Chapter 313

Chapter 313:

Isolde stopped, her hand resting on the brass doorknob.

“My mother sent something for Effie,” he said. The anger in his voice receded, replaced by a strange, heavy reluctance.

He walked behind his desk and pulled open the top drawer. From it he retrieved a small, faded velvet box, carried it over, and held it out to her.

“It is a bracelet,” he said. “A family heirloom.”

𝘋o𝗇’𝘁 𝘮i𝗌s 𝗻е𝗐 𝘳𝗲𝗹𝘦𝗮𝘀𝖾𝘴 on 𝗴𝗮𝗹ոo𝘷𝖾𝘭s.com

Isolde looked down at the box without taking it.

“The Lancaster Rose?” she asked, recognizing the shape from family lore.

“Yes. My mother, Beatrice, wants Effie to have it. It’s tradition.”

Isolde slowly shook her head and took a step back, away from the box, as though it were radioactive.

“No,” she said.

Grayson frowned in genuine confusion. “It is worth fifty thousand dollars, Isolde. Take it for her.”

“Effie is not a Lancaster asset,” Isolde said, her voice vibrating with absolute certainty. “She does not need your family’s brand burned into her skin.”

She looked at the box, then at his face.

“Save it for Belle,” she said coldly. “Or give it to Kaiden. Give it to whoever you decide to brand next.”

She reached out and pushed his hand away. The velvet box nearly slipped from his fingers.

“We are done, Grayson,” she said. The finality in her voice was absolute. “Unless someone is dying, do not ever contact me again.”

She pulled the door open and walked out.

Liam, standing at his desk in the outer office, flinched as she marched past him.

Isolde stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. As the heavy steel doors began to slide shut, she looked out one last time.

Grayson was standing alone in the middle of his massive office, staring down at the rejected velvet box in his hand, looking completely lost.

The doors clicked shut.

The elevator began its rapid descent.

Isolde closed her eyes and drew a slow, deep breath.

She felt incredibly light. The weight of the Lancaster name was finally, completely gone. The emotional ties had been severed. The first phase of her liberation was complete.

The morning sun sliced through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lancaster penthouse, but it brought no warmth. The air in the kitchen was cold and sterile.

Seven in the morning.

Kaiden sat at the massive marble island, gripping a silver fork in his small fist and banging the handle rhythmically against the stone counter.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

“Where are they?” he whined, his voice high-pitched and grating against the silence of the luxury apartment. “I want the blueberry ones.”

Maria, the housekeeper, looked terrified. She set a plate of perfectly toasted artisanal bread and scrambled eggs in front of him, her hands trembling slightly.

“Ms. Escobar did not leave a menu for today, Kaiden,” she said softly. “This is what we have.”

Kaiden stared at the eggs as though they were poison. His face twisted into a scowl that mirrored his mother’s perfectly.

.

.

.