Chapter 56
Four hours at the edge of what the jet could do.
When James arrived outside the ICU at Novaria Private Hospital, he brought the kind of brutal, low-pressure cold that seemed to follow him in from the runway, clinging to his coat and settling into his bones.
Through the thick, sterile glass, he didn't see doctors drenched in sweat, rushing to resuscitate a patient.
Instead, he saw a scene that made his heart feel like it had been hit head-on by a sledgehammer.
On the bed, Jasper's small body was curled tight, as if he could fold himself into something even smaller. An IV needle was taped to his hand, the tubing pale and merciless, and his little face was so white it hurt to look at.
And beside him, masked and sealed into a protective isolation gown, Charlotte was gripping the hand that wasn't hooked up to the IV.
Her eyes were rimmed red. Her shoulders trembled with fear, but she still kept stroking Jasper's forehead, again and again, as if she could smooth the fever right out of him.
What made James's vision go hot at the edges was this: Jasper, who had been crying himself raw from pain and burning fever, went quiet the moment he held onto Charlotte's hand.
He pressed his cheek to her palm like it was the only safe place left in the world, tears clinging to his lashes, and whispered weakly, "Ms. Johnson… don't go. Jasper will protect you… Dad won't catch you…"
Outside the glass wall, James went rigid.
In those deep, hard black eyes, something complicated surged up—shock, ache, and a kind of pain he hadn't braced for.
He'd thought that once he finished dealing with Isabella, he could get rid of Charlotte without hesitation, scrape the rot out of his home, and send her to prison to pay for every last thing.
But watching his only biological son, half in a crisis, still fighting to shield Charlotte because he depended on her so completely—
The billionaire who made decisions like executions felt a jolt of helplessness, and with it, an unfamiliar wavering.
That was his son.
The child he owed more than he could ever repay, the only blood family he could still hold on to.
If he dragged Charlotte to jail today, would Jasper snap from the shock? If anything happened to the boy—
James wasn't sure he could forgive himself. Not in this lifetime.
Right as a hairline crack opened in his defenses, the attending physician came down the corridor with a chart in hand, sweat darkening the hair at his temples.
"Mr. Sinclair…" The doctor wiped his forehead, hesitant. "Jasper's condition is temporarily stable. It was an acute reaction—likely triggered by a medication—and it caused a severe rejection response, but thankfully it hasn't damaged any internal organs."
The doctor paused, then glanced through the glass at Charlotte, at the scene that looked too much like a mother calming her child, and lowered his voice.
"But Mr. Sinclair, Jasper's mental state is extremely fragile right now. He kept refusing our blood draw. Just now, he only calmed down after Ms. Johnson went in."
James's gaze stayed locked through the glass, fixed on Charlotte's slender back.
Cold radiated off him in a way that made the hallway feel smaller. His hands hung at his sides, clenched so hard the veins stood out on the backs of them.
How could it be this convenient?
At the exact moment he'd ordered Charlotte blacklisted across the Amber District and prepared to send her to prison, Jasper just happened to have a sudden, acute rejection episode at school?
And Charlotte had gotten here before he did—into an ICU room, only senior people at The Sinclair Group were supposed to know about?
James wasn't stupid. He'd fought his way through a business world that ate people alive. He'd seen every dirty trick there was.
He was almost certain Jasper's sudden illness had Charlotte's fingerprints on it.
She was really that ruthless—using his own son's life as her last bargaining chip to keep herself out of prison.
For a heartbeat, James wanted to storm into the room, wrap his hand around Charlotte's throat, and make her pay for that kind of poison.
But then his eyes caught Jasper's face.
Even in fevered sleep, Jasper clung to the edge of Charlotte's gown like a skittish animal that couldn't find safety anywhere else. A tear still glimmered at the corner of his eye, and every so often his lips would move, mumbling, "Ms. Johnson… don't go."
The killing intent that had felt like stone in James's chest shifted.
It cracked into something he hated: reluctant hesitation.
This was his flesh and blood. His only tie to Isabella.
If he forced Charlotte out and handed her to the police right now, would Jasper collapse under the shock?
If anything went wrong—if it became something that couldn't be taken back—
Then what was the point of a billion-dollar empire? What could fill that hole?
Chase stood nearby, sensing the subtle pause in the lethal pressure rolling off his boss, and spoke carefully.
"Mr. Sinclair? About Ms. Johnson, and the evidence we found from Sophia that points to the drugging. Legal already compiled the full case file."
He swallowed, watching James's profile. "Do you still want it sent this afternoon, like planned, to Ms. Tudor's attorneys and the police?"
At the mention of Isabella, James's body tightened.
If those airtight pieces of evidence went to Isabella, with the way she kept score now, Charlotte would be finished. She would absolutely spend the next ten best years of her life behind bars.
But what about Jasper?
For six years, through arrogance and coldness, James had personally taken away Jasper's chance at a mother's love. He'd let Charlotte take the space that didn't belong to her, let the child's need for a mother be redirected onto her instead.
Now, how could he be the one to tear away the only emotional lifeline Jasper was gripping with both hands?
And there was more. Charlotte's older brother had died after taking three bullets meant for James.
New grudges and old debts twisted together, a net pulled tight around a man who prided himself on decisive endings.
For a long time, James didn't speak. Then he shut his bloodshot eyes, and when he finally opened them again, his voice was rough with exhaustion—and with a compromise he despised.
"Bury it."
Chase's eyes widened.
"Lock that file in the highest-level classified archive. Without my order, no one leaks a single word. Not to anyone."
Chase's pulse jumped. In all the years he'd followed James, he had never seen the man who never backed down choose to retreat when he held the absolute advantage.
But Chase also understood one thing with brutal clarity: as long as Jasper lay in that hospital bed, Charlotte's protection hadn't expired.
"Yes, Mr. Sinclair." Chase bowed his head and stepped away down the corridor.