Chapter 206:
“I’ll call you from the hospital,” he said — a hollow promise offered to no one in particr.
He stepped out into the rain.
She watched him walk back into the tower. He had chosen the lie over the truth. He always would.
She leaned forward, her head swimming.
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“Driver,” she said, drawing the words up from somewhere beneath the pain and the fever. “Don’t go to the hospital.”
“Ma’am?”
“Take me to Orbital Systems,” she said. “Take me to And.”
“But Mr. Lancaster said —”
“Mr. Lancaster is no longer giving my orders,” she said. “Drive.”
Up in the penthouse, Grayson walked into the living room. Belle was on the sofa, clutching a theatrically sobbing Kaiden.
“Oh, Gray!” she cried. “It was awful! She was like a monster!”
Grayson looked around. The living room was pristine. “Where did she smash things?”
“In the study!” Kaiden pointed. “She broke Effie’s stupid toy!”
Grayson walked into the study. He saw the mess of splintered balsa wood scattered across the floor.
He knelt down and picked up a piece.
It was a wing.
To my Star.
Grayson stared at it. He knew this handwriting. He remembered Isolde at the kitchen table, brow furrowed in concentration, meticulously carving this for Effie.
He looked at the break — clean and deliberate. This wasn’t the result of a wild, fever-driven rage. This was intentional destruction.
He stood, the fragment of wood pressing into his palm. He turned to the doorway, where Belle and Kaiden stood watching him with expectant expressions.
“She didn’t break this,” Grayson said quietly.
Belle faltered. “She was out of her mind, Gray. The fever —”
“Kaiden,” Grayson said, his voice dropping to a dangerous register. “Did you break this?”
Kaiden shrank back into Belle’s arms. “She’s a witch! She tried to steal your books!”
“Did you break it?” Grayson roared.
Kaiden burst into tears — real ones this time. “Yes! I hate it! I hate her!”
Grayson threw the wood onto the coffee table. It bounced and hit the floor.
“You are grounded,” Grayson said. “No video games. No tablet. You don’t leave this apartment for a month.”
“But Gray —” Belle started.
“And you.” He turned on her, his eyes cold. “You let him lie to me? You called me down here, knowing my wife was unconscious in a car downstairs, to keep up this performance?”
“I was protecting him!” Belle cried. “She scared him!”
“She’s sick, Belle!” Grayson shouted. “She needed a doctor, not a drama!”
He pulled out his phone and dialed the driver.
“Where are you?” Grayson barked. “Are you at Mount Sinai?”
“No, sir.” The driver’s voice was careful, nervous. “She refused. She insisted I take her to Orbital Systems.”
“Orbital?” Grayson went still. “And Roth’s office?”
“Yes, sir. We just arrived.”
Grayson lowered the phone.
She went to him. Of course she did. The one man who had never asked her to be smaller, quieter, or less brilliant. The one man who saw her as a mind to be valued rather than a problem to be managed.
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