Chapter 212:


    Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that? Did And give that to you?”


    Isolde lifted her chin, her gaze steady and unwavering. “Where I got it is none of your business, Grayson. This is a public sale, and I’m offering double whatever he just bid.”


    She took a step closer to him, the white of her suit zing under the gallery lights. “This is an auction now. Do you really want to try to outspend me? Do you really want to see how far I’ll go to take back what belongs to me?”


    “I’ll pay double.”


    Isolde’s voice wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the hushed gallery like a scalpel. She held the matte ck card between her fingers and offered it to the curator with a steady hand.


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    The curator blinked, his eyes darting from the card to Grayson, hisposure cracking at the sudden esction. The silence in the room was heavy and suffocating.


    Belle’s smile froze on her face. It faltered for only a second before transforming into an expression of wounded innocence. She leaned into Grayson, her fingers trembling as she gripped his sleeve. “Oh, Gray — I didn’t realize Isolde wanted it this badly. Maybe I should just let it go, even though you said it was for our celebration…”


    Daron McKnight, standing just behind them, let out a sharp, ugly snort. “Double? Isolde, are you sure that card isn’t apany perk from And? Being a personal assistant certainly seems to pay well these days. Don’t mistake a credit limit for real power.”


    A whisper of gossip rippled through the crowd. Eyes shifted between Isolde and And, heavy with spection.


    Isolde ignored Daron entirely. Her gaze, cold as flint, stayed fixed on Grayson. “This is Evelyn Carson’s final work,” she said, her voice vibrating with suppressed emotion. “It belongs to the Carson family. It belongs to me.”


    Grayson stared at her. A sharp spike of irritation bloomed in his chest. She had never defied him like this in public. The woman who had once deferred to his every word was now standing against him, her chin tilted in open defiance. It felt like a betrayal.


    He opened his mouth to speak, but Belle beat him to it. “But Gray promised,” she said softly, her voice pitched just loud enough for the onlookers to catch. “And I truly feel a connection to Evelyn’s soul through this piece. I understand her art in a way others don’t.”


    She turned to the curator, her smile turning predatory. “The Lancaster family offers three times the asking price.”


    Isolde’s grip on the card tightened until her knuckles turned white. Three times. That was the limit of the liquid assets she could mobilize without touching the funds And had entrusted to her for the project. She couldn’t — and wouldn’t — misuse his trust for a personal battle.


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