Chapter 49
"You really think I'm just some accessory you can shove around whenever it suits your perfect little life? A prop to polish your image? And now you're standing here acting heartbroken and devoted—doesn't that make you sick?"
"No… that's not what this is…" James froze abruptly, his heart aching as if it were about to split apart.
He wanted to explain. God, he wanted to unload every excuse he'd buried, to tell her why he had done what he did, to tell her he'd already wiped out every single Sinclair who ever dared speak to her with anything less than respect.
Even minutes ago, he had destroyed The Genesis Group—the company that plagiarized her designs—without blinking. All because of her.
"Isabella, I know I failed you before. Just come home with me. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. The opera house project, or even shares of The Sinclair Group. I'll put the entire Amber District at your feet if you so much as look at me."
James bowed his head in near despair. His thin lips even ached to seek her cold ones, striving to brand his mark on her anew in this most primal way.
The moment he was about to touch her! A sharp crack tore through the silent hallway, the sound echoing off the marble like a gunshot.
Isabella's free hand had slapped James across his flawless face with a force that snapped his head to the side. A thin line of blood bloomed at the corner of his mouth.
"Don't touch me with the same filthy mouth you used on those other women." Her eyes were blazing, voice cold enough to burn. "Every second I look at you, I feel sick."
The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the hollow, crushing pain spreading through his chest.
For the first time, James understood that the woman standing before him—bright, brilliant, untouchable—had cut him out of her world completely.
The realization broke something inside him. Fury surged up, violent and wild, and he lunged toward her again, acting on nothing but instinct and panic, ready to drag her away if that was the only way he could keep her.
Suddenly, an extremely powerful hand firmly grabbed James's shoulder!
A controlled, authoritative voice drifted from the far end of the hall, low but impossible to ignore, "Mr. Sinclair. Putting your hands on Northstar Architecture's top designer doesn't exactly match the dignity expected of a multinational CEO."
Joseph stood behind him, expression carved from stone. His grip on James's shoulder tightened until his knuckles paled. His usually gentle eyes were dark with open hostility.
James stiffened and turned slowly. "Move."
"This is between my wife and me. You don't get to interfere."
"Wife?" Joseph didn't let go. He let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Ms. Tudor filed a clean-break divorce petition. Until the legal process is finalized, she is first and foremost the lead creative at Northstar Architecture—and my partner. I'm obligated to protect her from any threat. Including you."
"Do you have a death wish?" James grabbed Joseph by the collar, rage boiling in his eyes. "You think you can stand in my way?"
The two men—both powerful enough to make the Amber District tremble—looked ready to tear each other apart in the narrow hallway.
Isabella's expression turned icy.
"James, do you really think the world has to bend itself around whatever you want?" She smoothed the wrinkles from her sleeve, her voice cutting clean and cold.
"Your mother can sabotage my team behind the scenes, and you can manhandle me like some crazed dictator. Is that how the Sinclair Family operates? Pure entitlement?"
"Isabella, I told you—I didn't know about the Genesis situation. I already—"
"I don't care what you knew." Her interruption was swift, merciless.
"The moment I walked out of the Sinclair estate and left that divorce agreement behind, you stopped mattering. Your fate, your empire—none of it has anything to do with me. Now get out of my sight."
She turned to Joseph. "Let's go."
Joseph shot James a final, cold glance and stepped beside Isabella, positioning himself protectively at her flank as they prepared to leave the suffocating hallway.
Then James spoke, "Jasper has a fever."
Isabella froze mid-step. Every muscle locked, as if the air around her had turned solid.
James saw it—saw the tremor, the hesitation—and something pathetic and dangerous flickered to life inside him. The last card he had left.
"He's been burning up since last night. Kept calling for his mom. The doctor said it's a seasonal infection, made worse by stress."
His voice dropped, "Isabella, I know you hate me. And I know I've failed you. But Jasper… he's innocent. He misses you. No matter how much you despise me, could you at least look in on him? Just once?"
Her breath caught.
Jasper—her baby. The child she carried for nine months. The child she fed through long, sleepless nights. The child she would bleed for without hesitation. Of course, she loved him. Of course, it tore at her.
But then the memories hit—sharp, merciless.
The night the entire internet turned on her.
The moment she saw Jasper's social media account post smiling pictures with Charlotte and James, as if she'd never existed.
Isabella bit down hard on her lip, holding back the sting in her eyes until the metallic taste of blood pulled her back to herself.
"James," she said, her smile twisting into something broken and scathing, "do you ever get tired of using Jasper as leverage? Don't you have any other tricks?"
James froze, never expecting Isabella's reaction to be so cold and harsh.
"If he's sick, shouldn't you call Charlotte?"
Her tone was ice. "Isn't she the one who plays perfect mom? Arts and crafts, park days, happy family posts—she does it all so beautifully. But now that something's wrong, she's suddenly unavailable?"
"Isabella! I revoked her access. I told her to stay away from Jasper." James stepped forward, frantic. "I know I was blind before—I shouldn't have let her—"
"What does that have to do with me?" She cut in, her voice flat.