Dominic's Chronicles
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The morning broke gray and sharp, just the way I liked it. Work was waiting, numbers stacked, contracts lined up. Anna had already left a fresh schedule on my desk, but I ignored it for once. Adam had insisted on dragging me out.
"Come on, Dom," he'd said, barging into my office like it was his own. "You work like a damn machine. Let's at least eat somewhere that doesn't smell like ink and contracts."
So now I was walking beside him, both of us in tailored suits, heading toward one of the most talked-about restaurants in the city. A place dripping in wealth and exclusivity. I didn't care for trends, but Adam thrived on them.
We were seated immediately, of course. My name carried weight here. I barely glanced at the décor—sleek, modern, all shine and no soul. I sat down, checked my watch, and ordered whiskey before noon just to spite the clock. Adam was still scanning the menu like he had all day.
And then the door opened.
I didn't notice at first, not until Adam's head turned and a low whistle slipped past his lips.
"Well, look who it is," he muttered.
I followed his gaze, and my eyes froze.
Aurora Sinclair walked in with her brother at her side.
She was nothing like the broken girl I'd seen at the dinner. Not tonight. She was… different. Dressed in black leather shorts that clung high on her thighs, a woolen sweater slipping carelessly off one shoulder, exposing the delicate line of skin and the thin strap of her bra. Long boots hugged her legs, and her hair fell in waves around her face, untamed and striking. She looked nothing like the heiress the papers had mocked. Nothing like weakness.
Alex leaned down, saying something in her ear. She shook her head at first, reluctant, but then gave in, allowing him to lead her toward a table not far from ours.
Adam smirked, leaning toward me. "Well, isn't that interesting? The Sinclair princess herself."
I said nothing. But I was watching her. Too closely.
The way she kept tugging at her sleeve, trying to cover the shoulder her sweater refused to hide. The way her eyes scanned the room quickly, like she wanted to disappear even as people stared. Alex nudged her again, trying to make her laugh, to ease her tension.
For reasons I didn't care to understand, my whiskey burned hotter going down.
Our paths had crossed once already. And now, fate—or maybe just bad luck—was forcing us into the same space again.
Adam was talking again, something about a deal gone wrong in Mexico, but his words faded into the background. My attention had already settled elsewhere—on the Sinclair table, three rows ahead.
Aurora sat with her brother like she'd been forced there. Her posture was stiff, hands folded too tightly in her lap. She wasn't eating, just stirring her drink, letting the condensation slip down the glass. The sweater still slid dangerously off her shoulder, and she tugged at it now and then as if trying to hide the skin she'd already revealed.
I should have looked away. Should have let Adam's chatter distract me. But I didn't. My eyes stayed fixed, calculating, reading her the way I read boardrooms and contracts.
Weakness. Vulnerability. Hesitation. All written plainly across her face.
And yet—something about the way she sat there, enduring the stares, refusing to crumble—made my jaw tighten.
Adam finally caught on. He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "You're staring, Dom. Should I call a doctor?"
I shot him a glance, sharp enough to silence him, before returning to my whiskey. "I don't stare."
He chuckled under his breath, unconvinced. "Right. And I don't breathe."
Across the room, Alex was doing everything in his power to lighten his sister's mood. He leaned toward her, whispering something, and when she shook her head, he nudged her shoulder. Her lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through her guarded expression.
Then he tried again, and this time, she laughed.
Not a polite smile, not a forced chuckle—the real thing. It broke free before she could stop it, soft and quick, like sunlight slipping through clouds. For a second, she wasn't the mute Sinclair heiress mocked by the headlines. She was just a woman laughing with her brother.
Adam raised a brow at the sound. "Didn't know she had it in her," he murmured.
I didn't answer. I only watched, my glass paused halfway to my lips.
They kept going—brother and sister, trading looks, nudging each other, teasing in that easy, familiar way only siblings could. It wasn't childish, but it carried warmth. The kind of warmth I'd never known in my own family.
And for reasons I refused to entertain, it unsettled me.
Adam was halfway through his plate when he finally noticed I hadn't touched mine. He followed my gaze again, smirk tugging at his lips.
"You've been staring holes in the Sinclair girl since she walked in. What's going on, Dom?"
I swirled the last of my whiskey, ice clinking softly against glass. For a moment, I considered brushing him off, letting him assume whatever idiotic conclusion he wanted. But then I decided he might as well know.
"They've chosen her," I said evenly, my voice calm, clipped.
Adam frowned. "Chosen her? What the hell are you talking about?"
"My parents," I clarified, setting the glass down with deliberate precision. "They want me married. To her. Aurora Sinclair. The arrangement was made years ago, before her parents died. A promise between families."
For once, Adam didn't have a smart remark ready. He blinked, leaning back in his chair as though the weight of the words physically pushed him. "You're joking."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
His mouth opened, then closed again. He shook his head, still processing. "Wait—your parents actually expect you to marry her? Just like that? Because of some dusty old agreement?"
"Yes."
"And you're just… what? Going along with it?"
I gave him a flat look, one brow lifting. "Do I strike you as someone who goes along with anything?"
Adam huffed a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Damn. This is… I don't even know what to say. Aurora Sinclair? The mute heiress plastered all over last week's headlines? The girl everyone pities?" He stared at me in disbelief. "That's the woman they think matches you?"
I didn't flinch. "Apparently."
"Dom…" Adam leaned in, lowering his voice though his tone burned with incredulity. "This is insane. You're the Blackwoods' golden boy. You could marry anyone—any woman with power, influence, pedigree. And they want her?"
"They don't want. They've decided."
The silence that followed was heavy, Adam's shock hanging in the air. He kept glancing between me and the Sinclair table, as if trying to stitch the two together in his mind and failing.
Finally, he let out a low whistle. "So what now? You just… sit here watching her from across restaurants until one day you call it destiny?"
I exhaled slowly, leaning back in my chair, my gaze never once leaving Aurora. She was laughing again at something Alex said, her hand lifting to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. The sweater slipped lower, the strap of her bra stark against pale skin.
"Don't mistake observation for destiny," I said coolly. "But make no mistake, Adam—if this marriage is forced on me, then she'll become mine in every sense of the word. And I don't lose what's mine."
Adam shook his head, muttering a curse under his breath. His shock hadn't worn off, but my words left no room for argument.
And still, my eyes stayed locked on her.
Aurora shifted in her seat, nudged by her brother's teasing. She turned slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder—
and her eyes met mine.
Her laughter died on her lips, her posture stiffening as though she'd walked straight into a wall of ice.
Three rows away, she knew. She felt it.
I didn't look away.