Chapter 149:


    “Grayson,” she said, her voice trembling with suppressed fury, “you aren’t just a terrible husband. You are a failure of a father. You are teaching him that nothing is ever his fault.”


    “Watch your mouth!” Grayson snapped.


    Kaiden started to wail. “Daddy! She’s being mean! Make her leave!”


    Grayson pulled the boy into his arms and red at Isolde over Kaiden’s shoulder. “Get out. Go get us some breakfast and coffee. ck.”


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    Isolde picked up her purse. She didn’t argue. She needed to leave before she said something she couldn’t take back — or before she was sick.


    “Fine,” she said.


    She walked to the door and put her hand on the handle. Behind her, she heard Kaiden’s voice drop to a conspiratorial whisper.


    “Daddy, since I’m sick, can I get the new yStation? The Pro one?”


    “Yes,” Grayson whispered back, his voice thick with indulgence. “Yes, buddy. Whatever you want. Just stop crying.”


    Isolde opened the door and stepped out, closing it firmly behind her.


    She leaned against the corridor wall and drew a slow breath. The air out here was cooler. Cleaner.


    She had begun walking toward the elevators when a figure came hurrying down the hall.


    Belle.


    She was wearing a beige loungewear set that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Her face was painted in a masterful no-makeup look — dewy skin, stained lips, just enough mascara to appear tragic but beautiful. In one hand she carried a stainless steel tiffin carrier.


    She spotted Isolde and immediately quickened her pace, her expression assembling itself into a mask of concern.


    “Isolde!” Belle gasped, reaching out as if to touch her arm. “How is he? Is he okay? I came back as fast as I could.”


    Isolde sidestepped the touch cleanly. “He’s alive. Go in and perform.”


    Belle blinked, her hand hovering in the air. “Perform? I’m his — I’m his family friend. I care about him.”


    “Right,” Isolde said. “Family friend. Who leaves the hospital the moment things get difficult.”


    She nced at the tiffin carrier. “What’s in the box, Belle? More poison?”


    Belle’s eyes narrowed. For just a moment, the mask slipped. “I went home to make him proper food,” she snapped. “Hospital food is trash. It’s congee — homemade. Something you wouldn’t know how to make.”


    “Enjoy,” Isolde said. “He’s asking for his real mommy. Don’t keep him waiting.”


    A small, triumphant smile twitched at the corner of Belle’s mouth. “I won’t.” She pushed past Isolde and disappeared into the room.


    Isolde stood in the corridor a moment longer. She should go. Buy the coffee and the bagels. y the part of the dutiful servant one final time.


    Instead, she turned and walked toward the exit.


    She wasn’t buying breakfast. She was buying time.


    Isolde sat in the hospital cafeteria, staring into a cup of ck coffee that had gone cold twenty minutes ago. She hadn’t taken a single sip.


    She watched the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes. Enough time for the family upstairs to settle in.


    She stood, smoothed her skirt, and headed back to the elevators. She had left her car keys on the bedside table. A rookie mistake.


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