Chapter 33
The photograph surfaced unexpectedly on the official judiciary website—an archival image from three years prior. There stood Sebastian Sinclair, draped in his judicial robes, exuding an aura of unshakable authority within the courtroom.
Nathaniel's facial recognition software was revolutionary. With just one clear image, it could scour global databases and retrieve every traceable record within minutes—far surpassing conventional search engines.
Yet locating Sebastian took a full ten minutes. The man was a ghost—no social media presence, no public appearances. Odd for a prosecutor.
"Cassius... Sebastian..." Nathaniel's breath hitched as realization struck. His knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. "It can't be—"
"You're everywhere now, aren't you?" His voice turned venomous. "Throwing yourself at Cassius the moment you left me, then cozying up to that Ashbourne heir!"
The roar of an engine shattered his thoughts. Nathaniel's head snapped toward the sound.
A matte black Lamborghini streaked past like a shadow. Isabella's car. What was she doing here? This couldn't be coincidence.
Acid churned in Nathaniel's gut. His fist collided with the window.
"Follow that car!"
Reporters swarmed the hotel entrance like vultures. Investigators struggled to escort the disgraced Ives through the media frenzy—a spectacular downfall.
Sebastian avoided the chaos, waiting instead at the service entrance. Minutes later, the Lamborghini purred to a stop before him.
"Mr. Ashbourne." Jason lowered the window with polite deference.
"Jason." Sebastian's gaze softened as he leaned in to study Isabella. His fingers pinched her cheek affectionately. "Someone's been feeding you well. Your face has filled out."
"Liar!" Isabella swatted his hand away, pouting.
"Adorable when you're chubby." He laughed, dodging her playful swipe.
Nathaniel watched from the shadows, jaw clenched. Gordon fidgeted in the driver's seat—any fool could see why men flocked to a woman like Ms. Sinclair. Only his boss remained blind.
"Well?" Sebastian preened, adjusting his tie. "How do I look?"
"Like you've gained a fanclub." Isabella smirked, resting her chin on folded arms. "Half the internet's searching for the 'hot prosecutor' now."
Nathaniel's chest tightened. That carefree smile—she'd never once looked at him that way.
"Who cares about admirers?" Sebastian scoffed. "Your approval's all I need."
"Ugh, stick to courtroom drama. Romance isn't your genre." Her laughter sparkled in the evening air.
Their banter faded as business took precedence.
"We need your expertise moving forward." Isabella's expression sobered. "The Ashbourne Group deserves justice."
"Three years minimum." Sebastian's eyes hardened. "No parole. No leniency." Then, admiringly: "But this was your victory. Ives walked straight into your trap like a lamb to slaughter. If all criminals were this stupid—"
Indeed, Ives' idiocy was staggering. Yet the true coup was Keith's testimony—secured last night in a dingy bar where Isabella confronted the desperate man.
"You're bluffing!" Keith had slurred. "I won't be your pawn!"
"Then you'll die a fool," she'd countered coolly.
The deal was struck: if Ives betrayed Keith at the presser, Keith would expose everything. Isabella's leverage? Undisclosed evidence of their illicit dealings.
"Twenty years ago, my father lifted you from banquet halls to boardrooms." Her words had cut deep. "This is how you repay his faith?"
Guilt won. Keith surrendered the evidence.
Now, as Sebastian departed for the prosecutor's office, Jason's sharp eyes caught movement in the rearview. "We're being followed. Should I alert security?"
Isabella barely glanced at the trailing Maybach. Nathaniel's car. So he'd attended the press conference after all—how touching.
"Change of plans." Her lips curved. "Take us to Evergreen Meadows."
"But—"
"Drive."
The Lamborghini wove through traffic with serpentine grace, Nathaniel's driver struggling to keep pace. Through the windshield, Nathaniel caught glimpses of Isabella's hair whipping like dark silk—wild, untamed. The sunset painted her in gold, each glance a fresh wound.
At the overlook, Isabella leaned against the railing, the wind sculpting her dress against her silhouette. Nathaniel approached, his shadow stretching toward her like an accusation.
She turned, maintaining deliberate distance. "Stalking me now, Mr. Abernathy?"
"Isabella." Her name tasted like ash. His gaze flickered to her healed arm.
"Brought your birth certificate this time? Let's finalize that divorce. I'll have President Ashbourne expedite it." Her smile was razor-edged.
"Enjoying yourself?" Nathaniel stepped closer, voice dangerously low. "Playing the Ashbournes against my family?"
Her brow arched. "Excuse me?"
"Don't play innocent." His hand shot out, grasping her wrist. "You orchestrated this entire charade!"