Chapter 23
James looked at Jasper's small face—features that echoed Isabella's just enough to twist the knife—and forced his anger down. When he spoke, he tried to keep the edge out of his voice. "Jasper, listen to me."
He bent down, placing both hands on the boy's shoulders. His gaze locked onto Jasper's eyes, leaving the child nowhere to hide.
"You have only one mom. Her name is Isabella. No matter how good someone else is to you, they don't replace her."
"We're not posting those pictures anymore. Understood?"
Jasper's shoulders trembled under his grip. Pain tightened his little face, and tears finally spilled, pattering down one by one.
He nodded through soft, panicked hiccups, looking like a rabbit cornered under a flashlight. "I—I get it, Dad. Please don't be mad…"
James slowly loosened his hold and pulled the crying boy into his chest.
With his chin resting against Jasper's soft hair, he closed his tired, burning eyes. The silence wrapped around them, heavy but steadier than before.
Across Emerald City, on the opposite side of town, a very different quiet filled a luxury penthouse.
Charlotte sat before her vanity in silk sleepwear, her expression dark as she scrolled through the tidal wave of online backlash reversing overnight.
She had never imagined that Isabella wouldn't just survive the scandal—she had turned it on its head. With Joseph pushing the momentum, Isabella had cleared her name completely, even emerging as a sharp, inspiring, fiercely independent heroine in the public eye.
The statement she posted had already passed a hundred million views.
Meanwhile, the influencers Charlotte hired were being traced back by digital sleuths. People were now mocking her in every corner of the platform.
"Unbelievable. That idiot used recycled burner accounts?" Charlotte hissed, teeth clenched.
She tossed her brush onto the table and exhaled sharply. She needed to lay low. As a distraction, she grabbed her tablet, opened her favorite social app, and prepared to log into Jasper's account.
She had planned a sick‑day sympathy post—a cute 'visiting godmother while feeling under the weather' routine. It would boost engagement, tug at The Sinclair Group's heartstrings, and, as always, help her tighten her hold on James.
But the moment she tapped the usually auto‑logged‑in icon, the screen froze for a second.
Then a pop‑up appeared. [Your login session has expired. The password has been changed from another device. Please enter the new password.]
She blinked.
Had the password been changed?
From another device?
Jasper's account was tied to his phone. Only she had the login information. Unless…
James knew?
The thought slithered into her mind like a cold, venomous snake and wrapped itself around her throat. She couldn't breathe.
Charlotte scrambled across the carpet for her tablet. Her fingers flew as she tried to reset the password through the linked email, then through the backup phone.
Every method failed.
Every backdoor she had set, every alternate access point—gone. Cut cleanly and completely.
No one but James had the authority or capability to shut her out that decisively.
Charlotte collapsed onto the vanity bench, her face bloodless.
She knew James. She knew the silent severity beneath that calm exterior. He kept his distance from domestic details most of the time, but his dominance—and his boundaries—ran bone‑deep.
If he discovered she'd been using his son as a prop and erasing Isabella by design…
She didn't want to imagine the consequences.
"It's fine… It's fine…" She muttered, voice thinning at the edges. "As long as I don't admit anything. I'll tell him I was protecting Jasper's privacy. He won't do anything to me. Our families are too intertwined."
She was still whispering reassurance to herself when her phone suddenly shrilled through the stillness.
Charlotte jumped. Her hands shook as she grabbed the device. Her private attorney's name flashed on the screen.
"Eric, wh—"
"Ms. Johnson! Something's happened!"
Eric Allen's voice was tight with barely contained panic.
"Northstar Architecture's legal team just teamed up with Tech Harbor's top Chinese‑American cyber lawyers. They've officially filed charges against you. The court summons will be delivered to your condo this afternoon."
"What?!" She shot to her feet so fast her knee slammed into the vanity drawer. Pain jolted up her leg, but she barely felt it.
"She's suing me? On what grounds?!"
"She has all the evidence."
Eric's breathing crackled over the line.
"That PR studio you hired was a disaster. Isabella's team traced every paid troll's IP address. Then they hacked into the studio's backend and pulled everything. They have your assistant's entire chat history with their manager. The payment records. And the original audio file where you instructed them to manipulate the security footage."
"That's impossible—they promised perfect confidentiality!"
"Ms. Johnson, that doesn't matter anymore. The charges are malicious defamation, violation of reputation rights, and intentional damage to commercial credibility."
"Given the public impact of the scandal—and the prominence of Northstar Architecture and Isabella—if you're convicted, you'll face massive financial penalties. But more critically, you could be sentenced to over a year of actual incarceration."
"Incarceration?!"
The word sliced through her like shattered glass.
She was the darling of the Amber District elite, the future Mrs. Sinclair in everyone's eyes. Prison wasn't just unthinkable—it was annihilation. If the world learned she had framed the ex‑wife, smeared her reputation, orchestrated a smear campaign…
She would never show her face in society again. She'd be the punchline of every charity gala, every country club whisper.
"Ms. Johnson, we don't have enough leverage. Isabella's evidence chain is airtight. If we take this to court, we will lose."
There was a long beat.
"The only option is to negotiate now, before the court publicly dockets the case. If Isabella agrees to withdraw the charges with a letter of forgiveness, there's still a chance to resolve this quietly."
The call ended.
Charlotte slid bonelessly to the floor. The phone slipped from her hand and hit the hardwood with a dull thud.
Her attorney was right.
'But ask Isabella for mercy?'
Impossible. Isabella would love nothing more than to see her ruined.
Her breath came in sharp, uneven pulls. Her gaze darted around the room like a trapped animal.
Then her eyes stopped.
Across the room, the tablet lay where she had dropped it earlier.
James. Yes, and James too!