flowed out, thick and unfading.

She signed her name. Isolde Carson.

The name “Lancaster” was gone. It felt like a heavy tumor had been surgically removed from her hand.

She slid the paper across the counter toward Grayson.

Grayson stared at her signature. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Isolde…” He lowered his voice, leaning slightly closer. “We can still do counseling. We can pause this. For Effie.”

Isolde turned her head and looked at him with a gaze so empty it made his chest tighten.

“Effie needs a mother,” Isolde said clearly. “She does not need a martyr.”

Grayson’s teeth ground together. A hot wave of irrational anger flushed his face. He hated how calm she was. He hated that she was not begging.

He snatched the black pen from the counter, pressed it against the paper, and signed his name with brutal force. The sharp metal tip tore a small, jagged hole through the crisp white page.

“The mandatory cooling-off period begins right now,” the clerk said, quickly pulling the papers back under the glass and stamping the top page. “Ninety days until the final judgment is issued. During this period, all joint financial assets are officially frozen. You are prohibited from making any major bank transfers or liquidating properties.”

Grayson let out a harsh sneer. He looked at Isolde, his eyes full of cruel satisfaction.

“Good luck paying your bills, Isolde. Let’s see how long your pride lasts when the electricity gets cut off at that rotting estate.”

Isolde smiled — a stiff, sharp smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I will manage,” she said softly. “You should worry about yourself.”

She turned and walked out of the office.

Grayson lunged forward, reaching out to grab her arm. “Isolde!”

Isolde sidestepped. His fingers grasped empty air.

“Goodbye, Grayson,” Isolde said.

She pushed through the revolving doors and stepped back outside.

The dark clouds had finally broken. Cold rain was pouring down, striking the marble steps like bullets.

Isolde reached into her bag, pulled out a large black umbrella, and snapped it open. She walked down the steps and into the rain without looking back.

Grayson stood alone at the top of the steps, unprotected. Within seconds, the cold rain soaked through his expensive suit, chilling him to the bone.

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