Jason stormed out of Taylor's office, the door slamming behind him so hard the glass panels shuddered. His face was hot, his jaw aching from how tightly he'd been clenching it during the argument. Two million dollars. That self-righteous bastard couldn't even sign off on two million. What did Taylor think he was? The guardian of morality?
Jason tugged his jacket properly onto his shoulders as he strode down the hallway, ignoring the curious stares of employees peeking up from their cubicles. He didn't care what they thought. Let them gossip. He was a Sinclair. One day, this entire building would be his. He punched the elevator button harder than necessary, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited. Every nerve buzzed with irritation. The doors slid open, and he stepped inside.
Just as they were about to close, a hand darted between them. The doors opened again, and Riri slipped in. Jason's eyebrows rose in surprise. Riri—Billy's girlfriend. Everyone knew her. Pretty, stylish, with a sharp mouth when she wanted. She worked as one of the creative design directors, if Jason remembered right, though most people only talked about her in connection with Billy.
This is not the first time Jason is seeing her, but she looked even better today—Sexy, slim black dress that hugged her frame, a silver chain glinting against her collarbone, hair perfectly styled. And that perfume—subtle, floral, expensive. Jason let his gaze sweep over her without shame.
"Well, well," he drawled, leaning back against the elevator wall, one hand casually in his pocket. "If it isn't the queen herself." Riri glanced at him, unimpressed. "Jason." Her tone was clipped and polite only because she had to be. She turned her attention back to the glowing numbers above the doors. Jason smirked. The brush-off didn't bother him. In fact, he liked it. The harder the chase, the more fun the game right? "Where's Billy? Shouldn't he be shadowing you like the loyal puppy he is?" She didn't answer, just crossed her arms, the faintest flicker of annoyance in her eyes. Jason tilted his head, studying her. "What, no small talk? No good morning? You wound me." Riri sighed, finally turning to face him. "Jason, I'm not in the mood. Whatever you're tryin' do?, save it."
He chuckled, stepping just slightly closer. Not enough to invade her space completely, but enough to make his intention clear. "Relax. I'm just making conversation. Elevator rides are boring. Two attractive people alone in one… we might as well enjoy it." Her brows shot up. "Attractive people? hmm (she chuckled) You mean yourself?" Jason grinned. "I was being generous including you, but sure—myself too."
Riri's lips pressed into a thin line. She shifted away from him, but he mirrored her movement with a lazy confidence. "Billy doesn't know how lucky he is," Jason continued smoothly. "If you were mine, I wouldn't let you out of my sight."
"Good thing I'm not yours," she shot back sharply. Jason laughed, unfazed. "Yet—yet baby girl" The word hung in the air, cocky and deliberate. He reached out as though to brush a strand of her hair from her shoulder. That was the last straw. Riri's palm connected with his cheek in a sharp, ringing slap.
The sound echoed in the enclosed elevator. Jason's head jerked slightly from the impact, but when he straightened again, he was grinning. Slowly and deliberately, he rubbed his cheek where the red mark was already forming. "Well," he said softly, amusement lacing every syllable. "I like a woman with fire."
"Are you nuts? Stay the hell away from me—you filthy bastard" Riri snapped, her voice vibrating with anger. "You think you can throw yourself at every woman in this building and they'll fall at your feet? Newsflash, Jason—you're not that special. You're just a spoiled brat with a big name. got it?"
Jason gave a low whistle. "Ouch. Harsh words. Billy teaching you those, or do you come up with them yourself?"
Her eyes blazed. She turned back toward the doors, willing them to open faster. Jason leaned back again, smirk firmly in place, though beneath it, something darker brewed. The sting on his cheek didn't matter. What mattered was control. And if he couldn't control Taylor upstairs, maybe he could at least rattle someone down here.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open. Riri stormed out, heels clicking hard against the marble floor. Jason called after her, his voice light and mocking. "Tell Billy I said thanks for keeping you warm at night. Man's doing a community service."
Riri froze mid-step, her shoulders rigid, then walked off without looking back. Jason chuckled to himself as the doors closed again.
But when his laughter faded, the silence pressed in. The slap still burned faintly on his skin, and Taylor's words echoed in his head.
Jason's smirk faltered for just a moment before he shook his head violently, straightening his jacket. No. He wouldn't let them get to him—not Taylor, not Riri, not anyone. They thought he was a joke? They'd see. They'd all see.
7 Hours Later at the Sinclair Mansion>>>
Clara sat elegantly in the living room beside Timothy, flipping through one of her glossy magazines while sipping her tea. Timothy, in his usual commanding posture, rested with a newspaper stretched between his hands. The house was calm for once, though Jason's presence broke that balance slightly. He hadn't spent the night in his apartment; instead, he lounged lazily on the armchair across from them, scrolling through his phone, smirking at whatever nonsense entertained him.
The silence broke with footsteps echoing from the hallway. Richard entered, face glowing with anticipation. Beside him walked a tall young woman with silky blond hair, fair skin, and bright blue eyes. She wore a fitted cream dress and carried herself with the poise of someone who knew she was being scrutinized.
"Good morning, everyone," Richard began, his voice steady but tinged with excitement. "I'd like you to meet someone very important to me. This is Posha Williams—my childhood friend...and my girlfriend." Clara's teacup froze halfway to her lips. She blinked at the girl, her face shifting instantly from polite curiosity to utter disdain. "Jesus Christ," she muttered, setting the cup down with a sharp clink. "What have these white bitches done to my sons?"
The room stiffened. Posha forced a smile, clearly uncomfortable, while Richard's jaw tightened. "Mom?" he said firmly, "that is completely uncalled for. I bring her here with respect, to introduce her properly, and this is the first thing you say?"
Clara leaned back, folding her arms, her eyes narrowing. "Richard, I warned you. I told you I didn't want to see you running around with another white girl. Don't you learn from your brother's mistakes?" Jason chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying the drama. Posha's cheeks flushed red, but she kept her composure. Richard, however, wasn't having it.
"Posha is not just another white girl,'" Richard shot back. "She's been in my life since I was a kid. She knows me, she understands me. She's the first woman I've ever felt proud enough to bring home, and this is the reception we get?" Timothy lowered his newspaper slowly, studying the scene with unreadable eyes. "Clara, mind your tongue. Let the boy speak."
But Clara wasn't backing down. "I will not sit quietly while my sons make fools of themselves. We are Sinclair's. We have an image to uphold. And now you drag this… child here, thinking it will impress us?" Richard's voice cracked with frustration. "You've never wanted anything good for me unless it was your idea. I love her, and I don't care if you approve or not." The room grew tense, Posha shifting uncomfortably as if she wished to disappear. And then, suddenly, the front door slammed. Heavy footsteps stormed in. Billy appeared, his face thunderous, his chest heaving. He didn't even acknowledge Posha or Richard—his eyes went straight to Jason.
"Jason!" Billy roared, pointing at him with rage. "You bastard!" The room froze, everyone's eyes snapping toward the storm Billy had just brought in.