Dominic's Chronicles
———————
My car rolled to a stop in front of Blackwood Tower, its steel and glass looming over the city like it owned every inch of it. Adam was still talking beside me, his voice grating against the silence I wanted, but my head was already elsewhere—on work, on control, on anything but what just happened.
The restaurant.
Her.
Aurora Sinclair.
I hadn't expected to see her again so soon. Sitting there, sweater slipping from her shoulder like she was unaware of the attention she drew. Silent. Always silent. And yet, somehow, I noticed her more than I wanted to. It unsettled me.
"Dom," Adam's voice broke through my thoughts, sharper this time. "You're really gonna walk into work like nothing happened? You're not even bothered?"
I shot him a cold look. "Work doesn't stop for family arrangements. Or for Sinclair daughters."
He let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat. "Family arrangements… still can't believe your parents dropped that bomb. Aurora Sinclair? Out of everyone?"
His lips curled into a grin. "Oh well… she's cute, at least."
I exhaled through my nose, sharp and humorless. "Cute doesn't matter."
I stepped out of the car, ignoring the weight in his tone and the grin plastered on his face. The lobby doors opened with a hiss, familiar, grounding. Still, somewhere in the back of my mind, that sound wasn't what lingered.
It was her laugh. Soft, unguarded, fleeting.
I crushed the thought before it could take shape. There's no space for distraction in my world. Not for her. Not for anyone.
The office was the same as always—cold glass, steel lines, contracts stacked like bricks. I buried myself in them, forcing every thought of Aurora Sinclair out of my head. Her laugh, her silence, her eyes—I shoved them aside like clutter. I didn't have time for weakness, and that's all she was. Weakness.
Meetings bled into calls, calls bled into more meetings. By the time I signed the last document, night had already swallowed the city whole. Good. Darkness suited me better.
I drove home in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound I needed. The mansion lights glared as I pulled in, too bright for a place meant to house one man. I preferred it empty. Predictable.
Only tonight, it wasn't.
I stepped inside, jacket slung over my shoulder, and there he was. Damian. Sprawled on my leather couch like he owned it, shoes kicked off, remote in his hand.
"You really need to hire better security," he said without looking up, flipping through channels. "I walked in here like a thief."
I shut the door with a thud. "If you were a thief, you'd be on the floor by now."
That made him grin. "Always the warm welcome."
I dropped my jacket, loosened my tie. "Why are you here, Damian?"
He shrugged, finally turning toward me. "Because you don't answer calls after nine, and Mom's been pestering me to keep an eye on you. Lucky me, right?"
I gave him a flat look, but he only smirked wider. That was Damian. He knew how to crawl under my armor without getting cut.
"You're drinking alone again tonight?" he asked, eyeing the untouched decanter on the counter.
I poured a glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. "I always drink alone."
"Not tonight," he said, pushing himself up and grabbing another glass. "Tonight, you drink with me."
I almost told him to leave. Almost. But instead, I handed him the glass.
For a moment, the silence between us wasn't heavy. Just… there. Comfortable.
"Don't look at me like that," he muttered, raising his glass. "I'm not here to talk about Sinclair daughters or family contracts. I'm just here because you're my brother. And someone has to remind you you're still human."
I smirked faintly, cold but genuine. "Good luck with that."
We drank. For once, I didn't mind the company.
The whiskey burned its way down, smooth, familiar. Damian dropped onto the couch again, stretching like he had all the time in the world.
"You ever think this place is too damn big for just you?" he asked, gesturing at the high ceilings. "Feels like a museum. Cold. Empty."
"It suits me," I replied, swirling the glass in my hand.
He rolled his eyes. "Of course it does. Mr. Stone Cold himself."
I shot him a warning look, but he only grinned wider. That was the thing with Damian—he was the only one who could get away with poking at me.
"You know," he said, leaning back, "if you actually went through with this whole marriage thing, at least the house wouldn't echo so much."
My jaw tightened. "Don't start."
He raised his hands in mock defense. "Hey, I didn't say who you should marry. I'm just saying it wouldn't kill you to have someone around."
I downed the rest of my drink. "Companionship is a distraction. And distractions get in the way."
Damian studied me for a moment, eyes softer than his smirk. "Or maybe you're just afraid."
I looked at him sharply. "Of what?"
He shrugged, sipping his drink like he hadn't just poked a knife in my ribs. "Of feeling. Of caring. Of someone breaking through all that ice you keep wrapping yourself in."
I didn't answer. Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
After a while, he sighed. "Relax, Dom. I'm not trying to lecture you. I just… don't want you to turn into a ghost in your own damn life."
I poured another glass, handing it to him without a word. He took it, our fingers brushing briefly—a small reminder of the bond that never needed to be spoken.
For a while, we just sat there. Two brothers, two glasses, one unspoken understanding.
"Get some sleep," Damian muttered finally. "You look like hell."
I smirked faintly. "Always the little brother with big words."
"Always," he shot back.
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. The world outside could wait. Here, with Damian, I could allow the silence to be something other than a weapon.
Then, after a beat, he added casually, "By the way… she's not as bad as you make her sound."
I opened my eyes slowly, fixing him with a cold stare. "Who?"
He raised a brow. "Aurora Sinclair. Don't look at me like that, Dom. I've seen the headlines too. And if I remember correctly, you've seen her twice now."
I set my glass down harder than I meant to. "Twice is enough."
Damian's grin softened into something that almost looked like pity. "Or not nearly enough."
I didn't respond. I wasn't going to. Instead, I stood, collected the empty glasses, and left him on the couch.
"Goodnight, Dom," he called after me, his tone half-teasing, half-serious.
I didn't answer, just closed my bedroom door behind me.
The house was quiet once Damian finally shut his mouth and left me alone. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the city outside seeping through the windows.
Work. Deadlines. Meetings. That's where my head should have been.
Instead, a pair of eyes—hers—kept intruding like some unwanted shadow.
I clenched my jaw, dragging a hand over my face. "Enough."
Aurora Sinclair wasn't supposed to matter. She wasn't supposed to be in my thoughts at midnight, wasn't supposed to make the silence feel heavier.
I reached for my phone, scrolling through unread emails, contracts, anything to bury her. Numbers, deals, negotiations—things that made sense. Unlike her.
Drawn to her? No. Dragged, maybe. Like some unwanted thread tying itself around my thoughts. She was weak, fragile, silent—and I despised that kind of weakness more than anything.
She couldn't speak. Couldn't fight back. Couldn't even look me in the eye without breaking. And yet…
For some reason, the image of her sitting there tonight wouldn't let go.
It irritated me.
It disgusted me.
I had no patience for fragile things. Fragile things broke. And I had no use for what broke.
So why was she still in my head?
I turned sharply onto my side, fists curling into the sheets. Sleep finally came, heavy, unwelcome.