Ethan’s POV "Pick up the damn phone, Olivia," I muttered under my breath, pacing the living room like a caged animal. I pressed the device harder against my ear, as if sheer force could will her to answer. Another voicemail. Another dead end."Fine," I snapped at the silence, yanking the phone from my ear and staring at the blank screen like it had personally betrayed me. "Ignore me, then. See if I care."I tossed the phone onto the coffee table, the clatter slicing through the heavy stillness of the room. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing hard, hands curled into fists at my sides.Why should I care? She wasn't answering. Big deal.Maybe she was busy. Maybe she finally realized what a bastard I was.Good for her.Wasn't that what I wanted? To push her away before she could get too close?Hadn't I made that crystal clear the last time we met, spitting venom just to watch her flinch?I sank down onto the leather sofa, scrubbing a hand over my face.But what if she wasn’t just

Ethan’s POV I forced a breath through my nose and strode forward, shoulders squared."Evening, gentlemen," I called, my voice slicing cleanly through the laughter.Both men turned sharply. "Ethan, my boy!" Tim Roberts barked, rising slightly from his chair. "Look at you! Bigger than a bloody line-backer. What the hell are they feeding you over at Sinclair?" Grandfather cackled. "Deals and enemies, that's what! Come on over here, son." I smiled tightly and crossed the few feet between us. Both men clapped my back so hard I nearly stumbled. "You’re both exaggerating," I said, fighting the tension climbing my spine. "Last I checked, I still fit through doorways." Tim shook his head, grinning. "You could probably bench press William and me both without breaking a damn sweat." "And humble, too," Grandfather chimed in, his eyes gleaming. "Heard about the Landmark account, boy. Two days. Clean sweep." "Youngest chairman in New York history," Tim added proudly, raising his glass in sa

Ethan’s POV "Can’t a man breathe for one damn second?" I muttered under my breath, stepping out of the steamy bathroom and dragging a towel over my hair. The mirror was still fogged, but even through the haze, I could see the tension etched deep into my features, the suspicion still lurking in my blood like a second pulse. I shook my head as if I could scatter the lingering unease, tossed the towel on the chair, and reached for my pajama pants. Halfway through pulling them on, my phone shrilled sharply from the nightstand.I cursed under my breath. "Now what?"Snatching the phone, I didn’t even glance at the caller ID before jabbing the green button. "If this isn't life or death, you better hang up right now." "Good evening to you too, Mr. Sinclair," Detective Harrington said dryly.My jaw tightened. "Detective. You caught me at a bad time." "I figured," he chuckled humorlessly. "But this couldn’t wait.""Bad news?""Depends how you look at it," he said. "We got him." That pulle

Vanessa’s POV “Where the hell do you think you’re going, Vanessa?” Collins barked from the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowing into slits.I clutched my phone tighter, the call with my father still buzzing in my ears. “I told you already. My father called. He wants to see me.”“And you think you’re going alone?” His voice rose, a sick sort of triumph dancing in his tone. “Over my dead body.”I gritted my teeth, the familiar rage rising from the pit of my stomach. “Collins, it’s a family house. Not a drug deal.”“I don’t care if it’s a church meeting,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”I threw up my hands, exhaustion dragging at my limbs. “Fine. Fine, Collins. You want to babysit me so bad? Go ahead. Drive me there.”“You think this is a joke, don’t you?” he spat, grabbing his keys. “You think you’re clever.”“No,” I hissed, meeting his glare. “I think you’re pathetic.”The drive to my family home was a suffocating crawl of silence and unspoken thre

Ethan’s POV The boardroom lights glared down like interrogators, harsh, hot, and deliberately unforgiving. They weren’t designed for comfort; they were built for scrutiny. The polished obsidian table beneath them reflected every scowl, every twitch, every clench of a jaw. Conversations bounced off the glass walls like ricocheting bullets. No one was there to observe. Everyone had a stake. And I? I was at the head of the table for now.Marissa Clay started, as she always did, with numbers. “Our crypto infrastructure portfolio is stagnating. We pulled out of two promising platforms last quarter because we were overly cautious. That won’t work anymore. Fidelity, BlackRock, Goldman they’re investing heavily in digital assets. And we’re sitting on our hands.”She slid a report forward, polished fingers tapping the graph. “This isn’t speculative anymore. It’s structural.”Donovan Wexler leaned back with that same smug expression he wore like a second skin. “That’s a beautiful fantasy, Mari