Chapter 25
Charlotte abruptly stopped crying. She collapsed onto the floor, her whole body shaking as she screamed with a raw, desperate edge, "If it hadn't been for my brother, you wouldn't even be alive to stand here!"
James froze mid‑step.
His tall frame went rigid. His hands curled slowly at his sides, knuckles whitening as if the pressure alone might split bone.
The words hit the most guarded part of him, the wound that had never healed. The Sinclair Family owed the Johnson Family a life—one they could never repay.
Fifteen years ago, when James had just turned eighteen and was being groomed as the next heir of The Sinclair Group, he'd been kidnapped during an overseas trip by armed mercenaries hired by a rival corporation.
He should have died that night.
The only reason he didn't was Ethan Johnson—Charlotte's older brother, a bodyguard and close friend raised from childhood by The Sinclair Family.
At the critical moment when the gangster pointed his gun at James's forehead, Ethan rushed forward without hesitation.
Three bullets. All tearing through his chest and spine.
James survived. Ethan didn't, bleeding out in the ambulance before they even reached the hospital.
In his final moments, Ethan had gripped James's hand with what little strength he had left, choking on blood as he forced out a single plea: [Take care of my sister, Charlotte. Don't let anyone hurt her.]
That debt had pressed on James like an invisible mountain for fifteen long years.
It was also why, for the past six years, no matter how boldly Charlotte behaved in The Sinclair Family home, his parents had turned a blind eye—and James had tolerated her again and again.
Charlotte stared at James's stiff back and knew she'd hit the one place he couldn't defend.
She stumbled to her feet, her voice shrill and mournful, "Ethan lost his life in a foreign land just to save you! Before he died, he regarded you as his own brother and entrusted me, the only one he couldn't bear to leave behind, to your care!"
Her voice cracked and rose. "And now I'm about to go to prison. Had you really watch The Johnson Family die out? Watch Isabella ruin my life? Is this how you repay the three bullets Ethan took for you, James?!"
The office fell into a suffocating silence.
Each breath between them felt like it scraped the air raw.
After a long stretch of stillness, James finally turned around.
"Charlotte, you've always known exactly how to use Ethan to corner me."
"I'm not asking for much…" Charlotte's body went limp, and she sank back to the floor. "James, I'm only asking for your help this one time…"
He shut his eyes and inhaled sharply, the air burning his lungs.
"This is the last time."
Tech Harbor.
Isabella stared at the caller ID on her screen for a full ten seconds. She didn't move, didn't speak, just watched the familiar name glow back at her. Then, with a slow, steady breath, she finally slid her thumb across the screen.
The call connected. Neither of them said a word.
A strained, electric quiet clung to both ends of the line.
"Isabella." James's voice, low and rough, broke it first.
Just hearing him say her name made a cold, mocking smile lift the corner of her mouth.
She knew this man far too well.
Whenever he wasn't speaking with that chilly superiority, whenever he wasn't barking impatience, it meant only one thing—he needed something.
And at this moment, what he needed was painfully obvious.
"Mr. Sinclair must be in quite the mood today." Isabella leaned back in her chair, her tone crisp and distant, stripped of anything warm. "Calling your divorced, kicked‑out ex‑wife in the middle of your busy schedule. You're not checking in on the divorce paperwork, are you?"
On the other end, James swallowed hard. The sound wasn't loud, but she heard the tension in it. Her sarcasm carved straight into him; she could practically feel the way it pierced.
"I saw the reports about your lawsuit against Charlotte," he said at last, each word dragged out like it hurt to speak. "She came to see me just now."
Isabella's gaze dimmed, though her voice stayed cool. "And?"
"Drop the charges."
Her grip tightened around the phone, knuckles pressing white. "Drop the charges?"
The laugh that escaped her was soft, humorless, almost fragile from disbelief.
"James, have you lost your mind? She paid off online trolls to accuse me publicly of plagiarism. She forged academic records under my name. She even spread disgusting rumors about Joseph and me."
"If I didn't get evidence yesterday, I'd already be blacklisted across the entire American design community. She tried to destroy my life, and you think you can just tell me to let it go?"
"I know it's unfair to you."
Isabella stilled.
"Fifteen years ago, her brother took three bullets for me," James said quietly. "He died because of it."
Silence returned, darker this time, heavy enough to suffocate.
Isabella didn't hang up. She simply listened.
So that was it.
A debt of life. No wonder, for six years, no matter what chaos Charlotte caused or how boldly she invaded their home, James had always shown her an inexplicable level of indulgence.
But even so…
"James." Isabella's voice finally surfaced, flat and steady, like water gone still after a storm. "You owe her brother your life. And you think the way to repay him is with my reputation… my career… the six years of humiliation I endured in The Sinclair Family… and the child you let them take from me?"
"It's not like that, Isabella, I—"
"Do you feel noble?" She cut in, her tone sharp as glass. "Using someone else's life to pay your debts? Ethan saved you. You should repay him with your own life—not by sacrificing your ex‑wife."
"However, fine."
Just as James thought she would never agree, Isabella suddenly changed her tone.
James froze. "What?"
"I said fine." Isabella pushed up from her chair and walked toward the enormous window overlooking the harbor.
"I'll withdraw the criminal charges. I'll let the legal department settle it privately. Charlotte won't go to prison. Your life debt is paid today."
"Isabella…"
"But listen carefully." Her words sliced clean and cold. "For six years, I owed The Sinclair Family for giving me a child and for raising him. And today, for covering Charlotte's crimes on your behalf. We're even."
She drew in a slow breath.
"The moment you hang up this call, James Sinclair is dead in my world. Don't call me again. Don't show up in front of me again. Even seeing you makes me sick."
"From now on, our paths don't cross. Not in life, not in death."
She dropped the phone onto her desk, then leaned back into her chair, letting the exhaustion settle into her limbs.
This was the man she had loved for six years.
And now that everything had unraveled, the truth was painfully clear.
He hadn't asked how she survived the storm of accusations alone last night. He hadn't asked if she'd been terrified, or if she'd eaten, or if she'd slept. None of it mattered to him.
He called her for one reason only—to demand mercy for the woman who had tried to annihilate her.
What a joke of a debt. What a revolting kind of loyalty.