Chapter 39
She had also been Isabella's direct junior back in college, the girl from a broke family who could barely cover tuition until Isabella stepped in and paid for it.
Seeing the same face that had once shrunk before her, Isabella felt a flicker of dry amusement in her eyes. She didn't bother responding. She simply watched Sophia perform.
Sophia stopped in front of her, tipping her wrist so her luxury watch caught the light before brushing her hair back. A smug, brittle smile tugged at her mouth.
"Isabella, you've been hiding at home for six years playing dutiful wife and mom. The industry's not the same anymore. Architecture today isn't something you survive with hand‑drawn sketches. When I saw those two interns you brought, I honestly felt bad for Northstar Architecture."
As she spoke, her gaze skimmed over Nora with cutting disdain. Then she leaned closer to Isabella, lowering her voice, her tone dripping with triumph.
"Oh, and Isabella? I heard Charlotte has become a regular at The Sinclair Family's private events. She even reached out to me the other day. Said she was very interested in my work for this summit. You know how it is. If the future lady of The Sinclair Family appreciates your designs, moving around the Amber District becomes much easier. Wouldn't you agree?"
The implication couldn't have been more obvious.
She was bragging about switching sides to Charlotte, flaunting how she'd traded loyalty for a power shot.
Isabella found the display so pitiful she couldn't even muster anger.
She swirled the wine in her glass, watching a red streak slip down the crystal wall.
"The world has changed a lot in six years," Isabella said, her tone cool and flat. "But some people haven't changed at all. For example, the kind who mistake betrayal for intelligence, and handouts for something worth bragging about."
Sophia's expression snapped. Her smile collapsed.
"Isabella! Don't act superior! You think you're still that untouchable prodigy? Please. You're just some woman who couldn't even keep her husband or her kid. What right do you have to talk down to me?"
Before she could finish, Isabella tipped her wrist.
The half glass of expensive red wine arced straight down, splashing across the silver heels at Sophia's feet.
The wine scattered upward, marking Sophia's bright yellow dress with small, blooming stains.
Sophia shrieked and stumbled back. "Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what this dress costs?!"
The sharp scrape of glass against polished marble instantly drew attention.
Joseph heard the disturbance and cut through the crowd, his expression darkening the moment he spotted Sophia.
"What happened?" He asked quietly.
Isabella lifted a hand, stopping him before he could step closer. She set the empty wine glass on the table with a soft clink.
Then she moved forward, her posture cold and commanding as she loomed over the trembling Sophia.
"Compensation?" Isabella said. "Why don't you calculate the debt you owe me first—and decide whether your life would even cover it."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of something merciless.
"Sophia, your rise to Associate Lead Designer at Crownlight Architects came from that silver‑award project three years ago, didn't it? The 'Spiral Realm' design?"
Sophia's face drained so fast it looked ghostly. Her pupils tightened, her voice cracking. "You… you're lying! That project was my own work!"
Isabella let out a soft, cutting laugh. "Your own work?"
"That model's fourth layer used a rare asymmetrical load‑bearing formula. When the structural force hits a certain threshold, the whole thing goes into resonance collapse."
She paused, letting the words hang.
"And that flaw came from a draft I tossed in my studio eight years ago. A half‑finished concept I hadn't even fixed yet."
Isabella's gaze pinned Sophia in place, ruthless and unblinking.
"You stole my discarded draft to build your reputation. I didn't bother exposing you back then."
Her voice sharpened. "But you thought it was a good idea to stand here today and wave Charlotte in my face?"
Isabella bent slightly, her voice dropping to a cold whisper that struck at the deepest part of Sophia's fear.
"Go tell Charlotte that if she wants to make a move at this summit, she can deal with the consequences herself. And if you dare step in my path again, I won't hesitate to walk onto that judging stage and break down every flaw in the Spiral Realm for all the Amber District Architecture elites to see. You won't just lose your title. You'll spend the rest of your life choking on design‑failure lawsuits."
Sophia's knees buckled. She caught the edge of the table to keep from collapsing outright.
She stared at Isabella in horror. She had thought six years of marriage to a blue‑blood family had tamed her, dulled her, broken her edge.
She couldn't have been more wrong.
This wasn't a declawed tiger.
This was something forged in fire.
"Isabella… I…" Sophia's teeth chattered. She couldn't even form a full defense.
The onlookers who had gathered to enjoy the drama now stood silent, stiff.
Anyone wealthy enough to attend tonight's summit understood exactly what Isabella had just implied.
She held the kind of evidence that could professionally kill Sophia.
Isabella didn't spare her another glance. She pulled a napkin from the table and wiped her fingers—though no wine had touched her at all—then tossed it aside and turned to Joseph.
"Let's go. The air here is unpleasant."
Joseph nodded subtly. His gaze swept over Sophia's clammy, pale face, a silent warning gleaming in his eyes.
He rested a protective hand at Isabella's waist and guided her out through the heavy hush of the crowd.
"Isabella."
They had barely taken a few steps when a rough voice cut through the ballroom.
Isabella didn't pause.
But Joseph frowned and turned.
James was shoving through the security and crowd, eyes bloodshot, his immaculate black suit rumpled, a smear of dried blood across his knuckles. He looked violently out of place amid the elegance.
He barreled toward them, his stare locked on Isabella's poised, deep‑blue silhouette like a man possessed.
He stopped in front of her, the force of his arrival stirring the air.
He looked at Isabella, and for once his usually composed face broke open with raw urgency.
"Isabella, hear me out."
His voice was hoarse, desperate. He didn't even acknowledge Joseph standing beside her. "About The Genesis Group—"
"Mr. Sinclair," Isabella cut in, her tone icy, "you seem to be enjoying yourself this evening."