Chapter Eleven: Ghosts of the Past & New Paths Ahead

The Sinclair estate was a towering mansion, all marble floors and cold elegance—a place Adrian had grown up in but never truly felt at home.

Adrian found his grandmother, Eleanor, in the sunroom, her silhouette outlined against the tall glass windows. She was sipping tea from a delicate porcelain cup, her expression unreadable. Even in her seventies, she exuded authority, her pearl necklace a permanent fixture, her silver hair swept back into a perfect bun.

She didn't look up as he entered. "Adrian," she said smoothly, "I assume you're here to argue about the gala again."

Adrian exhaled slowly, already tired of the battle before it had even begun. "I'm not going."

Eleanor stirred her tea with slow precision. "You are." Her voice was calm, but firm—the kind of tone that ended most conversations before they began.

His jaw tensed. "I don't need you parading women in front of me like I'm some prize to be won."

At that, Eleanor finally met his gaze. Her sharp blue eyes—the same shade as his—narrowed ever so slightly. "And I don't need you tarnishing this family's name by chasing after a girl who didn't even care enough to leave you her last name."

Adrian's chest tightened.

She knew. Of course, she knew. Eleanor Sinclair had ways of knowing everything.

"She's not just a girl," he muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.

Eleanor set her cup down with a soft clink, her gaze unreadable. "Then what is she?"

Silence stretched between them—a battle of unspoken words.

When Adrian didn't answer, Eleanor sighed. "You're becoming just like your father."

Adrian stiffened. The words were a blade to his gut. "What does that mean?"

Her voice softened, but her words were a calculated strike. "Lost in fantasy. Blind to reality."

His father—Daniel b

Adrian's fists tightened. "Is that what you think this is? A fantasy?"

Eleanor's gaze didn't waver. "You're letting a girl you barely know haunt you. Just like your father let love blind him to his responsibilities."

The comparison stung more than it should have.

Because Adrian wasn't his father—was he?

He had always lived under his father's shadow, under the weight of his choices. His father had chosen love over the family legacy, and Eleanor had never forgiven him for it.

Now, she feared Adrian would do the same.

But this wasn't about rebellion. It wasn't about chasing something just to spite his grandmother.

It was about Mia.

About the way she made him feel like more than just the "Sinclair heir."

Adrian stood, his voice steady but cold. "I'm not my father, Grandma."

Eleanor watched him carefully. "No. But you're starting to make the same mistakes."

He turned and left the sunroom without another word, the weight of his parents' memory pressing against his heart like an old wound—and the ghost of Mia still lingering in his mind.

Mia's POV

The job listings were endless, yet none of them felt right.

Mia sat at her tiny kitchen table, her laptop open, her fingers drumming against the edge of the keyboard. Her savings were dwindling faster than she had anticipated. Between rent, groceries, and preparing for the baby, the money she had carefully set aside was slipping through her fingers like sand.

She needed a job.

Badly.

The local boutiques weren't hiring. The bookstore already had enough staff. And though Clara had mentioned a position at the café, the thought of being on her feet all day with a growing belly wasn't ideal.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead before scrolling further down the job listings.

Then, something caught her eye.

Personal Assistant Position - Sinclair Enterprises

Mia frowned. The name seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place it. The job description was straightforward: administrative tasks, scheduling meetings, handling correspondence. It paid well—far better than any other job she had come across—and the benefits were tempting.

She hesitated.

A corporate job wasn't exactly what she had envisioned for herself. But stability was what she needed, and right now, she couldn't afford to be picky.

She clicked "Apply."

Within minutes, an automated email confirmed her application had been received.

Mia leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. She had no idea that she had just taken the first step toward the one man she had spent the last seven months trying to forget.

And she had no clue that fate was already setting the stage for the storm that was coming.