The Sinclair dining room was as intimidating as the rest of the house—a massive rectangular table made of dark oak, polished until it gleamed under the golden chandelier. The table was long enough to seat twenty, though tonight it was just family, with the occasional staff member silently gliding by to refill glasses and replace plates. It always felt more like a negotiation table than a family dinner, and tonight was no different.
Timothy sat at the head of the table, Clara, as always, was to his right, poised like a queen with her wine glass perfectly balanced in her hand. The boys sat in a line down either side—me next to Dad, Billy beside me, Richard across from Billy, Riri sitting next to Billy, Jason across from me, and Nathan at the far end, slouched and staring into his plate.
The tension from earlier still hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable, but Timothy was pretending everything was normal. He carved into his steak with military precision, not saying a word for the first ten minutes. That was his tactic—let everyone stew in silence. Clara was the only one talking, making polite small talk about the company's upcoming gala, commenting on Nathan's "new haircut," and scolding Jason for not answering her texts.
"Mom," Jason said dryly, swirling his glass of wine, "you send like twenty texts a day. I'd have to quit my job to keep up."
"Hmm job, the one you suck at?," Richard muttered under his breath, cutting into his lamb. Jason shot him a glare. "And you don't have a personality, but here we are."
"Enough," Timothy barked, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. Everyone fell silent.
He set his fork down deliberately and leaned back in his chair, scanning each of us with sharp, calculating eyes. "Let's talk about something more important."
I already knew what was coming. He did this every few months—gather us all together, ask a few innocent questions, and then tear us apart like wolves fighting over scraps.
"Your love lives," Timothy said bluntly. Billy choked on his water. Jason stifled a laugh. Nathan looked like he wanted to slide under the table. Clara smiled sweetly, sipping her wine. "I think what your father means," she said smoothly, "is that we'd like to know when you boys plan on settling down. Finding someone serious. Someone who won't embarrass this family—again." She said glancing a mocking eye to Taylor.
Jason snorted. "You mean someone like Valentina Mayhem? The senator's daughter who looks at us like we're dollar signs with legs?"
Clara's eyes flicked to him, her smile never wavering. "Valentina is a lovely young woman." Jason leaned back, grinning. "Sure she is, if you're into ice queens who would probably stab you in your sleep if you didn't vote for her dad."
"Jason," Timothy said sharply. "Shut up." Jason shrugged and grabbed his wine. "Just saying—but she's cute though. I mean....."
"Let's start with you, Richard," Timothy cuts in, turning his attention to my younger brother. Richard leans back in his chair with a smirk. "Actually, I have a surprise for you all tomorrow," he says, his tone smooth, almost cocky. "I'm introducing someone new. The love of my life."
Jason bursts out laughing, nearly choking on his wine. "Love of your life? Please. Is that even a thing?"
"Shut the hell up, Jason," I snap, annoyed. Richard narrows his eyes at me. "don't you dare lecture me.....Didn't.... you divorce your wife because she betrayed you? A man who couldn't even keep a family together can't tell me shit."
The room goes quiet for a moment. Clara sets her wine glass down with a sharp click. "That's enough," she says, her voice cool but cutting. She turns to Richard, her expression sharp. "This surprise of yours better be worth it....I don't want another white woman in this house. Not after the last disaster."
Richard smirks, unbothered, and takes a slow sip of his drink. "mom?....how many times do I gotta tell you that all that don't matter to me?" he says casually. "You're going to love her. I promise"
Timothy's jaw tightens, but he stays silent, watching his sons with thinly veiled irritation. "Billy?" Clara asked. Billy smirked. "You already know about me and Riri." Riri, dressed like she was on the cover of a magazine instead of sitting at a family dinner table, flashed a smug smile and intertwined her fingers with his. Billy lifted her hand and kissed it with exaggerated flair. "I wanted to make it official tonight. I plan to propose to her. Riri's going to be my wife."
The room fell silent. Jason arched a brow, clearly entertained, while Richard rolled his eyes. I just sighed. Clara's smile was thin, brittle. She set down her fork slowly and leaned forward, her gaze sharp as glass. "Billy," she said calmly, "I will make this very clear. I am not in support of this… relationship or whatever this madness is. And I will never be." Riri's smirk faltered, but Billy tightened his grip on her hand defiantly. "You don't get to decide who I love, Mom," he shot back.
Clara said, setting her glass down carefully. "We do. And we know she's… ambitious." Billy's smirk faltered. "Ambitious is a good thing isn't it? especially for this family."
"Ambitious can be dangerous," Timothy said, narrowing his eyes. "Keep her in check, Billy. You're easily influenced." Billy bristled. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dad."
"Then stop acting like one," Timothy snapped. Billy clenched his jaw, stabbing his fork into his steak with more force than necessary.
Clara turned to Nathan next. "And you, sweetheart?" she said, her tone softening. "Anyone new in your life?"
Nathan froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. "No," he said quickly, not looking up.
Timothy eyed him suspiciously. "No? You're not dating anyone?" Nathan shook his head. "Nope. Just… focusing on music."
Timothy scoffed. "Music is not a career, Nathan." Nathan's shoulders tensed. "It's more than a career, Dad."
"It's a waste of time," Timothy said coldly. "You should be focusing on the family business, not chasing some childish dream." Clara put a hand on Timothy's arm. "Timothy," she said softly, "not at the table." Nathan's face was red, his fork clattering onto his plate. "You never take me seriously," he muttered.
"Because you don't take yourself seriously," Timothy shot back. The table went quiet. Jason cleared his throat loudly, trying to break the tension. "Well, this is fun," he muttered, reaching for more wine.
Timothy ignored him and turned his gaze on me. "And you, Taylor? Any plans to get remarried?" I froze. I'd been waiting for this, dreading it. "No," I said flatly. "Still hung up on that witch of an ex-wife of yours?" Timothy's voice was sharp, like he wanted a reaction. I kept my face calm. "May's not the reason."
"Then what is?" Clara asked gently, tilting her head.
"I'm just… not interested," I said, my tone final.
"Are you gay now? like your brother Nathan?" Timothy asked.
"Dad?"
"Then what? You're my eldest son. You're CFO of this company. You carry the Sinclair name. And you're telling me you plan on spending your life alone like some hermit?"
"I didn't say that," I said calmly. "I said I'm not interested right now."
Timothy leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "You think you get to choose? You don't. We are not a normal family, Taylor. Our name comes with power, and power demands alliances. Marriages aren't just about love—they're about strategy. You should know that better than anyone."
"I do," I said evenly. "And that's exactly why I'm not rushing into another one." Jason smirked. "Look at you, being all logical and shit."
"Shut up, Jason," I muttered. Clara set her glass down, her voice calm but firm. "Taylor, your father's not wrong. We need stability in this family. The press already looks for cracks in our image. A strong marriage would be good for you. For all of us." I sighed, leaning back in my chair. "I'm not marrying someone for optics."
"You'll marry who we tell you to marry," Timothy said coldly. The words hung in the air like a threat.
Jason chuckled darkly. "Wow, Dad, subtlety really isn't your thing, huh?" Timothy shot him a glare that could kill. Jason held up his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, I'm just here for the food."
The tension in the room was suffocating. Clara tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, asking about company updates, upcoming projects, and travel plans. But the damage was done.
Billy was sulking, stabbing at his plate. Nathan looked like he wanted to disappear. Richard sat stiffly, And me? I just sat there, calm on the outside, seething on the inside.
This was dinner at the Sinclair mansion—love masked as interrogation, family masked as enemies, all of it under the pretense of wealth and perfection.