Chapter 147:


    “He has a paradoxical reaction to benzodiazepines,” Isolde said, moving to the bedside. “He hadryngeal edema three years ago after a dental procedure. If you give him that, you will kill him.”


    The doctor looked from Isolde to Grayson. “Is this true?”


    Grayson’s face had gone pale. “I… I don’t know.” He vaguely recalled Belle mentioning something about Kaiden bing agitated after a sedative at the dentist, but she had dismissed it as a fluke. He looked at Isolde. “Is it?”


    “Yes,” Isolde said, her eyes burning with contempt. “Check his chart. Though I imagine no one here has actually read it.”


    She turned to the doctor. “Give him diphenhydramine and start a saline flush. Now.”


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    Grayson nodded at the doctor. “Do what she says. She raised him.”


    Isolde didn’t look at Grayson. She moved to the head of the bed with the efficiency of a mechanic repairing a broken engine — no affection, no tenderness, just precision. She ced her hands firmly on Kaiden’s shoulders, leaned down, and let her voice fall into the specific, rhythmic cadence she had used a thousand times before.


    “Breathe, Kaiden. In. Out. The scary feeling is just a wave. Let it pass.”


    It was muscle memory. It was five years of sleepless nights distilled into a handful of words.


    Kaiden, hearing the familiar cadence, stopped thrashing. His breathing hitched, then gradually began to sync with hers. The panic in his eyes receded, softening into a drug-induced haze as the nurse administered the correct medication.


    Isolde checked the IV drip rate and adjusted the pillow to open his airway. Her hands were practiced and gentle. Her face was a mask of stone.


    Grayson stood in the corner, watching. A crushing weight settled in his chest as the full realizationnded: he didn’t know his son’s medical history. He didn’t know how to calm him. He was a stranger in this room.


    He took a step forward. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I knew you still cared.”


    Isolde stepped back from the bed as if it had burned her. She turned to him, her eyes dry and hard.


    “I care about Effie’s tuition,” she said. “Don’t tter yourself.”


    She crossed the room to the sofa in the far corner — the one furthest from the bed and from him — sat down, crossed her legs, and pulled out her phone.


    Grayson poured a ss of water from the pitcher on the table and carried it over to her.


    Isolde didn’t look up. She kept scrolling through news about Carson Dynamics, her thumb moving steadily against the screen.


    Grayson stood there holding the water, feeling foolish. In the past, Isolde would have been in tears. She would have been reaching for reassurance, clinging to him, filling the silence with need.


    This silence was different. It was the silence of a tomb.


    A nurse bustled in to check Kaiden’s vitals, nced from the still woman on the sofa to the man standing awkwardly with a ss of water, and quietly returned her attention to her clipboard.


    Grayson’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Belle. He nced at Isolde. She hadn’t moved.


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