Chapter 32:


    “You’re done,” Daron spat. “You think you can humiliate Grayson Lancaster and work in this town? We will cklist you. You won’t get a job cleaning toilets at NASA.”


    Isolde stopped. She turned slowly.


    “Daron,” she said coolly. “You’re still using that outdated simtion software SkyLine bought three years ago, aren’t you? The one with the notorious memory leak issue?”


    Daron blinked. “What?”


    “I read the industry reports,” Isolde said. “And I know you. You’re a middle manager who cuts corners. Get out of my way.”


    She brushed past him.


    ??????e ??оu?? ??а??о??????e ????v??l?? o? ??????????????ls.????m


    Up on the second-floor balcony of the gallery, Professor Nelson watched the scene below. He held a ss of whiskey.


    Next to him stood Sterling, the CEO of a rival aerospace firm.


    “Who is that?” Sterling asked, impressed. “She’s got fire.”


    “That,” Nelson said, taking a sip, “is my student. And she’s going to eat your lunch.”


    Sterlingughed. “The housewife? Please.”


    “Wait and see,” Nelson said.


    Down on the street, a ck sedan pulled up. And Roth rolled down the window.


    “Get in,” he said. “Before Belle calls the police for assault with a deadly beverage.”


    Isolde climbed in. She buckled Effie up.


    “Did you see his face?” And asked, grinning.


    “I saw fear,” Isolde said. She looked at her hands. They were shaking now. The adrenaline was fading.


    Back inside the gallery, Grayson was trying to calm a hysterical Belle.


    “My dress! It’s ruined!” Belle shrieked.


    “It’s just a dress, Belle,” Grayson snapped.


    Belle stopped crying. She stared at him. “Just a dress? You’re taking her side?”


    “I’m not taking her side!” Grayson roared. “I’m tired! I’m tired of the screaming. I’m tired of the drama.”


    He looked at the door where Isolde had vanished.


    He remembered the way she had looked at him. Like he was small. Like he was nothing.


    He hated it. But more than that, he hated the sinking feeling that she was right.


    “Clean him up,” Grayson told Belle, gesturing to Kaiden. “I’m going home.”


    “Without us?” Belle asked, shocked.


    “Yes,” Grayson said. “I need quiet.”


    He walked out, leaving his “perfect family” behind in a puddle of red wine.


    The apartment was in Brooklyn, three blocks from the subway. It was a fourth-floor walk-up. The hallway smelled of boiled cabbage and old carpet.


    And carried thest box up. He was sweating in his expensive suit.


    “It’s… cozy,” And lied, looking at the peeling paint on the ceiling.


    Isolde unlocked the door. The key stuck, and she had to jiggle it.


    Inside, it was one room. A kitchte in the corner, a pull-out sofa, and a small bedroom for Effie.


    “It’s ours,” Isolde said. She breathed in. It smelled of dust and lemon cleaner. It smelled better than the penthouse.


    “I can lend you money for furniture,” And offered.


    “No,” Isolde said. “I have my savings. I need to do this myself.”


    And nodded. He respected that. He left, promising to send the server ess codester.


    Isolde locked the door. She engaged the deadbolt and the chain.


    “Mommy?” Effie stood in the middle of the empty room. “Where do we sleep?”


    “We’re camping,” Isolde said brightly. “Indoor camping.”


    .


    .


    .