Dominic's Chronicles
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I tried pulling up the article, even tapped on the video, but the page refused to load. They'd taken it down already. Fast. Efficient. For once, the Sinclairs had put their weight to good use. Almost impressive… though it didn't erase the fact that they'd let it surface in the first place.
I set the glass aside, straightened my cuffs, and moved on. Aurora Sinclair—and her family's mess—had nothing to do with me.
By the time I stepped into my building, my phone buzzed. Damian. My younger brother.
I answered, irritation already sharpening my tone. "Damian, what is it?"
"Good morning to you too, brother Dom," he said smoothly. Always the charmer, never the worker.
"What do you want?" I asked flatly.
"Mom said she wants to see you today. They have something to discuss with you," Damian replied.
Of course. They didn't call themselves—they sent Damian. Typical. Not that it mattered; I already knew what they wanted. Another lecture. Another reminder. Marriage. My parents loved me, I'd never deny that, but God, they knew how to irritate me. And this… this marriage obsession was becoming insufferable. Damian was twenty-two. Why couldn't they dump their fantasies of grandchildren on him instead?
"Tonight?" I asked.
"Yeah, yeah."
"Alright then… what about you?"
"Oh, this has nothing to do with me. I'm enjoying my peace here in Miami. You can deal with them, because I'm not coming to New York anytime soon."
I hummed in response and cut the call. They knew I only answered Damian's calls—that's why they sent him. Manipulative, but effective. Fine. I'd endure another marriage lecture tonight.
Work didn't wait. Anna kept bringing in contracts and schedules, efficient as always. She'd lasted longer than any of my previous assistants—months now. The others hadn't survived a month under me.
By the time the last meeting ended, night had already swallowed the city.
By the time the last meeting ended, night had already swallowed the city. I didn't waste time lingering at the office. If I had to face my parents' lecture, I preferred to get it over with quickly.
Their penthouse was warm and bright when I arrived, the complete opposite of the controlled silence I preferred. The moment I stepped inside, my mother's voice reached me first.
"Dominic," she greeted, her tone too sweet, too deliberate. The kind of sweetness that always preceded trouble.
My father looked up from his glass of scotch, his gaze sharp. "You're late."
"I was working," I replied simply, taking the seat across from them. No apologies. None were needed.
My mother folded her hands neatly, eyes soft but insistent. "You know why we asked you here."
Of course I knew. I leaned back in the chair, expression unreadable. "Marriage again?"
"Not just marriage," my father said firmly. "Legacy. Continuity. You're the Blackwood heir. You can't keep pushing this aside."
I kept my face cold, my voice flat. "Damian is twenty-two. Perfectly capable. Why don't you trouble him instead?"
My mother sighed, as though I had wounded her. "Because Damian isn't you. He doesn't have the command, the discipline. That responsibility belongs to you, Dominic."
I said nothing, only swirled the drink the maid had just placed before me. The amber liquid caught the light, and for a moment, I let the silence stretch.
Another lecture. Another attempt to bend me. But stone does not bend.
My father set his glass down with deliberate care, his gaze hard. "Enough games, Dominic. This isn't a suggestion. It's already decided."
I arched a brow, letting a faint smirk curve my lips. "Decided? By who?"
"By us," my mother answered, her voice calm but resolute. "By both families. Long ago."
I stilled. For the first time that evening, they had my full attention.
My father leaned forward, his tone like steel. "You're to marry Aurora Sinclair. The agreement was made years before her parents died. A union between the Sinclairs and the Blackwoods—sealed in loyalty, strengthened in bloodline. It was always meant to be."
Aurora Sinclair.
The mute heiress.
The girl who stumbled across tables while the world laughed.
I took a slow sip of my drink, masking the chill of surprise that ran through me. My parents thought they could control me with this? Bind me to a fragile, broken woman under the guise of duty?
My voice came out low, deliberate. "So you've chosen my bride without my consent. How very… traditional."
My mother's expression softened, almost pleading. "Dominic, it's for the good of both families. For your future. For hers."
I gave a short, humorless laugh and leaned back in my chair. "We'll see about that."
My father leaned back, fingers steepled as though delivering a boardroom verdict.
"This agreement wasn't made yesterday, Dominic. Your grandfather and I stood with the Sinclairs years ago. It was settled that when the time was right, you would marry their daughter. It was a matter of trust—of legacy. Even after their deaths, the pact remained. You owe it to this family to uphold it."
I stared at him, unblinking. "So I'm a pawn on a chessboard you arranged before I was old enough to understand the rules."
My mother flinched at the sharpness in my tone, but my father didn't waver. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be. This isn't about you alone—it's about the Blackwood name. About continuity."
I laughed once, low and humorless. "Continuity? You want me shackled to a woman who can't even stand a room of people without falling apart. You call that strength worthy of our name?"
"Watch your mouth," my father snapped, his voice like thunder. "Aurora Sinclair is more than her condition, and she carries bloodlines older than yours. Her family trusted us. This marriage is not optional."
I met his glare, my jaw tight. "Everything is optional when it comes to me."
Silence pressed heavy across the room. My mother's eyes glistened, torn between pleading and reprimand, but my father's gaze remained a wall of steel.
Finally, I rose, buttoning my suit jacket with deliberate calm. "Fine. I'll play along—for now. If this is the game you've arranged, then I'll sit at the table. But don't mistake compliance for surrender."
I turned toward the door, my voice like ice. "Aurora Sinclair may be your choice. But what I do with that choice… will be mine."
I was pissed. They had no audacity—no right—to try and control my life. My empire was built by my hands, my rules, my sacrifices. Yet here they were, dragging me into an arrangement forged before I could even speak for myself.
Did they truly think I'd bend because they invoked family? Because they cloaked it in legacy?
Pathetic. The Blackwood name was mine to command, not theirs to gamble.
Still, I said nothing more. Rage was weakness if left unchecked, and weakness had no place in me. Instead, I let the silence speak for me as I walked out.
They wanted a marriage? Fine. They'd get my compliance. But on my terms—and mine alone.
I left without another word. My father's glare followed me out, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back.
The night air was sharp against my face as I slid behind the wheel. The engine roared to life, and I drove faster than I should have, city lights blurring past in streaks of white and gold. My grip on the wheel was iron, my jaw locked. Every turn of the road was a battle against the urge to crush something beneath my hands.
By the time I reached my penthouse, my fury hadn't cooled. I stripped off my jacket, tossed it aside, and went straight for the decanter. The liquor burned as it hit my throat, but it wasn't enough. One glass became two. Two became three.
I stood by the window, city sprawled beneath me, glass in hand. Control. That was all that mattered. They thought they could bind me with chains of family loyalty, with promises made long before I cared to exist.
I smirked bitterly, tipping the glass again. Let them think I'd comply. Let them believe I was cornered. They'd forgotten who I was.
When I finally lay in bed, the world still spun faintly from the liquor. Sleep didn't come easy, but I welcomed the silence. At least silence, unlike people, didn't try to chain me.