CHAPTER THREE (LETS DO IT)

Ethan leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping idly against the dark oak of his desk as he watched Aria take in her surroundings. His office was a statement—sleek, modern, and exuding power. Just like him. And now, standing before him in that pink suit, her toned legs crossing slightly beneath her short skirt, she was a contradiction—elegance wrapped in innocence, yet undeniably tempting.

She had come unannounced. Interesting.

"You want to sit or stand?" His tone was casual, almost amused, as he leaned forward, his green eyes flickering with intrigue.

Aria, ever composed, met his gaze. "I'd like a drink first."

Ethan smirked. "Let me guess—orange juice."

She nodded, not expecting the way his lips curled in mock disdain. "It runs in the family," he murmured under his breath, shaking his head as he poured her a glass himself. The golden liquid filled the crystal tumbler, and he slid it across the desk toward her.

Aria took a sip, her lips pressing against the rim, but Ethan didn't miss the way her fingers trembled slightly. Nervous? Intriguing.

"So…" he drawled, folding his arms. "What exactly are we clarifying here, Aria? Or are you here to seal the deal without your family's blessing?"

She blinked. "What deal?"

Ethan tilted his head, watching her carefully. Was she playing naïve, or did she truly not know? Either way, it only made this more entertaining.

"The one where you become mine." His voice was smooth, deliberate. "Legally. Financially. Completely."

Her breath hitched slightly, but she masked it well. "Is that how you see it?" she asked, tilting her head. "You think I came here to surrender myself to you?"

Ethan smirked, his amusement deepening. Oh, she's good.

"You tell me, little Lancaster." He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave, the space between them shrinking. "You showed up at my office without calling, dressed to turn heads. You asked for a drink like you own the place. And now, you're playing coy. So either you want something from me… or you just wanted an excuse to see me."

Aria swallowed, forcing herself to hold his gaze. She wouldn't let him rattle her.

"You think highly of yourself," she murmured, placing the glass down with a soft clink.

Ethan chuckled. "I have every reason to."

She shifted in her seat, her fingers toying with the diamond earring that dangled from her lobe. "I came here because I don't like being left in the dark. My parents refuse to tell me everything, and I need to understand what you're after. What's the real reason behind this proposal, Ethan?"

His smirk faded slightly.

Aria wasn't just some clueless heiress. She was sharp, and despite the warmth in her voice, there was steel beneath it.

He exhaled slowly, his green eyes darkening as he leaned back. "You want the truth, sweetheart?"

She nodded, unwavering.

He drummed his fingers against the desk. "Your family owes me. More than you can imagine. And the only way out for them is you."

Silence thickened between them. Aria's chest rose and fell steadily, but something flickered in her expression—curiosity, frustration, maybe even fear.

"So, what?" she finally asked, her voice softer now. "You take me, and they get to survive? Like some kind of… transaction?"

Ethan's lips curved into a smirk, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. "Call it what you want. But make no mistake, if you agree to this, you won't just be a Lancaster anymore."

Aria stared at him, her heart pounding.

He leaned in, his voice a whisper now.

"You'll be a Sinclair."

Aria turned to the window, staring out into the city skyline, her vision blurred with unshed tears. Her nails grazed her lips—an old nervous habit she couldn't shake. The weight of the moment pressed against her chest, suffocating her with every second that passed.

Ethan watched her, intrigued. She was unraveling, just a little.

With measured steps, he approached her, his towering frame casting a shadow over her delicate form. His fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"Don't hide from me, little Lancaster," he murmured, biting his lip as his hand trailed lower, fingertips grazing the curve of her breasts. He rolled his thumb over the fabric of her blouse, slow, deliberate. His touch was like fire—dangerous, consuming.

Aria's breath hitched, her body betraying her even as her mind screamed at her to resist. For a moment, she felt herself slipping, drowning in the way his emerald-green eyes burned into hers.

Then, just as quickly as he ignited the moment, she snapped.

"Fuck you," she hissed, shoving him away.

Ethan barely moved, only smirking as she stormed toward the door.

"I'll always be here, little one," he called after her, voice laced with amusement.

Aria spun on her heel, eyes blazing. "For crying out loud, you're thirty! What the hell could you possibly want with me?"

He tilted his head, unfazed. Then, with a slow, mocking grin, he murmured, "I suppose you enjoy watching your parents drown, then?"

Her lips parted, fury flashing across her face.

"Get over yourself," she spat.

Ethan leaned back against his desk, watching her with a smug expression. "I'll be right here when you come crawling back."

Aria stormed out, slamming the door behind her, but even as she left, his words clung to her like a curse.

Aria stood outside Ethan's office, the cold air pressing against her skin as if trying to freeze the storm inside her. Her legs felt weak, her fingers trembling as she wiped at her pale, tear-streaked face. She clenched her fists, biting back a sob before it escaped her lips. But the emotions were too heavy, the frustration too raw.

"Fuck you, Ethan Sinclair!" she whispered harshly, her voice cracking as the weight of everything crushed down on her.

She buried her face in her palms, trying to stifle the wreckage of emotions clawing their way out of her chest.

Then—warmth. A hand on her shoulder.

Aria gasped, snapping her head up, eyes wide as she took in the figure before her. A tall man, late 40s, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that screamed wealth and power. He had the air of someone who was used to being feared, someone who had played the game long enough to know how to win.

She quickly bowed slightly in greeting, wiping at her damp cheeks, embarrassed to be caught like this.

The man smirked. "Crying over a man?" he drawled, voice rich with amusement. "Or did Mommy dearest find out about him?"

Aria exhaled a soft chuckle, despite herself.

He extended a hand. "Victor Harrington. And you are?"

Aria hesitated, her instincts flaring. But something about his demeanor put her at ease—perhaps the ease of an experienced predator cloaked in charm.

"Aria… Aria Lancaster."

Harrington's gaze sharpened. He tilted his head slightly, studying her as if seeing a missing puzzle piece fall into place. "Jonathan's daughter?" he mused, as if the thought intrigued him.

"Yes."

Harrington's smile widened, but his eyes remained unreadable. "Interesting."

There was a pause. Aria shifted uncomfortably under his assessing gaze.

"What brings a Lancaster here?" he asked smoothly, though there was a flicker of something darker in his expression.

Aria forced a polite smile. "Just… a little issue I hoped to sort out."

Harrington nodded, but his mind was already spinning. A Lancaster inside Sinclair Enterprises? That could only mean one thing—trouble. And trouble was exactly what he needed. If the Lancasters were desperate enough to turn to Ethan, there was an opportunity here.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Aria Lancaster could be of use to his vendetta.

Before he could press further, Aria's phone rang. Sienna.

She glanced up. "I have to go."

Harrington dipped his head in understanding, watching as she hurried off.

Then, alone, he smiled.

Oh, this was going to be very interesting.

Aria pulled into the driveway, her sleek Mercedes Benz gliding to a stop. The weight of the night pressed against her, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw inside.

Jonathan Lancaster sat rigid in his chair, his jaw clenched, his fingers gripping the armrests like he was barely holding himself together. Eleanor hovered beside him, one hand resting on his back in a feeble attempt to soothe him. The air was thick with tension, a storm waiting to explode.

Aria's heart tightened. "Mom, what's wrong?"

Jonathan's sharp gaze snapped to her. "Where did you go?" His voice was edged with accusation. "Groceries?"

Aria arched a brow, folding her arms. "I'm not a child. Why do you care?"

Jonathan exhaled harshly, running a hand through his graying hair. "Ethan called."

At that, Aria's stomach flipped.

"He described you as timid," Jonathan spat, his voice laced with fury. "As if we're some charity case. As if he holds all the power in this." He slammed a hand onto the table. "I knew this was a mistake. I should've never let you get involved."

Aria remained still, absorbing his words.

Jonathan's voice rose. "Do you think this is a game, Aria? You don't understand who you're dealing with. Stay out of this."

She inhaled sharply. Then, in the softest, steadiest voice, she said, "I'll marry him, Dad."

Silence.

Jonathan's head snapped up. "What?"

Aria lifted her chin. "Even if it's just for a year. I'll marry him… and then I'll get a divorce."

Eleanor gasped, then quickly masked it with a delighted laugh, clasping her hands together. "Oh, darling, that's—" She bit her lip, eyes gleaming with something Aria couldn't quite decipher. "Well, that's a plan."

Jonathan, however, looked stricken.

Before he could protest, Sienna—who had been silently watching from the corner—grinned and slung an arm around Aria. "Damn, girl. From enemies to lovers? I love this."

Aria shot her a glare, but Sienna only laughed harder, practically dragging her toward the stairs. "Come on, Mrs. Sinclair-to-be. We need a strategy."

Eleanor chuckled, watching them go, while Jonathan sat back in his chair, shoulders tense, eyes clouded with something between frustration and resignation.

He knew there was no stopping her now.

Sienna yanked Aria onto the bed, pacing before her like a storm about to erupt. Then she stopped, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.

"Are you crazy, bitch?" she hissed. "No, seriously—fuck you. I cannot believe you're about to ruin yourself for your family." She gestured wildly. "Are you even thinking? What do you expect to get out of this? An Oscar for Best Sacrificial Daughter?"

Aria let out a weak chuckle, but it faded just as quickly. Her fingers clenched the sheets, her shoulders trembling. "I'm sick of it all, Sie."

The words came out broken, raw. Her eyes welled up, and suddenly, everything she had been holding back crashed into her at once. "I can't sit and watch my dad crumble. I can't watch my mom pretend everything is fine when it's not. I feel like I'm drowning, and this is the only way out."

Sienna's face softened, her anger shifting into concern. She sighed, sitting beside Aria and pulling her into a hug, her fingers running through her hair. "Babe, there has to be another way. This? Marriage? To a man who sees this as a business deal?"

Aria exhaled shakily, shaking her head. "No, Sie. I'm doing this."

Sienna pulled back, searching her face. Aria was serious.

"Fuck," Sienna muttered under her breath, rubbing her temples. "You really are insane."

Jonathan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, Aria's words echoing in his mind. His chest felt heavy—disappointment, anger, fear. He clenched his jaw. Marry Ethan Sinclair? Over my dead body.

Eleanor slid beside him, her fingers trailing up his arm, slow and deliberate. "You're cold," she murmured before pressing her lips against his, teasing, coaxing.

Jonathan didn't react—not at first. But then she moved lower, her hand slipping beneath the sheets, finding him with practiced ease. She wrapped her fingers around his thick length, stroking him to life. A sharp exhale escaped his lips.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper against his ear. "Let her do it," she purred. "She gets that fearlessness from you. And that's exactly why I can't stop loving you."

Jonathan groaned, his grip tightening around her wrist. "Eleanor—"

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "You know I'm right." Her nails traced down his chest. "Think of the power we'll have, Jonathan. With Ethan's wealth and Victor Harrington on our side, the Lancasters won't just recover. We'll rule."

Jonathan exhaled sharply, his mind battling between logic and lust. He hated Ethan. But Eleanor's words made sense. Victor Harrington was no saint, but his influence could tip the scales in their favor.

Eleanor kissed him again, her tongue sweeping over his lips as she guided his hands to her breasts. He squeezed, groaning, finally letting himself sink into her touch. Just as he reached for her dress, she pulled away, leaving him breathless and wanting.

Her eyes gleamed in the dim light. "So?" she whispered. "Will you let her?"

Jonathan stared at her, his restraint crumbling. His fingers dug into her waist, his body burning for more. And in that moment, whether from desire or desperation, he surrendered.

"…Yes."