Chapter 331

Chapter 331:

Isolde didn’t even glance at Arland. “I bought it with my poker winnings. From last year.”

A host appeared with a clipboard. “Mr. Lancaster — Table 1.” He turned to Isolde. “Ms. Carson — also Table 1.”

Belle’s red lips twisted. “There must be a mistake. She should be at the back, with the consultants.”

The host looked uncomfortable but held firm. “Director Caldwell requested the seating personally, ma’am.”

Isolde raised an eyebrow. Caldwell. The head of Defense Procurement.

“Interesting,” she murmured.

They moved to the table. The tension between them was thick enough to choke on.

𝖱𝘦𝗮d 𝖿𝗿o𝗆 уоu𝗋 𝗉𝗁о𝗻𝖾 о𝗻 𝗴𝖺𝗹ոo𝘷𝖾𝘭s.cо𝗺

Isolde was seated directly beside Grayson. Belle was placed across from them, exiled by the geometry of the round table.

Grayson pulled out Isolde’s chair. As she sat, he caught the scent of her perfume — jasmine and rain. It triggered a memory so visceral his chest tightened. It was what she had worn on their honeymoon, before the resentment, before Belle.

“Why does Caldwell want you here?” Grayson asked, leaning in as he settled into his seat.

“Perhaps he enjoys intelligent conversation,” Isolde said, unfolding her napkin.

Belle’s heel connected sharply with Isolde’s shin beneath the table.

“Oops,” Belle said sweetly. “So clumsy.”

Isolde didn’t flinch. She simply shifted her leg out of range.

“Director Caldwell.”

The announcement came from across the room. An older man with silver hair and a military bearing approached the table. He shook Grayson’s hand briefly and moved on, his attention already elsewhere.

He turned to Isolde.

“Ms. Carson,” Caldwell said, his eyes bright with intelligence. “Your reputation in certain circles precedes you. It’s a genuine pleasure to finally meet.”

Belle leaned forward, unable to tolerate the exclusion. “Oh, you know Isolde? She used to be a housewife. She’s just helping out with some paperwork now.”

Caldwell glanced at Belle, then returned his gaze to Isolde with a faint, enigmatic smile.

“I know many things,” he said.

He took his seat. The first course was served.

The game had begun.

Dinner was a delicate affair of scallops and silence. Waiters poured wine with synchronized precision.

Caldwell tapped his crystal glass with a silver knife. The table quieted.

“To innovation,” he toasted.

“To innovation,” the table echoed.

Caldwell took a measured sip of his wine and looked directly at Belle. “I hear InnoTech is struggling with the heat shields on the new prototype.”

Belle froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Just minor adjustments, Director. Nothing to worry about.”

“It reminds me of the Valkyrie project, ten years ago,” Caldwell mused. “We had a lead engineer. Code name Sophia.” His eyes drifted, almost imperceptibly, toward Isolde.

Grayson nodded, doing his best to look knowledgeable. “I’ve heard the rumors. A reclusive genius. Never shows her face.”

“She solved the thermal reentry problem on a cocktail napkin,” Caldwell said. “Brilliant mind.”

Belle laughed nervously. “Sounds like an urban legend. A ghost story for engineers.”

“Oh, she’s real,” Caldwell said. “I’ve been trying to recruit her back for a classified satellite project.” He looked pointedly at Isolde. “But she seems occupied with other ventures.”

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