Chapter 81 The Rumours are True
The Sinclair estate glowed like a crown jewel against the dark stretch of Melbourne’s skyline. By evening, the long, winding driveway had become a slow-moving parade of sleek black cars and glittering headlights, each vehicle easing forward until it reached the red carpet unfurled at the front entrance.
Melbourne’s most powerful were all here. Business moguls, old family names, politicians who never missed a photo opportunity, and women in gowns that seemed to shimmer with every step. The air carried that mix of excitement and competition, everyone eager to see and be seen, but just as eager to peek into Ethan Sinclair’s private world.
Inside, the house didn’t feel quite like a house anymore. The grand hall was dressed for the night, with soft golden lights spilling over polished marble and crystal chandeliers catching every sparkle of jewelry. Waiters floated by with glasses of wine and champagne, offering silver trays stacked with delicate little bites.
Conversations blended into a low hum, laughter here, whispered business there, greetings that sounded warm but were really just measured. People were sizing each other up, noting who had been invited, who they’d come with, and who looked just a little out of place.
Everyone could see now why Ethan had chosen to host this year’s birthday at his private residence. The estate was nothing short of breathtaking, vast in size yet arranged so perfectly that every corner felt thought-out, every detail inviting. There was a surprising warmth to it all, an intimate setting that made even the most intimidating guest feel like they belonged.
What amazed people most was how seamless it looked. Whispers circled the room about how the whole thing had been put together on short notice, yet the house looked as though the party had been planned for months. From the carefully placed floral arrangements to the way the lighting softened the grand hall, it was impossible not to be impressed.
Still, as the chatter carried on, one question lingered in every mind. Where was the man himself? Guests sipped their wine, smiled politely, and kept glancing toward the entrance, certain that Ethan would appear when he was ready. He wasn’t the kind of man to rush for anyone. They knew for a fact he would come on his own terms, at the exact moment he wanted.
And so, the waiting continued.
Outside, the line of luxury cars slowed as another gleaming vehicle rolled up to the front. Heads turned even before the doors opened, Vivienne had arrived. Of course she had an invitation; her family’s ties to the Sinclairs stretched back years, and her father’s name carried weight in every corner of the city.
She stepped out first, followed by her circle of friends, each one dressed like they had come to steal the spotlight. Gold shimmered under the estate’s lights, diamond necklaces and earrings flashing with every movement. Their gowns hugged perfectly tailored figures, every hemline and fabric chosen to impress. Together, they looked like they had walked straight off the pages of a magazine.
The effect was immediate. Conversations faltered, eyes followed, and whispers trailed behind them as they moved across the red carpet.
“Look at them, stunning.”
“Vivienne never disappoints.”
“I wonder who designed that dress…”
The group walked with practiced grace, their confidence as dazzling as their jewels. And though the room was already filled with Melbourne’s finest, their entrance made it feel, for a moment, as though the party had only just begun.
As Vivienne and her friends glided through the doors, admiration wasn’t the only thing stirring in the crowd. The whispers carried a sharper edge now, little murmurs traded behind half-hidden smiles.
“She looks breathtaking… almost too breathtaking for someone who isn’t the hostess.”
“Do you think she dressed for Ethan?”
“Or maybe for his wife?”
It wasn’t said loudly, but the thought hung in the air, Vivienne had always been linked to Ethan, and tonight, the perfection of her entrance almost felt like a quiet challenge.
Vivienne didn’t so much as blink at the attention. With her chin tilted slightly upward, she walked with deliberate steps straight toward the familiar figure waiting near the center of the room, Margaret Sinclair. Ethan’s mother stood alongside Sophie, already positioned like she owned the space. Margaret had insisted on arriving early, long before the parade of cars began. She didn’t want to be seen walking in as a guest. She wanted to stand where the greetings happened, to receive people as though the evening were as much hers as it was her son’s.
And she was right, Ethan would never be the one to stand at the door, smiling and shaking hands. Everyone knew he would appear when he pleased, and until then, it was Margaret who played matriarch, with Sophie by her side.
viviene’s smile softened as she approached Margaret, dipping her head slightly in greeting, every move wrapped in grace. She and Ethan may not have worked out, but her bond with Margaret had remained intact. In Vivienne’s mind, that bond mattered just as much as any romance. After all, if Margaret saw her as the perfect fit for Ethan, it was only a matter of time before Ethan would too.
Vivienne’s smile widened the moment she reached them, a touch too bright to be genuine but polished enough to impress the onlookers. She leaned in just close enough to brush Margaret’s hand, her voice smooth with practiced warmth.
“Margaret, you look stunning tonight. Honestly, no one carries themselves like you do, you have such a presence. I almost forgot this is Ethan’s birthday; it feels more like yours.”
Her words dripped with flattery, each one making it seem as though she and Margaret shared a bond deeper than they truly did. Margaret, of course, didn’t mind. She accepted the compliments with the faintest lift of her chin, letting Vivienne’s praise wash over her like a well-placed spotlight. To Margaret, admiration was never wasted, especially from a girl who knew her worth and showed it.
Turning, Vivienne’s smile stretched again, this time toward Sophie. “And Sophie! You look radiant. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say we could pass as sisters tonight.”
Sophie’s expression barely shifted. Her polite nod was enough to acknowledge the greeting, but her voice stayed even, unbothered. “Good evening, Vivienne.”
Nothing more, nothing less. No extra sweetness, no false warmth.
For a flicker of a moment, the edges of Vivienne’s smile tightened, the exaggerated glow dimming under the weight of Sophie’s calm indifference. But she recovered quickly, tilting back toward Margaret as though the awkward pause had never happened.
“You must be so proud tonight,” she continued smoothly. “Hosting Melbourne’s finest, all under your roof. Ethan owes you for setting such a tone, this feels like perfection.”
Margaret listened to Vivienne’s stream of compliments with a faint smile that never quite reached her eyes. She inclined her head politely, the same way she would to any guest, and answered with the kind of calm reserve that revealed nothing.
“Thank you for coming, Vivienne. It’s good to see you.”
That was all. No effusive welcome, no extra warmth, just a smooth, measured response paired with a small smile that could be interpreted any way Vivienne wished. Margaret wasn’t one to indulge exaggerated praise, but she also wasn’t about to brush it aside in public.
Sophie stood silently at her mother’s side, her earlier cool greeting still hanging in the air like a quiet reminder that not everyone was charmed by Vivienne’s display.
Vivienne, of course, carried on as though she hadn’t noticed. Her smile stayed wide, her posture perfect, her tone bright and effortless. If Margaret wouldn’t meet her halfway, then Vivienne would walk the full distance herself. She wasn’t about to let subtle indifference dampen her performance.