[EVE]
The party carried on, glittering with laughter and conversation, but for me, it had lost all its luster.
I sank into a chair beside old man Sinclair, my body aching from both the physical pain and the emotional tension that still hung in the air.
After taking my painkiller med, I felt much better, though. Now I could enjoy that
Château Pétrus I was eyeing earlier.
Victor, on the other hand, was in his element. I watched him as he moved through the crowd, seamlessly blending into high society.
He shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, and charmed potential investors with ease. It was clear this wasn't his first rodeo. He made the art of business look effortless, navigating through the elites as if he were born to it.
And in many ways, he was.
Victor had been trained for this role from a young age by none other than Sinclair himself. It wasn't just a coincidence that he was so adept at handling these high-profile gatherings—it was by design.
Sinclair had groomed him, knowing full well the treachery that simmered in his other sons, Sullivan and Stefan.
While Victor had been raised to take over, Sullivan and Stefan had been left to their own devices, growing more corrupt and dangerous over the years.
As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about how deliberate Sinclair's actions had been. It wasn't just about ensuring his legacy; it was about protecting it from the people closest to him—his own sons.
Victor wasn't just taking on the role of company president because he was capable; he was the shield that stood between Sinclair's empire and the greed of Sullivan and Stefan.
Even now, I could sense Sinclair's quiet torment. He didn't want his sons dead or rotting in prison—he wasn't that cruel—but he wanted them out of his life, out of his business.
They had been a poison slowly seeping into his empire, and Sinclair had made the hard decision to cut them off before they could do any more damage.
Victor's ascension to president wasn't just a title. It was the final nail in Sullivan and Stefan's coffin. Without the power that came with their family name, they were nothing.
They would be left with minor roles in the company, positions so insignificant that they wouldn't be able to siphon off a single dollar without scrutiny.
Their dreams of secretly stashing away money into their own schemes had been crushed, and they knew it.
However, it was also a strategic move that could push Sullivan and Stefan into making erratic decisions—or worse, drive them to turn aggressive.
And as much as Sinclair had wanted nothing more than to wash his hands of them, he couldn't just get rid of them. He wasn't blind to the danger they still posed, though.
But for now, the torch had been passed. The empire was safe in Victor's hands . . . at least.
"Hello there."
A soft, melodious voice broke through my thoughts. I turned and saw her—a lady in her sixties, her dazzling smile as radiant as the glittering jewels adorning her neck.
She was none other than Queen Emelia of Vassalia, the desert kingdom transformed by oil into a regional powerhouse.
Vassalia had always been part of Sinclair's lessons to her. Located in the southeastern region of BlackPine Country, it had once been a relatively unknown nation until fifty years ago, when vast reserves of oil were discovered beneath its barren sands.
Overnight, it transformed from a modest desert kingdom into a global economic player. Towering skyscrapers, lavish hotels, and high-tech cities rose from the dust, while the royal family, the House of Alysir, controlled everything with an iron grip.
Despite the tensions simmering with envious neighbors and the ever-present internal divide between the wealthy elite and the impoverished rural communities, Vassalia remained a beacon of prosperity.
Oil had made the country rich, and Sinclair was among the most powerful investors in Vassalia's energy sector.
And now, Queen Emelia herself was standing before me, her sparkling eyes never wavering from my face.
I quickly stood, curtsying with as much grace as my nerves would allow.
"Your Grace," I greeted her, trying to ignore the slight throbbed of my wound.
"My, what a lovely lady," she marveled, her fingers lightly brushing my cheek, as if appraising a precious jewel. "You've adopted a beautiful child, Sinclair."
From his chair beside me, Sinclair only scoffed, remaining utterly aloof. He didn't even bother to greet her.
But of course, only Sinclair could get away with that. His wealth and power rivaled that of royalty itself, and his investments in Vassalian oil were crucial to the kingdom's economic strength.
Queen Emelia didn't seem the least bit offended by his coldness. If anything, she found it amusing.
Her gaze shifted back to me, twinkling with mischief. "Are you single, my dear?"
I stiffened, and before I could answer, Sinclair's cane thudded sharply against the floor.
"Emelia," he warned, his tone holding more bite than usual.
My smile faltered, but I managed to respond. "Yes, Your Grace, I am."
The Queen's eyes lit up. "Perfect! My grandson is around your age. I just need to find him somewhere in this crowd and—"
Thud
.
Sinclair's cane struck the floor again, harder this time. "Eve is still young," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. "Dating will have to wait."
His tone startled even me. There was a protectiveness there that I hadn't expected—a fierceness that made my heart swell. It was a first that I felt protected and it warmed my heart a little.
Queen Emelia only rolled her eyes, unfazed by Sinclair's defiance. "Don't be so uptight, Sinclair. Eve is of the right age to marry. Are you already eighteen, my dear?"
The smile stayed plastered on my face, but inside, my mind was spiraling.
Eighteen?
I didn't know.
In fact, I didn't know when or where I was born. Was I really seventeen, or had I simply latched onto that number because it was Sophie's birthday? Because it was what Sullivan had set on my birth certificate?
The truth of my origins had always been a mystery, one I hadn't dared to solve, but would have to solve now.