Chapter 38
James felt as if an invisible sledgehammer had slammed straight into his chest, knocking the breath out of him while a strange mixture of awe and unease rippled through his limbs.
Awe. It was the first time in six years he had ever used that word to describe his ex‑wife.
In his memory, she had always been the woman in soft cotton loungewear, carrying the faint scent of home cooking, watching him with careful, hesitant eyes. He had assumed she was a vine that could only survive by clinging to the solid trunk of The Sinclair Family.
But now, stripped of every disguise, she stood before the world like a flawless blade unsheathed at last. She didn't need his shelter. She could carve her own path through the brutal battlefield of corporate warfare, leaving men twice her power shaking in her wake.
The awe lasted less than a second. Then jealousy hit—hot, corrosive, mind‑blinding.
James locked his gaze on the man walking beside Isabella. Joseph.
That man had shielded her from reporters, and now he leaned in slightly, listening with quiet, focused warmth as Isabella spoke to him in a low voice. The ease between them, the unspoken rhythm in their movements, landed on James like a blow to the ribs.
That place—standing beside her, moving with her, fighting alongside her—used to belong to him.
His expression darkened, the shift sharp and violent.
"Find out what's going on with Northstar Architecture. Now. And figure out what that idiot Dennis meant about their entire core team disappearing."
He needed to know exactly what trouble she had run into.
Some part of him still believed that in a world where money could swallow a person whole, Isabella would eventually hit a wall without him. And once she fell—once she had nowhere left to go—she would turn back to him.
Chase jerked upright, startled. "Y‑yes, Mr. Sinclair."
"Five minutes," James snapped. "I want every detail on Northstar Architecture's submission errors."
Cold sweat slid off Chase's jaw and hit the carpet. His legs shook as he bolted out of the room.
Five minutes stretched into what felt like a century.
James stood alone by the glass window, staring at the industry titans streaming into the venue below while Isabella's cutting, merciless smile replayed in his mind.
The door burst open.
Chase stumbled in, drenched in sweat, his face chalk‑white. Even the tablet in his hands trembled.
"Mr. Sinclair… I‑I found it."
James turned sharply. "Speak. Who's backing Dennis? Who the hell is poaching Northstar Architecture's people right before the summit?"
Chase swallowed hard, his voice cracking. "Last night, two of Northstar Architecture's core specialists were lured away with triple‑salary offers. The rival firm even paid massive penalty fees to break their contracts and took part of Northstar's early planning files. It looks like an intentional move to cripple Ms. Tudor's team at the summit—"
"I asked who's behind it." James seized Chase by the collar, fury ripping through his voice.
"It's… it's Genesis Architects."
Chase's knees nearly gave out. "The Genesis Group's largest external investor is an organization named Voyager Ventures."
James's brow tightened, a cold flash in his eyes. "Voyager Ventures? Some back‑alley fund? Cut their capital flow immediately. I want The Genesis Group wiped out today. Not a single successful pitch."
"Mr. Sinclair!" Chase's voice broke. "We can't cut them off! Voyager Ventures, it's one of ours. It's a covert subsidiary under The Sinclair Group, fully controlled by Mr. Evelyn Sinclair."
Silence. A thick, suffocating silence.
James's rage froze mid‑air. His pupils tightened as if someone had slammed a door shut inside him.
"What did you just say?"
"The Genesis Group is one of our external holdings," Chase whispered, shaking. "The ones who poached Ms. Tudor's team and tried to ruin Northstar Architecture's submission is the Sinclair Group itself."
James released him abruptly. He staggered back two steps and collided with the marble railing.
A harsh ringing filled his head as Evelyn's cruel words from the previous night echoed through his ears.
Evelyn had known. She had known all along that The Genesis Group was part of their family's empire. She had weaponized the family's hidden capital streams without hesitation, orchestrating an ambush meant to snap Isabella's spine in front of the entire industry.
And he? He had stood there judging Isabella from above, simmering with jealousy because she hadn't turned to him for help.
A bitter chill crawled up his spine.
In that mansion over the last six years, aside from Charlotte's schemes, how many humiliations had Isabella suffered behind closed doors? How many blows had Evelyn dealt her while he looked away?
Isabella wasn't stupid. She would have uncovered the source of capital behind The Genesis Group. In her eyes, this attempt to annihilate her career had undoubtedly been placed squarely at his feet.
He had become the man trying to crush his ex‑wife under the weight of his own empire.
No wonder she had spoken to him with such finality. No wonder she had chosen to leave with nothing rather than see him again.
James slammed his fist into the marble railing. Blood immediately welled across his knuckles.
"Cancel The Genesis Group's showcase. And throw those two traitors out of the venue," he roared, sounding more like a cornered animal than a man.
"Mr. Sinclair, you can't!" Chase's voice shook violently. "If we pull them out, the Genesis Group will face staggering fines and industry sanctions. And if Mr. Evelyn Sinclair finds out—"
"Get out!" James shoved him aside and dashed for the door.
He had to see her. He couldn't let her walk onto that stage thinking he had betrayed her.
The Golden Arch Summit's preview gala was already in full swing. Inside the ballroom, golden light spilled from massive crystal chandeliers while top architects drifted between elaborate scale models, champagne glasses clinking in their hands.
Isabella stood near the corner, a glass of red wine balanced elegantly in her fingers. Her posture was straight, her gaze cool as it swept across rows of competing models lined up along the table.
Nora stayed behind her with quiet vigilance, clutching the briefcase containing the encrypted hard drive.
"Isabella, long time no see." A chirpy yet unmistakably affected voice cut through the air.
Isabella turned.
A young woman in a bright yellow deep‑V evening gown approached, heels clicking softly against the marble floor. Her makeup was flawless, her diamond necklace impossibly lavish—far too flashy for a room full of understated architects.
Sophia Brown.
Currently a deputy lead designer at Crownlight Architects, ranked top three in the Amber District.