Chapter 220:


    “Is this what you meant?” Isolde’s voice was raspy, shaking with suppressed fury. “Is this what you meant when you said Belle knows how to appreciate things? Using an antique vase as a damn umbre stand?”


    Grayson stepped away from the conference table, frowning. “What are you talking about?”


    “Look at Belle’s social media,” Isolde hissed. “Grayson, if you have even a shred of conscience left — if you have any respect for art or history — you will give that vase back to me. Now.”


    She hung up before he could respond.


    Grayson stared at the phone for a moment, then opened Instagram. He tapped on Belle’s Story.


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    When the image loaded, he froze.


    The Tear of Time. He knew its value — not just the name, but the craftsmanship, appraised at a fortune by experts worldwide. And there it sat, stuffed with wet umbres like a stic bin from a dor store.


    It was a desecration.


    A wave of embarrassment moved through him. This was the woman standing beside him?


    Later that evening, when Grayson returned to the penthouse, the first thing he saw was the vase — still in the foyer. He walked over and looked inside. A pool of dirty rainwater had gathered at the bottom. He ran his finger along the rim and felt the sharp edge of the crack.


    “Belle,” he called, his voice cold.


    Belle came out of the living room in a silk robe, smiling brightly. “You’re home early! Did you see my post? It’s getting so many likes.”


    “What is this?” Grayson gestured to the vase.


    Belle blinked, looking innocent. “The umbre stand? I found it in the storage room. It was just gathering dust. The size was perfect for the umbres, don’t you think?”


    “It’s cracked,” Grayson said, pointing to the damage.


    “Oh, that.” Belle waved her hand dismissively. “One of the umbres was a bit tight. I had to push it in. It’s just a little crack, Grayson. Nobody looks that closely at an umbre stand.”


    Grayson looked at her — really looked at her. For a moment, all he felt was a surge of revulsion. She was beautiful, yes. But she was shallow. Willfully ignorant.


    He wanted to yell. He wanted to throw the umbres across the room.


    But he stopped himself. Just that morning, Belle had handed him a contract for a new overseas channel, iming she had charmed the investors. He didn’t know that those investors were contacts Isolde had spent years cultivating, that the road had been paved long before Belle had ever set foot in his world. He couldn’t afford to alienate her. Not yet.


    His phone buzzed again. Isolde.


    He stared at the screen, then looked back at the cracked vase. A dark, pragmatic thought formed in his mind.


    He answered.


    “Grayson,” Isolde’s voice was steel now. “I want that vase.”


    “I see it,” Grayson said, turning his back on Belle. “It’s damaged.”


    “I know!” Isolde’s voice broke. “That’s why I’m taking it back before she turns it into a trash can!”


    “You can have it back,” Grayson said slowly. “But I have a condition.”


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