Chapter 35
James's fingers curled slowly.
With his pride and the kind of arrogance he was practically born with, he would never have stooped to believing one of Evelyn's vicious, groundless accusations. He had always dismissed her spite as background noise.
But the moment she said Isabella had already lined up her next man, something inside him shifted.
He snatched his phone off the table.
He reopened the social app he had searched for before, unsure of what drove him to do so.
The precision of big data, relentless and inescapable, once again brought a viral short video with over a hundred thousand likes right under his nose.
The title was so blunt it nearly drove him to rage: [Northstar Architecture's Power Duo: The Genius Designer and the Angel-CEO—A Love Story in the Making!]
It was a fan‑edited compilation using photos of Isabella from college alongside footage from her recent appearance with Joseph at the press conference.
A soft, intimate soundtrack played under the clips. The video froze on the moment Joseph stepped out of the crowd that day, warm cup of coffee in hand, offering it to Isabella with a look of familiar ease. They shared a small smile. A private smile. A smile that seemed to speak its own language.
The next cut showed the picture taken at the Mexican restaurant. Joseph held a ladle in his hand, yet his eyes weren't on the food—every bit of his attention rested on Isabella's profile, warm and unwavering.
Then came the old photo someone had dug up from their college days—back when they ran a tiny studio together out of a cramped basement. Isabella sat bundled in a heavy winter jacket, sketching in the dim glow of a desk lamp. Joseph sat beside her, angled slightly toward her, watching her with quiet focus.
The video ended with a single line in bright text: [Six years apart, and somehow you still found your way back to each other.]
The phone hit his desk with a violent crack. The screen splintered like a spiderweb the moment it collided with the polished mahogany.
She already had someone waiting. She'd stepped over The Sinclair Family and gone straight into another man's arms.
Had the past six years—all that softness, that obedience, that almost pathetic loyalty—only been an act?
The person she truly cared about… had it always been Joseph? The man who'd shared her youth, her dreams, her plans for a future he had refused to see?
Was that why she'd walked away so cleanly? Why she could leave her son behind? Why she refused a single cent from the Sinclair estate?
"Chase." His voice was lethal as he pressed the intercom.
"Yes, Mr. Sinclair?" Chase answered, cautious.
"Book me the earliest flight to Tech Harbor." Bloodshot veins ringed James's eyes. "And tomorrow—Northstar Architecture is attending The Golden Arch Summit. I want the highest‑level VIP access possible. I don't care what you have to do. I will be there."
He needed to see with his own eyes.
If she truly abandoned him for another man, if she dared humiliate him in front of the entire world, he would not let her soar. He would drag her back down.
She would learn exactly what it cost to make an enemy out of him.
Meanwhile, in Tech Harbor.
The eighteenth floor of Northstar Architecture Headquarters felt like a bowstring stretched to the point of breaking.
Less than thirty hours remained before The Golden Arch Summit.
The massive conference room was bright as daylight, whiteboards covered edge to edge with structural diagrams and mechanical calculations. Empty coffee cups crowded every inch of the table, stacked among energy drink cans and crumpled notes.
Isabella stood over a wide spread of renderings, wearing a plain white button‑down with the sleeves shoved past her elbows. Her dark hair was twisted up loosely and pinned with a pencil. She was marking corrections with a red pen, fast and utterly focused.
Then the door burst open.
The head of HR strode in, pale and sweating, gripping two freshly printed resignation letters.
"Ms. Tudor, we have a problem!" Panic sharpened her voice. "Ryan and Tyler from the modeling team just submitted notices. They want to resign immediately."
Isabella's hand froze in mid‑stroke. A thin, sharp glint flashed through her usually calm eyes.
"Ryan and Tyler?"
The modeling team was the spine of the entire project. The breathing‑architecture concept required brutal levels of geometric computation and polymer‑based model building. Ryan Martin and Tyler Thompson were not just senior engineers—they were the only two people who fully understood the core data set.
Quitting now was the equivalent of stabbing her in the back.
"Where are they?" Isabella dropped the red pen onto the table, her voice cold enough to frost glass.
"Packing up outside! I tried to talk them down, reminded them they'd be violating both NDAs and non‑compete contracts." HR was practically shaking. "They wouldn't budge. They said they'll pay the penalties themselves, but they're leaving today."
Joseph arrived at the door, his expression dark and controlled. "Which firm has pockets deep enough to make them walk out on an active summit project?"
"I checked their emails and recruiter contacts." HR swallowed hard. "It's Genesis Architects. From Silverlight City. The Genesis Group offered triple their salary—and they're covering all breach penalties."
The Genesis Group.
Isabella's brow tightened, just barely.
The Genesis Group was notorious in the Amber District Architecture scene, known for its ruthless and aggressive tactics.
More importantly, within the upper echelons of the industry, nearly everyone was aware that the primary backer behind The Genesis Group was none other than The Sinclair Group of Novaria.
A chilling sense of unease suddenly washed over Isabella.
The Sinclair Group. James.
So he had stepped in after all.
Because she exposed Charlotte. Because she ended their marriage without fear. Because she cut the strings he'd spent years wrapping around her.
So this—this sabotage, this calculated assault on the eve of her summit—was his retribution?
Was he trying to break her wings where the whole world could watch?
"Isabella, slow down." Joseph moved closer, misreading the pallor creeping into her face. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll find replacements. We'll pay whatever it costs. Even if we have to work through the night, I won't let the summit fall apart."
"No." Isabella drew in a long breath and brushed his hand away—gentle, but firm.
"New people won't have time to learn these parameters. They wanted to cripple me by pulling those two out." Her voice steadied. "They think it'll turn my proposal into useless scrap?"
She crossed the room with long, decisive strides, pulled down the section of the whiteboard covered in Ryan and Tyler's calculations, and tore the sheet straight down the middle.
The pieces fell into the trash with a soft rustle.
"Isabella—what are you doing?" Joseph stared at her.
"This kind of mechanical computation doesn't need a team, as long as I think fast enough, I can do it myself."