– Adrian –
Morning settles over the skyline, pale and sharp through the windows of my office.
"The engagement rollout is dominating the algorithm, coverage is everywhere, vanity edge, halston gazette.
Positive sentiment's at seventy eight percent." Logan says as he scrolls on his tablet. "Most clients are reacting well, prestorne doubled their commitment overnight, two others requested in person meetings with you and your 'fiancée' for PR synergy."
I finish buttoning my cuff.
Logan continues. "There's some noise about the speed of the engagement and the usual conspiracy idiots but nothing we can't redirect, your engagement announcement is currently trending number one and—"
My phone vibrates
It's Paxton
I pick up
"Adrian—" his voice cracks, panicked. "She's dead, Adrian—she's—she's dead. I don't know what to do—"
The words don't land immediately, then they do.
"Text me your location." I said
"But I—"
"Now."
Then I hung up.
Logan stops mid sentence, "Problem?"
I slide my watch on, "Shift the meetings, push the press call, If anyone asks, there's been a family emergency."
I grabbed my keys and walked out.
…
– Milana –
Alcrest Group Headquarters — Charles Monroe's Office
The walls in my father's office are the same shade of arrogance; they've always been deep walnut, polished steel, and a skyline view that makes Halston look like it belongs to him.
He's behind his desk, posture straight, suit perfect, always immaculate, always in control.
"I assume you've seen the headlines," he says, not looking up from the folder he's flipping through. "They got the good angles."
I sit across from him, crossing my legs. "They got what they were told to get."
A pause, he finally looks up, "There's no need for attitude, Milana, the world now knows you're engaged to Adrian Sinclair. That was the goal."
"Right," I say quietly, "Because nothing says success like selling your daughter for corporate salvation."
His gaze sharpens, "Don't be dramatic."
I lean back, staring at him. "Is that how Serena got married too? Or did she at least get to love her way into it?"
Father's jaw ticks once, "This isn't about Serena, It's about power and timing, we don't get another chance at this, Milana. We either look like a family worth merging with, or we collapse and you—" he taps the folder, "are the visual proof that Alcrest belongs at the top."
I don't respond.
Because what's there to say when you realize you were born into a family that loves strategy more than skin and bone.
Father exhales like he's already exhausted with me. "Sinclair Holdings approved a joint media strategy, one of their clients wants an in person feature of you and Adrian, PR synergy, investor reassurance, the usual performance."
His fingers drum once on the desk, "You and Adrian should decide when it happens,sooner is better."
I arch a brow, "Oh, so I get to decide something now?"
I gave a polished and dry smile. "I should write this day down."
He doesn't respond, just goes back to flipping through his files like I was never here to begin with.
Typical.
I rise, smooth down my dress, and walk out, heels clicking against marble, spine straight.
…
I was close to the elevator a few steps from my father's office when I heard his voice.
"You always storm out like that, or are you just a rude brat?"
My brother Cole.
I stop, fix my face into something neutral, and turn.
He's standing close to the wall, navy suit, no tie, jaw clenched like usual.
"Nice ring, you plan on smiling when the cameras show up, or should we start damage control early?" he says
I glance at him, "You sound like Dad."
"Thanks"
"Wasnt a compliment"
We reach the elevators, he presses the button, jaw tight.
Then, quieter, "If this goes wrong, we can't protect you anymore."
I blink.
"Wasn't aware you guys ever did."
The elevator dings open.
I stepped inside without looking back.
---
– Adrian –
The Lemaire Grand, East Wing, Private Suites
The hotel smells like polished wood and money, the kind of place we've donated too much to for our name not to be on half the plaques in the lobby.
I don't slow down.
The manager appears from nowhere and offers a greeting I don't return, one of the concierge girls nods, a little too eager. Another bellhop freezes halfway through a turn, eyes flicking to my face, then away just as fast.
Suite 1704, top floor, Paxton texted it two minutes after the call.
I took the elevator up, jaw locked, mind already sorting through the possibilities. I don't know what exactly happened.
But I know Paxton.
And if he's panicking, it's bad.
The hallway outside the suite is quiet, thick carpet, expensive silence. I reach the door and knock once.
It swings open fast.
Paxton stands there, barefoot, shirt half buttoned, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot.
"She's inside," he says, voice barely steady. "Adrian— I didn't— I didn't know she was—"
I stepped in walking past him
I'll deal with his guilt later.
First, I need to see the damage.
She's on the carpet.
Face turned to the side, hair matted with blood, the edge of the glass table glinting under the light.
There's so much blood soaking into the ivory rug.
I dropped to one knee beside her, pressed two fingers to the side of her neck.
There.
A pulse, Faint, but present.
"She's alive".
I pulled out my phone and dialed Oliver's number immediately.
"Oliver," I say as soon as he picks up, "I need an ambulance at the Lemaire Grand, with trusted paramedics, no sirens, be very discreet."
A pause, Then, "What's going on?"
"Get the damn ambulance, Oliver."
"Okay….okay, I'm on it."
I hung up.
"Adrian—" Paxton starts, voice cracking. "I didn't know she'd— I didn't even give her too much—she just—"
"Shut the fuck up Paxton."
He backs up, eyes wide.
I press the sleeve of my shirt to the side of her head, tight, controlled pressure. The bleeding slows, but not enough.
I scanned the room and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, wrapped it around the wound, firm but careful.
I don't have time to wonder who she is, or why she's here, that comes later.
Right now, she's in a Sinclair suite, with my brother, and she's bleeding on my family's reputation.
And that makes her my problem.
---
My phone buzzes again.
Oliver.
"we're here," he says. "Back service elevator."
"Come in quietly, bring the stretcher."
Seconds later, the suite door opens, no noise.
Oliver steps in first, suit sharp, expression sharper. Two paramedics follow behind him, moving like ghosts.
The collapsible stretcher glides silently over the carpet as they move towards the girl.
"She's unconscious," I say, standing back. "Blunt force trauma to the head, still breathing, pulse is weak."
The medics got to work fast, checking vitals, stabilizing her neck, sliding the oxygen mask over her face. One of them nods once, and they lift her onto the stretcher.
Oliver glances around the room, jaw tight. "You gonna tell me what the hell happened here?"
"I will," I say calmly, watching the medics secure her out of the room, "but first, get the manager. Tell him to find someone discreet enough to clean this mess without asking questions."
Oliver nods once, already reaching for his phone.
He knows the rules. In this family, image comes first.