Chapter 50
"James, listen carefully. I—Isabella—am not some accessory The Sinclair Family can summon whenever you please. When you needed me, I was nothing more than the nanny who cooked and cleaned. When you didn't, you let someone else take my place and even tried to strip me of the right to see my own son. And now that Charlotte has shown you who she really is, suddenly you remember the value of Jasper's mother?"
"I put those divorce papers on your desk because I was ready to walk away. I signed that agreement knowing I would leave with nothing, not even custody."
"Jasper has The Sinclair Family's billion‑dollar empire behind him. He has the best medical team in the world. Do you really think he needs a mother he's been taught to resent to hover over him tonight?"
Isabella closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they held nothing but resolve.
"Don't use Jasper to guilt‑trip me ever again. The fact that you would use your own son as leverage only proves how small and pathetic you really are."
She didn't give James another second to respond. She turned away from him and addressed Joseph instead. "We're leaving."
This time her steps didn't falter. She didn't hesitate. Her spine was straight as steel.
Joseph stayed close beside her as they walked through the VIP passage, their silhouettes swallowed by the bright light at the end of the corridor.
After they left the convention center, the Northstar Architecture car moved steadily through the glittering night of Tech Harbor.
Inside the vehicle, the air felt tight, as if the silence itself weighed something.
Isabella leaned back in the leather seat, her head turned toward the window where neon lights streaked past like falling stars.
There was no universe where she didn't care about Jasper having a fever.
"Isabella, the organizers just emailed the certification documents for the Gold Award," Joseph said quietly, handing her a bottle of water he had already opened, clearly hoping to shift her mind to something less painful.
"And the remarks Mr. Windsor made on stage are blowing up everywhere in the architecture world. We're probably going to drown in project offers by tomorrow morning."
She accepted the bottle and took a small sip. The cold water cooled the burn in her chest, but not the ache beneath it. "Have Legal handle the communications."
Joseph watched her for a moment, taking in the way she was holding herself together through sheer force of will. He said nothing else, only instructed the driver to make the ride smoother.
At eight o'clock, the rooftop revolving restaurant—the most extravagant in Tech Harbor—sparkled with crystal light.
As the biggest winner of The Golden Arch Summit, Northstar Architecture had rented out the entire space for a lavish celebration.
The most powerful names in Novaria and across the Amber District Architecture scene were there. Even a few Hollywood titans had managed to get in.
And every single one of them had the same goal: to meet the woman who had stunned the entire industry in a single day, the woman Albert himself had publicly endorsed as the heir to his legacy—Isabella.
"Ms. Tudor, congratulations! Let me toast to you. If we ever get the chance to work together, I hope you'll keep my firm in mind."
"Ms. Tudor, you're a force. My secretary already contacted your Legal team. That five‑hundred‑million‑dollar landmark project—we need to discuss it seriously."
Isabella wore a black velvet gown cut so flawlessly it seemed sculpted for her, the rich fabric amplifying her elegant, untouchable aura.
She stood in the center of the ballroom with a glass of champagne, her smile perfectly measured—warm enough to be polite, distant enough to protect.
She navigated the room effortlessly, handling conversations with people who could shift the economic tides of the entire Amber District without showing the faintest strain.
"Isabella, call for me if anyone gets overwhelmed," Joseph murmured as he passed her, his tone low with concern. He knew her emotional state was far from calm tonight.
"I'm fine. Go take care of the core investors. I've got this." She gave him a small, steady smile.
Not long after Joseph stepped away, a young woman in a server's uniform approached with her head lowered. She carried a tray and set a glass of iridescent fruit drink on the nearby table.
"Ms. Tudor, this is a special alcohol‑free cocktail from the Summit committee. They hope you enjoy your evening," the girl said, barely above a whisper.
Isabella's stomach felt warm from the champagne she had been drinking earlier. Without a second thought, she reached for the drink and took a sip.
The cold, sweet‑tart flavor eased the rising heat the alcohol had left behind.
But in a dim corner not far away, Sophia watched Isabella lower the glass. She wore dark sunglasses despite the indoor lighting, her expression twisted with satisfaction the moment Isabella swallowed.
'You think winning the Gold Award means you've won?'
'You think forcing me to publish that humiliating apology will let you sit on your pedestal without consequence?'
'Dream on.'
'Even if it destroys me, I'll drag you straight to hell with me.'
Sophia had burned the last of her remaining connections to bribe that temporary server into the banquet hall.
The fruit drink wasn't just laced with a powerful sedative that would leave Isabella limp and defenseless—it also contained a highly potent hallucinogenic aphrodisiac.
And Sophia had spent a small fortune reserving a hotel suite upstairs, where a notoriously depraved, obscenely wealthy businessman was waiting.
Once the drugs hit, Isabella would be taken upstairs as if she were simply too drunk to stand.
By morning, every major media outlet in the Amber District would receive an anonymous package containing photos of the untouchable design queen lying naked beside a man old enough to be her father.
Northstar Architecture wouldn't survive the scandal.
Isabella wouldn't survive it.
Fifteen minutes later, while Isabella was in the middle of a conversation with the chairman of an international conglomerate, a disturbing heat began to unfurl inside her.
It started in her stomach, then surged outward with brutal force.
This wasn't the warmth of alcohol. It was something violent. Something invasive.
Her vision blurred into double images. Her knees weakened, as though someone had stolen the strength from her body.
Something's wrong.
Her instincts screamed. She had survived six years in The Sinclair Family's cutthroat world. She had seen every form of manipulation and cruelty.
This was no simple case of drinking too much.
"Excuse me… excuse me for a moment…"