Chapter 30
Last night, she had been standing in this very spot when she opened her son's profile and saw an entire feed filled with Charlotte's photos, along with that brutal line claiming even a biological mother couldn't compare.
Isabella's breathing hitched so faintly she barely noticed it.
She didn't want to look again. But the instinct to check on her child, even through a screen, refused to release her. No matter how hard she tried to bury it, she still missed her son.
She gritted her teeth and clicked into the homepage of the username Jasper's Little Universe.
The moment the page refreshed, Isabella froze.
Jasper's entire Instagram was empty.
The feed that, just last night, had been crowded with Charlotte's curated mother-son poses was now stripped clean.
Gone were the pictures of her clinging to him with that manufactured smile. Gone were the saccharine, two-faced captions. Even the old random snapshots of daily meals and toys had vanished.
A social account with tens of thousands of followers now held only one, single, lonely post.
Isabella's fingers trembled as she opened it.
It was a photo posted early this morning, without any caption at all.
The image showed a child's crayon drawing—messy in color, earnest in every line.
At the center stood a slightly crooked house. In front of it were not three figures anymore, but four.
A tall man in a suit. A woman in a pretty dress with long hair. Between them, a little boy grinning wide enough to show his missing front tooth. And by the boy's feet lay a chubby, goofy-looking dog.
Isabella stared hard at the drawing as a rush of heat stung her eyes.
She recognized it instantly. Just a few days ago, in the restaurant beneath the club, James had mentioned it to her. "He drew four people standing in front of a house. He said they were Dad, Mom, himself, and a dog…"
This wasn't one of Charlotte's staged posts. This was Jasper's own voice.
In the bottom-left corner of the photo, a faint shadow of a small, chubby fingertip showed in the light. He must have clumsily held the phone himself, snapped the picture, and pressed send all on his own.
He had deleted everyone else and left only the family he wished he still had.
A thick ache pushed into Isabella's throat, clogging her breath with a painful burn.
Her child was waiting for her to come home.
But she couldn't go back.
That cozy, three-person home he dreamed of had already been shattered by suspicion, coldness, and another woman's schemes inside the walls of Sinclair Villa.
She couldn't let one drawing pull her back into that abyss.
Isabella shut her eyes and pressed the phone against her heart.
'I'm sorry, Jasper. I can't go back.'
Across town, in downtown Tech Harbor, the marble-and-glass lobby beneath the Northstar Architecture building buzzed with soft afternoon chatter.
Chloe carried two glossy pastry bags—the kind trendy bakeries used to prove a person had waited far too long in line for delicate mille crepe cakes and custom lattes.
Isabella had just won a major PR battle, flipping public sentiment cleanly in her favor. As her sister, Chloe planned to bring afternoon treats to the office and properly spoil the woman who had just bulldozed half the internet.
Humming lightly, she headed toward the VIP elevator.
Then her gaze snagged on a shadowy corner booth of the lobby café.
A woman sat hunched there.
Oversized sunglasses swallowed half her face, and an expensive silk scarf was wrapped so tightly around her mouth and chin that she looked like someone hiding from the law. Bent over her phone, she typed furiously with trembling fingers, shoulders drawn in as if expecting to be attacked.
She was wrapped head-to-toe, but Chloe's eyes had been sharp since childhood.
That affected posture. That flashy designer trench coat. Who else could it possibly be?
The same Charlotte who had just been raked over the coals online.
Chloe's eyes narrowed with a predatory gleam.
Last night, Isabella had been dragged through the mud, and Chloe had spent the whole evening cursing at her screen.
And now this rat, instead of hiding in her Emerald District condo, handwriting apology letters, had shown up at Tech Harbor—right under Isabella's office building?
Looking for trouble? Trying to stir another mess?
Chloe snorted. Without slowing a step, she marched straight across the café in her flats, the pastry bags swinging like weapons.
"Well, would you look at that," she said, dropping into the seat across from her. "Who's this wrapped up like a mummy in broad daylight?"
She gave Charlotte a bright, poisonous smile. "Isn't this Amber District's most prolific apology-letter auteur, Ms. Johnson?"
The sudden voice made Charlotte jolt so hard her shoulder hit the booth wall. She lifted her head, glaring through her sunglasses at the young woman smirking back at her.
Of course, she recognized Chloe. During her years with The Sinclair Family, she had experienced plenty of this girl's razor-sharp tongue. "Chloe. Cut the crap. This is a public place. Get out of my face!"
Flustered, Charlotte flipped her phone facedown. Her voice carried the brittle panic of someone caught doing something they shouldn't.
She truly had snuck into Tech Harbor.
James had changed Jasper's passwords and withdrawn every inch of protection she once enjoyed, plunging her into a fear she had never known.
She had come here to find an attorney who handled delicate, less-than-legal civil disputes—someone who might help reduce the damages she expected to face.
"So what if it's a public place?" Chloe didn't budge. She leaned back, arms crossed, openly inspecting Charlotte's disheveled state.
"Doesn't stop me from admiring Ms. Johnson's… radiant presence. Heard you were up half the night handwriting that apology letter. Wrist still sore? Didn't feel like staying home to rest?"
"Oh—right. I forgot. Playing the helpless victim is your specialty. That pinned apology letter was quite the tear-jerker."
"Shut up!" Charlotte hissed, shaking with rage. Her lowered voice was sharp as a snake's strike. "Chloe, you think Isabella has won? You think forcing me to post that letter means she gets to strut around The Sinclair Family like she owns the place? Isabella will never get to step on me!"
Unfortunately for her, Chloe wasn't buying any of it.
"Charlotte, are you actually sick in the head," Chloe shot back, "or have you repeated your own lies so many times you've started believing them?"