Chapter 321

Chapter 321:

He reached into his jacket pocket and slid a heavy card across the bar. “Call me tomorrow. We’ll draft the papers.”

He finished his drink and stood.

“Don’t let them win, Ms. Carson,” he said.

Then he walked away.

Arland released a long breath. “South Capital is a risk. But it keeps the lights on.”

Isolde looked down at the card.

Carter Sterling. Managing Partner.

“It gives us a fighting chance,” she whispered.

Isolde and Arland walked back into the main hall with lifted spirits. They had funding. They had a future.

To reach the exit, they had to cross the room.

Near the chocolate fountain, Grayson and Belle were holding court — laughing, surrounded by admirers. Belle spotted Isolde. Her smile tightened almost imperceptibly. She leaned toward a passing waiter and murmured something close to his ear.

ո𝗈𝘃e𝗹𝘴 𝗂𝘯 𝘁𝘳еn𝗱 𝗈𝘯 𝗴𝘢l𝗻o𝘷𝖾ls.𝗰o𝘮

The waiter nodded nervously. His tray was loaded with glasses of red wine.

As Isolde passed the group, giving them a wide berth, the waiter suddenly stumbled.

A cascade of dark red wine hit her.

It soaked the front of her pristine white suit in an instant, the liquid spreading through the fabric like a gunshot wound across her chest and stomach, dripping steadily down her legs.

The crowd gasped. The music seemed to stop.

Isolde stood frozen. The cold liquid seeped against her skin. She looked down at the ruin of her armor. It looked like blood.

Belle rushed over, her voice loud and theatrical.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?” She reached out to dab at the stain with a cocktail napkin. “Look at your suit — it’s ruined. I am so sorry.”

Grayson stepped forward. He took in the stain, then the humiliation carved into Isolde’s face. His brow furrowed.

“Get her a towel,” he ordered the staff.

Isolde shoved Belle’s hand away. Hard.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

From nearby, Daron McKnight laughed. “Looks like she’s washed up. Literally.”

Isolde turned to the waiter. He had gone pale and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“How much did she tip you?” Isolde asked quietly.

The waiter swallowed. “It was an accident, ma’am.”

Arland said nothing. He slipped off his tuxedo jacket and draped it around Isolde’s shoulders, covering the stain in one smooth motion.

“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”

Grayson watched Arland shield her. Something surged in his chest — guilt, perhaps, or jealousy. He couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“Isolde,” he called out. “I can have my driver take you home. You can’t go out like that.”

Isolde turned. Her hair was damp with wine. Her suit was destroyed. But her eyes were burning with a cold, steady fire.

“You and your partner have done enough,” she said.

She turned and walked out, holding her head high despite the red wine dripping from her hem.

Outside, the cool night air hit her face.

“I’m going to destroy them, Arland,” Isolde said, her voice trembling with adrenaline.

“With Carter’s money, we can,” Arland promised.

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