Chapter 93:


    Belle rolled down the window. “Gray! What are you doing? Let’s go!”


    Grayson didn’t look at her. “Quiet, Belle.”


    Isolde pulled her hand away. “You can file whatever motion you like, Grayson. But I am gone. And Sophia? She works for the highest bidder. And that isn’t you.”


    She got into And’s car.


    “Drive,” she said.


    As they pulled away, Isolde watched Grayson in the rearview mirror. He stood on the curb, watching her go — a man who had just realized he’d thrown away a winning lottery ticket.


    “He’s going toe after you,” And said quietly. “Harder than before.”


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    “I know,” Isolde said. “He wants the money.”


    “What are you going to do?”


    Isolde watched the city lights blur past the window.


    “I’m going to make sure that by the time he gets to court,” she said, “there’s nothing left of SkyLine for him to save.”


    She pulled out her phone and texted Stone.


    He knows about Sophia. He wants to reconcile to get the IP. Proceed with the nuclear option.


    Stone replied instantly.


    Understood. Filing for emergency asset freeze tomorrow. And Isolde?


    Yes?


    Happy hunting.


    The air on the terrace of Le Bernardin was crisp, carrying the faint, salty tang of the Hudson River mixed with the expensive perfumes of New York’s elite. Inside, the celebration for Orbital Systems’test government contract win was in full swing — a cacophony of crystal clinking and politeughter.


    And Roth stood near the limestone railing, his back to the party. He held a ss of club soda with a slice of lime, the condensation cold against his fingertips. He wasn’t antisocial, but he had a low tolerance for sycophants, and tonight the room was full of them.


    “Mr. Roth,” a voice purred from behind him. “All alone? The view is certainly… inspiring.”


    And didn’t need to turn around. The scent of Midnight Rose — heavy, floral, and cloying — announced Belle Escobar long before she stepped into his peripheral vision.


    He turned slowly. Belle was standing too close, wearing a silver dress cut low enough to be a conversation starter. She held two flutes of champagne, her smile practiced and predatory.


    “Ms. Escobar,” And said, his voice t. “I’m waiting for a partner.”


    “Oh, don’t be so serious.” Belle stepped into his personal space and extended one of the sses toward him. “I heard Orbital is looking for a new Director of Public Rtions. I think I’d be a perfect fit. SkyLine is… limiting my potential.”


    She leaned forward, resting a hand on the railing, her posture carefully arranged. It was a move she had used on Grayson a hundred times. She assumed it was a universal key.


    And didn’t take the ss. He looked at her, then at the champagne, then back to her face. His expression wasn’t one of desire — it was the look a scientist might give a petri dish that had grown something unexpected.


    “Orbital hires professionals, Ms. Escobar,” And said, his tone conversational but precise. “Not social climbers.”


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