Chapter 138:


    She wore no jewelry. No diamonds, no pearls. Only the emerald brooch, pinned defiantly against the cool gray silk, zing like a green eye.


    Grayson’s breath caught in his throat. He felt as though he had been struck.


    “Oh my god,” Belle hissed. “She’s wearing it. She’s actually wearing it.”


    “She looks—” Grayson started, but the words died on his tongue. She looked dangerous. She looked like a queen returning from exile to execute the usurpers.


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    Isolde moved through the crowd with a grace that was quietly terrifying. She didn’t look down. She didn’t look nervous. She met every stare with cool, detached amusement.


    “Is that the ex-wife?” a venture capitalist whispered nearby.


    “That’s Sophia,” his partner corrected. “That’s the billion-dor brain.”


    Cheryl Juarez’s eyes narrowed. “She’s trying to upstage us. Look at that dress. It’s vulgar.”


    “It’s magnificent,” Grayson whispered — the truth escaping before he could stop it.


    Belle dug her nails into his bicep. “Gray!”


    But he was already moving. He set his ss on a passing tray and stepped forward, drawn by a gravity he couldn’t name or resist. He needed to be near her. He needed to remind her — and himself — that she was his.


    He cut through the crowd, leaving Belle’s protests behind him.


    Isolde wasughing at something And had said. The sound was rich and genuine — a sound Grayson hadn’t heard in years.


    He stepped directly into their path.


    “Isolde.”


    She stopped. Her eyes moved to him, and theughter vanished at once, reced by a polite, faintly bored mask.


    “Grayson,” she said. “You’re blocking the walkway.”


    The circle of silence around them expanded. This was the main event. The titans of industry leaned in, hungry for the spectacle.


    Grayson looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the emerald brooch. “You’ve made your point,” he said, his voice tight. “You wore the brooch. You wore the statement dress. Are we done with the theatrics?”


    Isolde tilted her head, a faint smile ying at her lips. “Theatrics? I’m just attending a g, Grayson. If my existence feels like a performance to you, perhaps you should examine your own conscience.”


    And stepped forward, cing a steady hand on the small of Isolde’s back. “Evening, Lancaster. You look tired.”


    Grayson’s jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to And’s hand. “Take your hand off my wife, Roth.”


    “Ex-wife,” Isolde corrected smoothly. “Pending the judge’s signature. And And can put his hand wherever he likes. He’s my partner.”


    The double meaning settled over the room, heavy and deliberate.


    Belle and Cheryl arrived, breathless and bristling.


    “Well, well,” Cheryl said, her voice coated in faux sweetness. “If it isn’t the little housewife ying engineer. Did you sew that dress yourself, dear? It looks a bit homemade.”


    Isolde turned her gaze to Cheryl with the calm precision of aser locking onto a target.


    “InnoTech’s stock is down four percent today, Cheryl,” Isolde said pleasantly. “I assume that’s why you’re wearing gold. Trying to look solvent?”


    Cheryl’s smile faltered. “Our stock is fluctuating due to market vtility. But after tonight’s presentation—”


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