Chapter 62
Isabella's hand froze as she was wiping James's mouth. She stared for two seconds at the serious little boy in her arms, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry.
She had thought that after such a serious illness, Jasper would wake up softer, more clingy, more fragile. She never imagined that little head of his was busy plotting how to help her dump his dad.
"Jasper, don't talk nonsense." Isabella gently pinched his slightly pale cheek. There was hardly any reproach in her tone, only helplessness.
"Jasper." James shuffled a couple of steps closer, the usual lethal power of a man used to owning the room gone without a trace.
He half crouched by the hospital bed so he was eye-level with Jasper. The custom-made shirt that had cost a fortune pulled and wrinkled around his abdomen, and he didn't seem to notice or care.
"Dad did a lot of things wrong before." James lowered his gaze, staring at Jasper's face that looked so much like Isabella's. The shattered look in his eyes was almost too raw. "But I promise I'll never make your mom cry again. Don't replace me, okay?"
Isabella's heart gave a sharp jolt.
She turned her head, taking in the man crouched on the floor, his eyelids tinged red.
She knew James too well. Arrogance and stubbornness were carved into his bones. He would bleed before he ever shed a tear. Back when The Sinclair Group had been on the brink of bankruptcy, and someone literally held a gun to his head, he hadn't lowered it an inch.
Yet now he was practically begging, sounding almost pitiful in front of a six-year-old.
Yes. Pitiful.
Isabella scoffed inwardly, but she couldn't deny it: that heart she'd sworn had turned to stone still skipped, hard and involuntary, when she looked at him like this.
Jasper was still just a child. Seeing his father, usually as cold and distant as a mountain of ice, suddenly turn into this hurt puppy, the boy's gaze began to slide away.
He clutched at Isabella's shirt, fingers bunching the fabric, and muttered, "Then you really won't make Mom mad anymore?"
"I swear." James lifted his head, eyes blazing like he'd just grabbed the last lifeline. "If I ever make Mom feel hurt again, I'll give her all my money and go sleep on the street."
A tiny laugh slipped out of Isabella before she could stop it.
She quickly smoothed her expression, but that small crack in her defenses was enough to break the heavy, bristling tension in the room.
"Enough. The CEO of The Sinclair Group sleeping on the street? You'd crash every financial headline by tomorrow." Isabella shot him a cool glance. "Go wash that apple."
A casual order like that would have been unthinkable back in the Sinclair family home.
But James looked like she'd just pardoned him.
"Okay, I'll do it right now." Relief flashed bright across his face. He fumbled for a couple of red apples on the cabinet and hurried into the bathroom.
A moment later, he came back out carrying a plate of neatly cut apple slices, each piece skewered with a little fruit fork.
Instead of going back to the cold leather sofa, he shamelessly dragged over a small round stool and sat right beside the bed.
"Jasper, have some apple." He held out a slice, careful, almost tentative.
Jasper glanced at Isabella. When he saw she wasn't stopping him, he opened his mouth and took a bite.
Morning sunlight streamed through the hospital window and spilled over the three of them on the bed.
Isabella leaned against the headboard, her hand moving in slow circles on Jasper's stomach to help him digest.
Jasper was curled up in her arms, a little like a well-fed kitten, eyes drooping as he rubbed his cheek against her.
And the almighty corporate tyrant sat at the side like the most devoted assistant, feeding them one piece of fruit at a time.
In three whole years, this was one of the few—maybe the only—truly peaceful moments the three of them had ever shared.
No Charlotte whispering poison in anyone's ear. No ancient Sinclair family rules hovering over them like a guillotine. Just simple, ordinary family warmth.
Watching them, Isabella felt a sudden rush of clarity and a sting of sorrow, sharp and clean, wash through her chest.
If time could just stop here, she thought, it would be perfect.
But it couldn't. This was nothing but a mirage, fragile enough to shatter at a touch.
"Mom, when I get better, can I go live at your new place?" Jasper swallowed the last piece of apple and blinked up at her.
"Of course you can. Once you're out of here, I'll take you to pick out your favorite Lego sets." Isabella's voice went soft, soothing.
"Then… then can I stop going to that academy?" Jasper's eyes dimmed. His small hands twisted together, little fingers knotting in his own grip. His voice got quieter and quieter.
Isabella and James both froze.
The academy Jasper meant was Noble Dreams Academy in the Amber District, the most elite private school in the area. The annual donation alone was astronomical.
To get Jasper enrolled, James had pulled every string he had, determined that his son would start out ahead of everyone else.
"Why don't you want to go?" James frowned, instinctively assuming Jasper was just acting out. "You don't like the food? Don't like your teachers? I can get you switched."
"It's not the teachers." Jasper shrank deeper into Isabella's arms, his small body trembling. Tears welled in his eyes, filling them in an instant. "I don't want to go. They all pick on me. They say I'm some unwanted bastard."
The color drained from Isabella's face. She cupped his face in her hands. "Jasper, tell me. Who's been bullying you? What did they do?"
It was like he'd ripped open a door to something he had tried hard to bury. Jasper's tears spilled over, one fat drop after another, until he finally broke and sobbed out loud.
"They threw my backpack in the fountain and locked me in a bathroom stall so I couldn't get out. They said you and Ms. Johnson are gonna give me a new baby brother soon, that Mom doesn't want me, that she already ran off with some random guy…"
His sobs were jagged, tearing, the words coming in fits and starts as he ripped away the polished veneer of privilege and showed them the ugly truth underneath.
"They hit me too. They kicked me and slammed soccer balls into my stomach. It hurt so bad. But Ms. Johnson said it was my fault, that I was the one causing trouble. She said if I told Dad, he'd really hate me for good. Mom, I didn't dare say anything. I was scared Dad really wouldn't like me anymore."
Isabella's fingers shook as she lifted Jasper's hospital gown.
Across his pale, thin stomach and along his side bloomed several shocking bruises, livid and brutal against his skin.
"Jasper." Isabella's eyes went bloodshot in a heartbeat. Hot tears hit the back of her hand before she even realized she was crying.
The child she'd cradled like something made of glass, the one she'd been afraid to even breathe too hard around, had been treated like a punching bag where she couldn't see him.
And all of it traced back to that usurping Charlotte—and the man in front of her who called himself Jasper's father.
"This is your idea of foolproof?" Her voice shook as she glared at James. "This is that top-tier protection you're so proud of?"