Chapter 82:


    They took a cab uptown to Bergdorf Goodman. The department store smelled of expensive perfume and old money.


    Isolde bypassed the sections she used to frequent. She went straight to the designers Grayson had always dismissed as “too aggressive.” She selected a structured zer in charcoal gray, trousers that allowed for movement, and a blouse in deep blood red.


    She stepped out of the dressing room and looked in the three-way mirror. The woman staring back wasn’t a housewife. She was a weapon.


    Effie was in the children’s section, spinning in slow circles, wearing a pale pink dress with tulleyers.


    “Do you like it?” Isolde asked.


    “It spins!” Effie giggled.


    “Well, well.” A voice sliced through the air. “If it isn’t the runaway wife.”


    Mо???? r????d ???????? ??е???? ???? g????n?????????.??о??


    Isolde’s spine stiffened. She saw them in the mirror before she turned.


    Belle was clinging to Grayson’s arm like a barnacle, wearing a white sundress and an oversized hat that looked ridiculous indoors. Daron McKnight trailed behind them, carrying shopping bags like a glorified pack mule. When his eyes met Isolde’s, he flinched almost imperceptibly, a phantom ache in his wrist.


    Grayson looked tired — dark circles beneath his eyes — but his sneer was as polished as ever. He scanned Isolde’s new outfit, his gaze widening for a fraction of a second before narrowing in contempt.


    “Spending the alimony before the judge even awards it?” Grayson asked, his voice thick with condescension. “Bold move, Isolde. Considering I froze your ounts.”


    “We’re just browsing,” Belle chimed in, her voice sugary sweet. She drifted toward Effie. “Oh, that dress is adorable. But look, there’s a loose thread.” She plucked at the tulle roughly. “It’s a bit cheap, isn’t it? Gray, why don’t we buy Kaiden that new Gi jacket he wanted? Something worthy of a Lancaster.”


    Effie shrank back, hiding behind a rack of coats. She recognized the tone — the same one Belle used when she suggested Effie should eat in the kitchen.


    Isolde stepped between them. “Don’t touch her. And don’t talk to her.”


    Daronughed, shifting the bags. The sound was forced, and he kept his distance. “Feisty. For a woman with zero dors to her name, you sure have a lot of attitude. What are you going to pay with? Good intentions?”


    Grayson drew a sleek ck card from his wallet and held it up, catching the light.


    “Actually,” Grayson said loudly, ensuring the nearby sales associate could hear, “I think we’ll take everything in this section. For Belle. Send it to the Penthouse.” He looked at Isolde, a cruel smile ying at the corners of his mouth. “It’s remarkable what you can do when you actually contribute to the family wealth, isn’t it?”


    It was a public execution. He was buying the store simply to demonstrate that she couldn’t afford a sock.


    Belle beamed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Gray, you spoil me. Isolde, if you need clothes, I’m clearing out my closet next week. I have some things fromst season that might fit you. If you lose a few pounds.”


    .


    .


    .