Chapter 227:


    Isolde didn’t argue. She reached out and took the crude bracelet from the counter. “Since this was made with my property, it belongs to me.”


    “Give it back!” Kaiden screamed, lunging at her. “That’s for Mommy Belle! Give it back, you witch!”


    They grappled for a frantic, ugly moment. The fishing line, strained past its limit, snapped. The Swarovski crystals exploded outward, bouncing off the marble and skittering across the hardwood floor with a faint, mocking clink.


    Kaiden let out a feral shriek. Before Isolde could react, he grabbed her arm and sank his teeth into her wrist with terrifying force.


    Isolde gasped. The sharp sting forced her to recoil, and in the same instant Kaiden shoved her hard. Her lower back mmed into the edge of the granite countertop, the impact so jarring it stole her breath. She slumped against the counter, clutching its edge, spots dancing in her eyes.


    Kaiden ignored her entirely. He dropped to his knees, frantically trying to gather the rolling beads, sobbing hysterically. “You ruined it! You broke it! You have to pay me back! I hate you!”


    Isolde looked down at her wrist. A perfect, angry ring of teeth marks was already bruising, small beads of blood welling up from the broken skin.


    She felt a profound, soul-deep exhaustion. Looking at the screaming child on the floor, she understood with cold rity that trying to reason with him — a child so thoroughly poisoned by Belle’s malice — was aplete exercise in futility.


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    Without a word, she retrieved the first-aid kit. She cleaned the bite and wrapped her wrist in white gauze, her movements precise and devoid of emotion. She didn’t look at Kaiden once.


    Eventually his screams turned to hups, and then to silence. Exhausted by his own rage, Kaiden slumped against the kitchen table and fell into a fitful sleep.


    Isolde stood over him, looking at the boy who was supposed to be her stepson. There was no hatred in her eyes. But there was no love either. There was only a vast, echoing hollow.


    She knelt and began to pick up the crystals, one by one. She didn’t put them back in a box. She walked to the trash can and dropped them in. If the ne was destroyed, then no one would have it — not her, not Belle, and certainly not the child who believed he could take whatever he wanted.


    Just as thest bead hit the stic liner, the electronic lock on the front door chimed.


    The heavy door swung open. Grayson walked in carrying his suitcase, home early. He stopped in the foyer, his gaze moving immediately across the scene — the scattered debris, the sleeping and tear-stained child, and Isolde, standing with a fresh bandage wrapped around her wrist and a look of absolute, chilling indifference.


    Grayson stood in the entryway, the dim hallway light casting long shadows across his face. His gaze dropped and locked onto the stark white gauze wrapped around Isolde’s wrist — a jarring contrast against her pale skin.


    “What happened?” he asked, his voice low, confusion quickly giving way to concern.


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