Chapter 22
[By contrast, Isabella's ex-husband, who left her with nothing, is utterly despicable! Instead of cherishing such a rare gem, he drove her to run away from home!]
[Go for it, Mr. Miller! Now that Isabella is divorced, just pursue her boldly! No one shall stand in the way of this romance!]
Novaria. Four o'clock in the early morning.
James sat alone in his study, with only a floor lamp lit.
On the spacious mahogany desk, the ashtray was piled high with burnt cigarette butts, and the entire room was filled with a pungent smell of tobacco.
On the phone screen was the post forwarded by Joseph.
Jealousy.
A kind he had never felt before. It crept up his spine like a venomous snake, coiling hard around his heart until his breath hitched. A man had stood in public and declared his feelings for his wife with bold, unabashed confidence.
But what truly lodged beneath James's ribs was the photo.
Isabella sitting with Joseph and Chloe at a Mexican restaurant. Isabella in a soft sweater, her hair loosely tied back, her expression unguarded. She was smiling—openly, gently, like she had exhaled a weight she'd carried for years.
A kind of ease he hadn't seen once in the six years they were married.
She could smile like that after leaving him. After abandoning this cold, silent house, she once lived in.
She didn't care if people speculated. She didn't care about The Sinclair Group or its reputation. She had severed every path back to him with one decisive cut.
James slammed the phone onto the desk. His knuckles whitened, a web of veins rising beneath his skin.
He yanked at his tie, trying to steady his breathing. He needed to calm down. He couldn't let a rush of emotions strip away his control.
But every time he pictured the way Joseph looked at her—with a tenderness that felt carved from bone—something bitter and furious surged inside him.
The phone lit up again.
A new notification. Because he'd been repeatedly searching for Isabella's name, the algorithm offered him another trending post.
#Did the smear campaign against Isabella backfire? Someone found a suspicious link between the burner accounts and Charlotte's fan forum!#
James's pupils narrowed.
Charlotte?
He grabbed the phone and opened the post. Users had traced the activity of the burner accounts that first spread the accusations. The accounts were new, but before posting, each had 'liked' or interacted with Charlotte's social media content and even checked in on her fan forum.
There was no hard evidence. But the implication was obvious.
James's face darkened.
He immediately exited the post, and a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
He opened the search bar and typed Jasper's name.
He rarely touched social apps, and Charlotte had always handled Jasper's online profile. She said it was a way to record his childhood. He had never questioned it.
The page finished loading.
[Jasper's Little Universe]
Tens of thousands of followers. A small but loyal audience.
Jaw tight, James opened the posts and began scrolling.
The more he saw, the colder the room seemed to become, as if the temperature dropped with every swipe of his finger.
The first picture: Charlotte feeding Jasper a piece of cake.
The second: Charlotte walking with Jasper through Central Park, her hand over his tiny shoulder.
The third—posted just today—Charlotte holding Jasper while they worked on a craft project. Her smile was bright and practiced. The caption, written in a childish voice, read: [Spent the weekend doing crafts with Ms. Johnson! Had so much fun!]
The comments were even worse.
[Isn't this basically his mom? Even a real mom couldn't do better!]
Three years' worth of posts. Hundreds of entries.
He reached the very bottom.
Not once—not in a single post—did he see Isabella. Not a photo. Not a silhouette. Not even a mention of a meal she cooked.
In an account supposedly documenting Jasper's childhood, Isabella—his real mother—had been erased so thoroughly it felt intentional. As if she had never existed at all.
Instead, the screen was flooded with Charlotte.
Exquisite compositions and pretentious captions all proclaimed her dominance as the leading lady to the outside world.
James rose so abruptly that the chair behind him toppled, crashing against the hardwood floor.
Seven in the morning.
In the dining room of Sinclair Villa, Jasper sat on his booster seat listlessly drinking milk.
He'd had a dream last night—a dream where Isabella came back. But no matter how loudly he called, she wouldn't turn around.
Even his favorite breakfast felt dull today.
"Jasper." Footsteps thundered down the stairs—quick, heavy, edged with agitation.
James entered the room still wearing yesterday's wrinkled shirt. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was cold enough to silence the room.
Startled, Jasper clutched his cup tighter. "Daddy?"
James approached him, towering over the small table. "Your social media account. Give me your phone."
Jasper blinked, confused, but obediently reached into his pocket and handed it over.
James took it and immediately navigated to the security settings.
"The password's been with Ms. Johnson this whole time?" His voice was low.
Jasper nodded, unbothered. "Ms. Johnson said I'm still little, so she helps me with it. She's the one who posts the pictures too."
A humorless laugh slipped out of James, sharp as broken glass.
Of course.
His fingers moved quickly. He reset the password, logged out of every other device, and disconnected the backup email entirely, locking the account under his control alone.
Then he set the phone on the table.
"From now on, only you and I know this password. You don't give it to anyone without my permission. Understood?"
Jasper's eyes widened, going shiny with confusion and fear. His lip trembled. "But, why? Ms. Johnson said she was gonna help me post my drawing from school today…"
"I don't care what she said."