Chapter 46
A thunderous roar burst out of Albert Mr. Windsor's chest, so sharp and forceful that a nearby staffer almost dropped his pen.
Under more than four thousand pairs of stunned, wide-open eyes, the man known for being the most rigid and demanding elder in the field suddenly transformed into something closer to a delighted old rebel who had just found his favorite toy. Right there, in front of the global livestream cameras, he threw his head back and laughed without a shred of restraint.
"Good God, you sharp-tongued, fearless little spitfire!"
Albert's booming laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling, filling the hall like a rolling storm.
"That day out in the Tech Harbor expo center, the way you cut straight through the nonsense with your breakdown of polymer composites and drag coefficients wasn't some kid waving around textbook theories. You were arrogant as hell too. Wouldn't even give your name. Just dropped 'someone who sketches' and walked out like you owned the place!"
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Isabella's cool, sculpted face.
"Mr. Windsor, you flatter me. Compared to you sketching the structural load map of an entire coastal bridge by hand with nothing but an old charcoal pencil—on the riverbank no less—what I did today was nothing more than a technician's memorized routine."
Albert laughed even harder, slapping his thigh like he had forgotten he was supposed to be the dignified icon of the architecture world.
"A technician? If the entire industry were filled with technicians who could memorize and apply data like you, those idiots who slap together a few lines of code and call themselves masters would be out sweeping sidewalks by now!"
His tone shifted without warning. Albert turned, fixing Dennis with a stare so cold it sent him trembling. "Disqualify her? The only people who should be thrown out and barred for life are frauds like you!"
"You walked onto the most sacred stage in our profession carrying half-finished scraps you stole from someone else. You two are a disgrace to Amber District Architecture."
Both men broke into a sweat so heavy it slid down their backs like cold rain. They couldn't choke out a single excuse.
Albert didn't spare them another glance. In the reverent silence of the judging panel, he lifted the red scoring pen with steady, unmistakable intent.
Then, without hesitation, he drew a bold, vivid full score across the board.
"Let me be perfectly clear. Northstar Architecture's blind, instrument-free structural deduction is a twenty-year pinnacle. Its spatial logic is terrifyingly precise. Its computational intuition is ingrained in the bones. This score is more than earned."
His declaration cracked open whatever hesitation lingered among the judges. One by one, they jolted back to life, scrambling for their pens with breathless excitement.
Full score. Unanimous full score.
No suspense. No competition.
At the most prestigious summit in global architecture, Northstar Architecture claimed the Golden Dome Award with overwhelming dominance.
A cascade of gold confetti poured from the rafters like a shimmering waterfall.
Isabella stood tall at the center of the stage.
The spotlights converged on her alone, pouring down with enough brilliance to set her deep navy suit ablaze like the armor of a warrior pulled from legend.
In that moment, a storm long buried inside her broke free.
Three years ago, she had clipped her own wings for James, that cold-hearted man. She had withered inside that mansion on the hill—a gilded cage dressed up as a home—day after day, becoming little more than a hollow puppet.
She had believed that if she cooked his meals, softened her tone, and swallowed her pride, she could warm a stone into loving her.
All she earned was indifference. Contempt. Bruising that went far deeper than skin.
Now she was done. Done with that marriage. Done with James.
She belonged here—this battlefield without smoke yet filled with combat.
She would carve out her place in an arena dominated by powerful men and walk to the top with her own two hands.
In the front row, Joseph—Northstar Architecture's team lead—stood waiting at the edge of the aisle.
The man who was usually calm to the point of unshakeable stood with both hands tucked carefully in his pockets, gaze lifted toward her with a quiet pride. He looked at Isabella the way a man looks at a treasure he uncovered with his own two hands, a partner he knew he was destined to stand beside.
Flashbulbs burst like white fire across the stage. The world's eyes were fixed on the new queen of the field.
And yet, at the center VIP seat, James sat frozen like a carved figure of some viciously beautiful angel of judgment, every muscle locked as he stared at the woman onstage.
She was too bright. So bright his lungs seized with the urge to drag her back down into his arms, to hide her away where no one else could see her.
But she was also too far away.
What right did he have to resent Joseph?
Joseph understood her brilliance.
James only suffocated it.
His family, his wealth—everything that was supposed to protect her—had become the very blade pressed to her throat.
"Mr. Sinclair…" His assistant whispered shakily beside him, jolting him from his spiraling thoughts.
"The ceremony is ending. Mrs. Evelyn Sinclair just sent word. She wants us to stop pressuring The Genesis Group. She intends to protect that company."
"Protect?" The word snapped James back like a whip. Bloodshot eyes flashed with something close to violence.
He rose slowly. His suit jacket rippled in the movement like it carried its own cold wind.
"Chase, if you think I'm hesitating, you've been sitting at my side too long."
"I don't care who's funding them. If The Genesis Group exists under The Sinclair Group's umbrella, then I have absolute authority over its life or death. Notify legal and finance. Freeze every outbound stream to 'Voyager Ventures.' Effective immediately. Strip Genesis Architects of all affiliation."
Chase sucked in a sharp breath, legs shaking.
"Mr. Sinclair, if we force the separation, the entire capital chain collapses. The Genesis Group won't survive the night—they'll be bankrupt by morning. Mrs. Evelyn Sinclair will be furious!"
"Bankruptcy? They're getting off too easily." James stopped in his tracks and turned around.
"I want The Genesis Group wiped from Amber District's commercial map before sunrise. And Dennis—along with those traitors Ryan and Tyler—charge them with international commercial fraud and major intellectual theft. I want them ruined."