Chapter 40
Isabella finally turned around and cut him off.
Her arms folded over her chest, her chin lifted just slightly, and in her cool, steady gaze there was no anger, no hurt—only an untouched glacier of indifference and a razor-edged, merciless hint of mockery.
"Did you swing by this summit's preview dinner to check whether your loyal little foot soldiers are doing their jobs? Or were you here to confirm whether I, Isabella, have already been driven into a corner and burst into tears by the trap you personally set?"
James felt a rough, brutal pressure seize his heart, squeezing until his knuckles went white.
"Voyager Ventures may be part of The Sinclair Family, but—" He didn't care that half the industry had their eyes locked on them. He just wanted—needed—to tear this awful misunderstanding apart, even if he had to shout it loud enough to shake the room. "I didn't know! They hid it from me—"
"Didn't know?"
Her voice slid in between his words like a blade.
"James, did you really think that in the six years since I walked out of The Sinclair Family, my brain has been running on leftover dishwater from cooking for your family?"
She stepped closer, just half a pace, but it landed like a strike. Her gaze sharpened, cold enough to cut. "The Genesis Group pulled both of my only two core engineers the night before the summit. Triple the buyout rate, a penalty fee through the roof. If Dennis didn't have a fat pipeline of money behind him, he wouldn't dare burn his bridge with Northstar Architecture at a time like this."
Her tone stayed icy, factual. "And to push through funding approvals that huge in under a day? Other than direct authorization from The Sinclair Group's top board, who could sign off on that? Or did your finance system suddenly get hit by a virus yesterday?"
With each word she spoke, the color drained a little more from James's face.
Of course, she didn't believe him.
No sane businessperson would.
He had personally intervened to shield Charlotte. And within hours, the Sinclair Family's private capital launched a clean, devastating strike at Northstar Architecture.
From Isabella's perspective, he was exactly the kind of vindictive man who would use every dirty tool he had to crush his ex-wife after she walked away with nothing.
"Isabella!" His breath turned heavy, uneven. His hand twitched toward her wrist, desperate. "I already revoked The Genesis Group's qualification for the summit. I promise you—they won't be—"
"Take your hand off her." A long, strong hand cut between them with steady precision.
Joseph stepped in front of Isabella, his expression carved from stone.
"Mr. Sinclair." His eyes held open hostility, cold and unwavering. "This is the Amber District's top architectural summit, not an offshoot of The Sinclair Group, where you can storm around and do whatever you want. If you're here to boost The Genesis Group's profile, you didn't need to corner Ms. Tudor to do it."
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Jealousy, the kind he'd been choking down all night, burst through James like a lit fuse. The second he saw Joseph standing protectively in front of Isabella, something in him detonated. He grabbed Joseph by the lapel, the veins on his hand tightening like coiled wire. "She's my wife. My wife. Get out of my way!"
"James—what the hell are you doing!" Isabella's voice shot up, sharper than he'd ever heard from her.
She surged forward, pried his hand off Joseph's collar, and shoved it away with all the strength she had.
"Your wife?" Isabella stared at him like he was something foul she'd accidentally stepped on. "That divorce agreement where you walk away with nothing is sitting right on your office desk. If you still refuse to sign it, my legal team will be happy to bring the full list of assets under my name—and six years of your emotional abuse and psychological cruelty—straight to court next week."
The air in the hall changed. Even the wealthy spectators who'd been pretending not to eavesdrop sucked in a breath they couldn't quite hide.
James Sinclair—one of the most powerful men in the entire Amber District—was being called out publicly. And threatened with court. By his wife.
James stumbled back a step, his tall frame swaying, barely steady. He looked at Isabella's face—fierce, furious, and more breathtaking than ever—and a drowning panic swallowed him whole.
He couldn't explain. Not a single thing. Every word he wanted to say turned to ash in his throat.
In her eyes, he had become a monster. A man who had torn apart whatever dignity they had left and then had the nerve to demand more.
"Save your pathetic performance." Isabella moved Joseph behind her as if shielding him, refusing even to spare James one more glance. "If The Sinclair Family enjoys propping up trash with dirty tactics, then I wish Mr. Sinclair's little minions the best of luck tomorrow."
Her voice cut clean, controlled. "When Northstar Architecture puts our model on the table, I'd love to see whether the overpriced junk The Genesis Group bought can handle the judgment of the entire Amber District."
At eleven-thirty that night, Tech Harbor, the luxury hotel closest to the summit venue—was quiet behind its glass walls.
Fresh from a hot shower, Isabella had changed into soft silk pajamas. She towel-dried her damp hair as she walked into the suite's main workspace. Tomorrow's core submission materials were spread across the desk, lit by the warm glow of the table lamp. The model was complete, but facing the famously impossible-to-please Mr. Windsor meant she couldn't risk even a two-decimal-place error.
A knock sounded at her door.
She frowned, checked the peephole, and exhaled when she saw Joseph standing in the hallway.
She opened the door, and a wave of warm coffee aroma drifted in.
Joseph stood there in a light gray cashmere sweater, holding two cups of freshly brewed pour-over coffee. A slim black encrypted USB drive peeked from his pocket.
"Still awake?" He asked, his tone easy, his eyes briefly flicking to her damp hair. There wasn't even a hint of awkwardness in his voice, as if the evening's chaos had never touched him. "Nora and I just finished exporting the final stress-test render."
He lifted the USB drive slightly. "I figured the Wi-Fi might be slow at the venue in the morning. Better to bring the files straight to you."
She stepped to the side just enough to take the coffee from his hand, her posture relaxed as she leaned against the doorframe, clearly not planning to invite him in. "Hard night for you two. The animation runs smoothly?"
Joseph handed her the USB drive. "Smooth enough to pass for a Hollywood effects reel."
He hesitated a beat. "But about tomorrow's presentation—I heard Mr. Windsor likes to push the lead designer during the Q&A. Your wind- and pressure-resistance calculations are flawless, but if he goes after the materials' aging cycle…"
Isabella took a slow sip of the coffee. The mild heat rose through her chest, steadying her, sharpening her focus. Confidence lit her eyes, quiet but absolute. "The aging cycle lasts over ten years. And we built in a maintenance plan by year five."
"Unless he starts asking questions that break the laws of physics, I'm ready to shut him down."