Jason Sinclair lay back against the cool silk sheets, staring lazily at the ceiling as he lit a cigarette. The room smelled of expensive cologne, sweat, and the faint sweetness of the woman now sprawled beside him. She was still catching her breath after the last round, the soft rise and fall of her chest highlighted by the glow of the dim bedside lamp.
She propped herself up on one elbow, running a manicured finger along his chest. "You know…" she said softly, voice teasing but with an edge, "I've been thinking."
Jason smirked, blowing out a lazy puff of smoke. "That's dangerous for a girl like you." She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Jase. When are you going to introduce me to your parents?" Jason turned his head toward her, eyebrows raised. "Huh?"
"You heard me," she said, sitting up straighter now. "It's been three months. Three months of you flying me around, spoiling me with gifts, and sneaking me into your penthouse at ungodly hours. When do I get to meet Mommy and Daddy Sinclair?"
Jason chuckled, resting his cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. "Sweetheart," he said slowly, like he was explaining something to a child, "did I—or did I not—make it very clear from day one that this…" He gestured lazily between them, "…is just games. No feelings. No commitments attached. Just fun." She froze, eyes narrowing. "Games? That's what you call this?"
"Exactly." Jason grinned, leaning back on one arm. "You're beautiful, you're wild, and you're fun. But let's not pretend this was anything more than what it is."
Her face hardened. "Wow." He shrugged. "Don't 'wow' me. You knew what this was." She swung her legs out of bed, yanking the sheets off in a single motion. Jason watched, amused, as she stormed around the bedroom, gathering her clothes. She slipped into her dress with violent tugs, muttering under her breath.
"You know what?" she said sharply, spinning on her heel. "You're a goddamn asshole, Jason Sinclair." Jason smirked. "I've been called worse."
She stomped to the dresser, grabbing her purse, her movements dramatic enough to make the jewelry on her wrists jingle. Jason leaned back, watching the performance like it was a show he'd already seen a dozen times.
"Asshole," she repeated, shoving her feet into her stilettos. "You're just like everyone says. A spoiled brat. You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself!" Jason stretched, yawning. "Guilty."
She glared at him, picking up her panties from the floor. She twirled them around her finger for a moment, then without warning threw them straight at his face. Jason caught them mid-air, grinning. "Thanks for the souvenir, babe."
She groaned in frustration, snatching her purse and storming toward the door. "Go to hell, Jason!" she shouted as she slammed the door behind her.
Jason chuckled to himself, holding up the lacy panties like a trophy. "Damn," he muttered, dropping them onto the nightstand. "She's got good aim."
He reached for his cigarette again, taking a slow drag, letting the silence settle in the room. He liked silence. Silence meant no drama. No nagging. No fake promises of love and forever.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking his moment of peace. He groaned, grabbing it and glancing at the screen. It was Carlota, the family's longtime nanny. Jason raised an eyebrow.
"Carlota," he answered, putting her on speaker while he stubbed out his cigarette. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Jason," Carlota's accented voice came through, tight with concern, "your parents are asking for you. They seem very… annoyed." Jason snorted. "They're always annoyed."
"This is different," Carlota insisted. "Your father is pacing. Your mother is calling for everyone. Taylor is already there."
Jason swung his legs off the bed, raking a hand through his messy hair. "And what's the emergency now? Did Dad run out of cigars? Did Mom's favorite wine not make it in time for brunch?"
"Jason, this is serious!" Carlota's voice sharpened. "They want all of you present. Immediately." Jason sighed, leaning back on the bed. "Of course they do."
"Don't joke," she said. "You need to come home. Now."
Jason ended the call without responding, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, his smirk fading slightly. He knew that tone in Carlota's voice—she'd raised all of them, practically their second mother. When she was serious, it usually meant trouble. Still, he wasn't about to rush. Jason Sinclair didn't rush for anyone, He got up—walking toward his closet. The place was a shrine to his vanity—rows of designer suits, shoes lined up like soldiers, watches in a glass case. He pulled on a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks, adding a gold chain for flair. His reflection in the mirror grinned back at him, cocky and untouchable.
By the time he stepped out of his penthouse, the late morning sun was glaring, and his sunglasses were firmly in place. He slid into his sleek black Ferrari, ignoring the doorman's greeting, and peeled out of the building's driveway with a roar of the engine.
The Sinclair's Mansion>>>>>>
The Sinclair mansion loomed ahead twenty minutes later, a fortress of wealth and power. Jason rolled his eyes as he parked. He'd grown up here, but it always felt less like a home and more like a stage.
Inside, the tension was palpable. The air smelled faintly of Clara's expensive perfume and Timothy's cigars. The staff moved quickly but quietly, as if sensing a storm.
Carlota met him at the door, wringing her hands. "Jason," she said sharply, "finally!" Jason gave her a lazy grin. "Relax, Carlota. I'm here, aren't I?" She didn't smile. "Go. They are waiting"
Jason strolled through the mansion, ignoring the glares from the staff. He could already hear his father's booming voice echoing down the hallway.
"…unacceptable! I will not tolerate this nonsense!"
Jason pushed the study doors open and stepped inside. Timothy was pacing behind his massive oak desk, Clara seated elegantly in one of the armchairs, her expression calm but cold. Taylor stood by the window, arms crossed, his usual composed self.
"Ah, the prodigal son," Timothy barked as soon as he saw him. "So glad you could join us."
Jason smirked. "Traffic."
"Bullshit." Timothy slammed his hand on the desk. "You think this is a joke? You're a Sinclair. You don't stroll in late when your family calls for you!"
Jason shrugged. "What's the crisis this time? Did one of Billy's marketing campaigns flop? Did Nathan write another sad love song about a guy he'll never admit he's in love with? Or is this about Sasha?"
"Sit down," Clara said coolly, cutting through his sarcasm. Jason obeyed, plopping into a chair with exaggerated nonchalance. "Hi brother" he says mockingly to Richard who was silent the whole time.
Timothy glared at him. "You're a disgrace, Jason. Out all night, sleeping with God knows who, wasting the company's money on—what? Parties? Women?"
Jason smirked. "And cars."
"Enough!" Timothy roared. Jason leaned back, unbothered. "You called me all the way here to lecture me? I could've gotten this over the phone."
Taylor shot him a sharp look. "Jason, maybe try not antagonizing him." Jason chuckled. "Why start now?"
Clara sighed softly, standing. "Jason, this family is under a microscope. The press is everywhere. Every move we make is scrutinized. Your father cannot have one of his sons behaving like a… like a reckless playboy."
Jason's grin widened. "But that's exactly what I am." Timothy slammed his fist down again, the sound echoing through the room. "You think this is funny? You think this family's reputation is a game?"
Jason's smirk faltered slightly at the rage in his father's eyes, but he didn't flinch. "You built this empire on ruthlessness and fear," he said slowly. "Don't act like I'm the one tarnishing the family name."
Timothy's glare could've cut through steel, but Clara stepped in, her hand on her husband's arm. "Enough," she said firmly. "We have more important matters to discuss than Jason's behavior." Jason raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
Timothy straightened his tie. "Like the future of this family. There are changes coming. Big ones. And you'd better be ready to prove your worth, Jason. Or you'll be out."
Jason smirked again, but this time there was an edge to it. "You'd miss me too much." Timothy didn't respond. His silence was louder than any threat.
Jason leaned back in his chair, pretending to look relaxed, but his mind was racing. For the first time, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, his father wasn't bluffing.