Chapter 203:


    A voice from the living room. Not Grayson.


    Kaiden.


    He was sitting on the white leather sofa, surrounded by video game controllers, wearing pajamas that looked brand new. He looked up as she walked in, his face twisting into a scowl.


    “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Mommy Belle said this is our house now. You’re not allowed.”


    Isolde stopped, leaning against the wall for support. The fever was still simmering beneath her skin, and the room tilted slightly.


    “I came for my books, Kaiden,” she said. “Where is your father?”


    “Sleeping,” Kaiden said, turning back to his game. “He said not to disturb him. You should leave. You’re getting the floor wet.”


    She ignored him and walked toward the hallway leading to the study.


    Kaiden leapt off the sofa and ran in front of her, nting himself in the middle of the hallway.


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    “No!” he shouted. “You can’t go in there! Mommy Belle told me you’re a bad person! She said you want to steal Daddy’spany and make us poor!”


    Isolde looked down at this child. The boy she had nursed through chickenpox. The boy she had read to every night, whose nightmares she had soothed in the dark. He was a vessel, filled to the brim with Belle’s poison.


    “Kaiden, move,” she said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’m not stealing anything. I’m taking what’s mine.”


    “Liar!” He shoved her with both hands.


    She wasn’t expecting it. She was weak, off-bnce. She stumbled back, her shoulder striking the wall hard. Her injured right arm mmed against the doorframe.


    A bolt of white-hot pain shot up her arm and exploded behind her eyes. She gasped and doubled over, the agony blinding. Beneath the ster of the cast, she felt a sickening crack.


    “Kaiden,” she wheezed, clutching her arm.


    He stood there, chest heaving, his eyes wide and wild. He didn’t look like a child. He looked like a miniature Grayson, fueled by a narrative of betrayal he couldn’t possibly understand.


    She pushed past him, fighting the nausea, and stumbled into the study.


    It was in disarray. Papers everywhere. Blueprints unrolled across every surface.


    She crossed to the wall safe behind the painting and prayed the code hadn’t changed.


    0-5-0-5. Effie’s birthday.


    The light turned green. Grayson was arrogant andzy — it would never have urred to him that she’d daree back.


    She pulled the heavy door open. There they were. Her leather-bound sketchbooks.


    She reached for them.


    “Put them back!”


    Kaiden appeared in the doorway. He rushed at her, grabbing at her coat.


    She turned to shield the books. He mmed into her legs. Her grip loosened. One of the books tumbled onto the plush carpet.


    “It’s Daddy’s!” Kaiden yelled, diving for it.


    “No!” she shouted. “Don’t touch it!”


    She lunged for the sketchbook, but the pain in her arm made her slow. Kaiden kicked it hard. It skittered across the floor and disappeared beneath the heavy oak desk.


    “I hate you!” Kaiden screamed. “I hate you and I hate Effie!”


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