Chapter 125:


    “Dramatic?” Sheughed — a short, humorless sound, more terrifying than silence. “If you take one more step toward me, Grayson, I will carve my name into your chest so you never forget it again.”


    Grayson looked into her eyes. He saw the killer there. He saw the Valkyrie. Fear, cold and fully sobering, washed through him. He raised both hands in surrender.


    “Okay,” he breathed. “Okay. I’m going.”


    He backed away slowly, keeping his eyes on the de, and fumbled for the doorknob behind him.


    “Get out,” Isoldemanded.


    Grayson opened the door and stumbled into the hallway.


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    Isolde mmed it shut. She turned the deadbolt. Then she wedged the chair firmly back under the handle.


    She did not put down the letter opener. She carried it back to the wingback chair by the window and sat down, watching the door in silence until the sun came up.


    The storm ended at dawn.


    Isolde hadn’t slept. Her eyes felt gritty, but her mind was razor-sharp. She packed their small bag with one hand while Effie stirred in the center of the bed, rubbing her eyes against the pale morning light.


    “Mommy? Is the storm over?”


    “Yes, baby. The storm is over.”


    Isolde checked the hallway. It was empty.


    They walked to the main dining room. Isolde had no appetite, but she needed to make a statement. She was not going to slip out the back door like a thief. She was walking out the front door like a queen.


    Alistair Lancaster was already seated at the head of the table, eating grapefruit with a silver spoon. He looked as though he hadn’t slept either.


    Grayson sat to his right, wearing sunsses indoors. His skin was gray, and he nursed a cup of ck coffee with the careful deliberateness of a man whose head was made of ss.


    Belle was not there.


    Isolde walked in, her heels clicking against the parquet floor. She did not sit. She walked directly to the table, and Grayson looked up. He flinched when he saw her.


    Isolde reached into her pocket, pulled out the silver letter opener, and dropped it onto the table. It ttered loudly against the fine china and spun to a stop directly in front of Grayson.


    Alistair set down his spoon. He looked at the de, then at Isolde.


    “A souvenir?” Alistair asked dryly.


    “A precaution,” Isolde said. “Your grandson decided to pay me a visitst night. He used his authority to force a security override and entered my locked room. Mywyer has the audio file of the entire incident.”


    Alistair turned slowly toward Grayson. “Is this true?”


    Grayson rubbed his temples. “I just wanted to talk to her. I was worried.”


    “Worried?” Isolde scoffed. “You were drunk. And you mistook me for your girlfriend — you called me ‘Belle’ while trying to put your hands on me.”


    Grayson choked on his coffee. “I did not assault you. I tried to hug you.”


    “Unwanted physical contact is assault, Grayson. Look it up.”


    Alistair mmed his spoon down. “Enough.”


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