Chapter 47
Just then, James's private phone buzzed in the pocket of his suit jacket.
His expression didn't shift as he answered the call and lifted the phone to his ear.
"James! Have you completely lost your mind?!" Evelyn's voice blasted through the receiver, sharp enough to cut glass.
"I just got word that the legal department is unilaterally severing every funding channel tied to Voyager Ventures! Do you have any idea who the real shareholder behind The Genesis Group is? He's one of your uncle's most trusted men! What you're doing isn't just undermining the family's core assets—you're slapping your own uncle across the face!"
"Tell the legal department to withdraw that ridiculous order immediately! It's just a stupid architecture competition—what's the big deal?"
"Let Dennis pay whatever penalty is needed and be done with it. As for Isabella, just hand her a check, shut her mouth permanently, and move on. The family's reputation cannot suffer because of some outsider!"
"Outsider?" A cold, almost cruel curve tugged at the corner of James's lips.
"Mother, it seems you've spent so many years tucked away in that mansion of yours you've forgotten who actually runs this family now."
"I don't care whether The Genesis Group belongs to my uncle, my other uncle, or anyone else. Anyone who touches her is asking for death."
"You're out of your mind! You'd go against the entire family for a woman who has absolutely nothing to do with you?!"
Evelyn's furious breathing crackled through the phone, followed by the dull thud of her cane striking an expensive Persian rug. "Do you want me to call an emergency board meeting right this second? I can strip you of your executive authority in minutes if I choose to!"
"Go ahead." James's voice had shed its last trace of warmth.
"Look around the entire Amber District. Look across the ocean at every trust fund and international bank. Show me one institution that would dare approve even a penny of their loans without my signature. Mother, times have changed. This empire answers to me now."
He didn't give her another second to choke on her anger. James ended the call with ruthless finality.
His dark eyes swept across the retreating crowd, locking onto the deep-blue silhouette heading toward the backstage hallway.
She didn't spare him even a sliver of a glance.
He regretted it.
Deeply. Bitterly. Irreversibly.
Those three years—they weren't because she couldn't leave him. It was because he had clipped the wings of a creature born to fly, stuffing a soaring eagle into a gilded cage without light.
Now the cage was broken. The eagle had taken to the sky where she belonged. And she wouldn't even look back.
Inside the International Convention Center, in the private lounge reserved for VIP guests, the noise outside was completely shut out by the thick double-layered doors. The air smelled of an exceptionally rich, imported tea.
No flashing cameras. No predatory calculations. Only two steaming cups and two people—one older, one young—sitting across from each other on leather sofas.
"Here, Isabella, try this," Albert said warmly as he slid a cup of amber-colored tea toward her. "Took me forever to bring this back from home."
Isabella accepted the cup with both hands. "Thank you for being strictly fair on stage today, Mr. Windsor."
"Thank me? I'm too old to play favorites. My pen only respects skill." Albert waved her off with a wide, unrestrained laugh and tapped a finger at her temple.
"That three‑dimensional freehand drawing you did on stage was insane. And that terrifying mental calculation speed? Anyone who dared give you a low score today would basically be declaring war on the future of architecture."
"Isabella, tell me honestly—how did you even train that kind of raw mental computing power without any electronic tools?"
"Too much free time, I guess. My mind needed something to do." She lifted her head, her voice calm, as if commenting on the weather.
Albert's practiced eye saw the layers beneath the understatement, the parts of her formed by pressure and pain. But he didn't pry.
Geniuses were always forged, never born.
"'Too much free time,' she says!" Albert slapped his thigh. "All right, cards on the table. I've been planning a landmark theater project for the Amber District for five years. My old bones can't carry the responsibility anymore, and out of everyone I saw today, you're the one I'm choosing. Do you have the guts to take the lead?"
It was the kind of project that could land in architectural history. If she executed it well, she and Northstar Architecture would ascend straight to the highest tier of global capital.
"If you trust me with it, I won't let you risk your name on someone unworthy."
No false modesty. No hesitation. Isabella accepted the weight with clean, steady resolve.
"Good! Now that's what I like to hear. I knew I wasn't wrong about you."
"But the project is massive," he continued. "Design alone won't cut it. So I found you a backer with more power than anyone should reasonably have."
Albert took a sip of tea and grinned like a fox who'd lived long enough to outsmart everyone.
"The man has been a friend of mine for years. His temper is awful, and his methods are even worse. But in terms of capital and international influence? If he's second, no one dares claim first place."
Isabella took a sip of her tea, unbothered. She didn't care who the investor was. As long as funding never collapsed and no one interfered with her creative freedom, she was fine.
"He knows nothing about architecture, but the boy has an excellent eye for talent."
Albert raised his voice toward the tightly closed door.
"All right! Stop hovering out there like some guard dog. Get in here and let me teach you what a real prodigy looks like!"
Half a second later, the heavy wooden door swung open under a long, sharply defined hand.
A wave of cold authority entered the room with the tall man in a perfectly cut suit.
James.
Sitting on the sofa, Isabella's spine stiffened for a fleeting moment. Only a fraction of a second. Her fingers relaxed around the teacup almost immediately.
The brilliance in her eyes turned to ice the instant she saw him. Not surprise. Not even irritation.
Just frost.
Of course, it was him. The man was impossible to outrun.
In stark contrast, James's gaze had locked onto her from the moment the door opened, sharp and unyielding, as if caught on barbs.
She was only a few feet away.