Chapter 163:


    “It was a business trip,” he said, his voice tight. “A retreat. Belle was there as a strategic advisor.”


    “Strategic advisor,” Isolde repeated, testing the words. “Does a strategic advisor require renting out an underwater restaurant for a romantic dinner? Or is that simply a perk of the job?”


    “You don’t understand the optics,” Grayson snapped. “We were courting investors.”


    “Stop.” She didn’t shout. She simply cut him off with de-like precision. “Your lies are clumsy, Grayson. They insult my intelligence.”


    “I didn’t lie,” he insisted, desperate to regain control of the narrative. “I omitted details to protect you. You were stressed with Kaiden.”


    “Kaiden,” Isolde said. The name hung in the air.


    “Yes. Kaiden. My son. Who I provide for.”


    Isolde let out a short, darkugh. “Your son. Yes. He certainly is.”


    Grayson’s eyes narrowed in the mirror. “What is that supposed to mean?”


    “It means,” Isolde said, turning to face him directly, “that I’m done pretending. The motion to invalidate the NDA was filedst week on grounds of fraud. You know this. We both know the truth.”


    Grayson mmed on the brakes.


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    The Maybach skidded on the wet asphalt, the ABS pulsing beneath them. The Lincoln ahead swerved, its horn ring. The car ground to a halt in the middle of thene as horns erupted around them.


    Grayson twisted over the center console, his face pale, his eyes wild.


    “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed.


    “I would,” Isolde whispered. “I know he’s not Evander’s son. I know he’s yours. And hers. And soon, so will a judge.”


    The words were not a revtion to him — they were a confirmation of his worst fears. She wasn’t merely suspicious. She had acted.


    “You made me raise your mistress’s child,” Isolde said, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You made me wipe his tears, feed him, love him — while you two yed house in the Maldives.”


    Grayson opened his mouth. No sound came out. The denial died in his throat. The truth was a physical presence in the car, consuming all the oxygen.


    “You are sick,” Isolde said. “Both of you.”


    “You’ll destroy the family name,” Grayson whispered, his voice trembling. “You’ll destroy Kaiden.”


    “You did that five years ago,” Isolde said. “I’m just opening the curtains.”


    She tapped the dashboard. “Drive the car. Unless you want your panic attack to make the evening news.”


    Grayson slowly turned back around. He signaled to the driver behind him and eased the Maybach onto the shoulder.


    He said nothing more. He couldn’t. The power in the car had shifted irrevocably — he was no longer the captor. He was the one in the cage.


    Isolde leaned her head back against the seat. She felt lighter. The secret that had been poisoning her for years was now a weapon in her hand.


    The fluorescent lights of the Orbital Systems office lobby hummed with a low, efficient buzz.


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