Chapter 7

Three days later. Novaria.

It was late afternoon when James drove back to the villa.

As he changed shoes at the entrance, the housekeeper approached, respectfully handing him an international courier envelope.

"Mr. Sinclair, this arrived this afternoon from Tech Harbor."

James tore open the envelope. Inside was a neatly printed divorce agreement.

The last page included a business card from a law firm and a brief note.

[Please sign and return the agreement within fifteen business days of receipt, Mr. Sinclair. Failure to do so will result in our firm initiating divorce proceedings in court.]

James stood frozen in the foyer, clutching the document.

He slowly raised his head, gazing at the empty living room.

No folded blanket on the sofa. No warm tea on the coffee table. No aroma of dinner wafting from the kitchen.

He suddenly remembered how, no matter how late he returned, the foyer light was always on.

Isabella would poke her head out from the kitchen in that faded old loungewear, asking if he wanted a midnight snack.

He had never given her a proper glance. She never got angry, just quietly left a mug of warmed milk outside his study door before padding back to her own room.

Those moments had once felt intrusive, annoying.

But now, no one in this villa would ever ask if he wanted a snack again.

James tossed the agreement onto the coffee table and pulled out his phone, dialing a number.

"Chase."

"Mr. Sinclair." The response came immediately on the other end.

"Look into Joseph and Isabella from Northstar Architecture. Find out exactly what their relationship was like. How long they've known each other, if there's anything improper between them."

"Got it. I'll check right away."

Half an hour later, Chase called back.

"Mr. Sinclair, I found something." Chase's tone was hesitant, cautious as he reported. "Ms. Tudor and Mr. Miller were college classmates in the same major. Back in school, Mr. Miller took special care of Ms. Tudor— you could say he had a clear crush on her. After she graduated and married you, she left the architecture world, and Mr. Miller moped around for a while."

James's knuckles whitened around the phone.

"Anything else?"

"Additionally, Ms. Tudor has joined Northstar Architecture as the Chief Design Director, a position personally arranged and confirmed by Mr. Miller. Word spreads in the industry that Mr. Miller has remained single all these years just to wait for the one he holds deep in his heart. Now, the two of them come to and leave the company together every single day, and they appear to share an extremely close relationship."

James said nothing.

Chase held his breath on the line, waiting a dozen seconds before James's voice cut through, icy and sharp. "I see."

The call ended.

Coming and going together? Special care?

So, the one he'd waited years for.

James picked up his phone again, scrolling to another number: Chloe.

It rang three times before she picked up.

"Hello?" Chloe's voice carried an edge of wariness.

"Where's Isabella? Put her on. She's so eager to send over the divorce papers, she doesn't even care that her own son is burning up with fever? Is it because of that Miller guy? Are they shacked up already?"

Silence stretched for two seconds on the other end. Then Chloe let out a cold laugh.

"I wondered what Mr. Sinclair wanted. Turns out it's paranoia from your own guilty conscience?"

Her tone was frosty, slicing like a blade. "You think Isabella's with someone else? James, you assume everyone's like you—ditching everything for a Charlotte without a shred of shame?"

James's brow furrowed sharply. "Chloe, watch your mouth. I'm asking about Isabella's whereabouts!"

"What gives you the right to ask?"

Chloe fired back without backing down. "Isabella spent six years as a ghost in your Sinclair family, slaving away like a maid, and you didn't even know what her favorite food was! Now she's finally woken up, ditched you, and you're here slinging mud?"

"But Mr. Sinclair, you're right about one thing."

Chloe paused deliberately, her voice dripping with challenge.

"Joseph is a thousand times better than you. He gets Isabella's talent and knows how to care for her. She's working with him now, happy every single day! What's wrong? You get to have your sweet-talking ex by your side, but Isabella can't have a man who actually appreciates her?"

"You—"

"If you're man enough, just sign the damn thing and stop sniffing around your ex-wife's business like a jealous ex. If not, we'll see you in court!"

The line went dead.

James gripped the phone, his face darkening like a storm cloud.

No one had ever hung up on him like that.

Let alone some little girl talking back so boldly.

But Chloe's words lodged in his chest like a thorn, stirring an inexplicable irritation.

Just then, his phone buzzed again.

He glanced down: Charlotte.

"James." Her voice was soft, attentive. "Are you free tonight? Jasper misses you. Let's have dinner together?"

James paused for a few seconds, then said flatly, "Sure. You pick the spot."

Seven o'clock that evening, a high-end private dining spot in Emerald City.

Charlotte was already in the private room with Jasper.

When James pushed open the door, Jasper was hunched over the table, scribbling with crayons. Spotting him, the boy leaped from his chair and ran over.

"Daddy!" James scooped Jasper up for a quick hug, then sat beside him.

Charlotte smiled, pouring him a cup of tea. "Jasper drew something at school today. His teacher said he has real talent. He's been dying to show you."

"Yeah?" James turned to Jasper. "What's it a picture of?"

Jasper held up the paper proudly—a wobbly house with three stick figures out front.

"This is Daddy, this is Ms. Johnson, and this is me!" Jasper pointed them out one by one.

James's eyes lingered on the drawing for a second.

Three people.

No mommy.

He recalled how Isabella had once bought Jasper crayons and paper, even cleared a room for his art studio.

But back then, he'd called it a waste and had the space converted to storage.

"James?" Charlotte's voice pulled him back.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Charlotte smiled, forking a piece of boeuf bourguignon onto his plate. She spoke softly. "I've been looking at some kids' art classes lately. There's one with great reviews, just for talented little ones. I thought we'd sign Jasper up."

"Before, Isabella was always so busy, she never even set up a proper art room for him. Poor kid had to scribble on the coffee table. It broke my heart."

Her tone was casual, intimate, like she was already the lady of the house.

"What do you think?"

James sipped his tea. "Handle it however you see fit."

A flicker of triumph crossed Charlotte's eyes.

She knew if she was patient enough, James would get used to her being there.

What was Isabella, anyway?

A woman who couldn't even keep her own son—how could she compete?

"Oh, and James..." Charlotte glanced at him tentatively. "I heard Isabella sent the divorce papers?"

James's fork hovered mid-air.

Charlotte sighed gently, her voice soothing. "You shouldn't be mad at her. She's just eager to cut ties and move on—it's only human. If you really care about her, sign it. Let her go. She might already have someone new. It's Jasper I feel sorry for..."

James set down his fork, brow creasing.

He clearly remembered Jasper's high fevers as a toddler—Isabella holding him through the night, refusing to sleep.

Jasper hating veggies—her turning them into fun shapes to coax him.

"James?" Charlotte prompted again.

He stood abruptly.

"I have something to take care of. I'm heading out."