Chapter 15 HUGO
The office was quiet, bathed in soft grey light from the tall windows that framed the city skyline. Everything inside was orderly minimalist, clean, and cold. Hugo poured a mug of black coffee, moving with the kind of still precision that made silence feel louder.
There was a knock. Light. Polite. His assistant stepped in, a tablet pressed to her chest.
"The company line's been buzzing since six," she said. "Non Stop calls from reporters. Everyone wants a comment on the Rome situation."
Hugo didn't look up. He stirred the coffee once and took a slow sip.
"Let them buzz," he replied.
Hugo was a sharp man calculated, composed. His father had served the Sinclair family for years, quietly managing their messes behind the scenes. From him, Hugo had learned everything there was to know about scandal, discretion, and control. He'd handled more private crises than most could imagine. By now, nothing fazed him, not drama, not pressure, and certainly not the press.
"Do you want me to prepare a statement?"
"No." He set the mug down gently. "They'll talk louder when we stay quiet."
She gave a single nod and left without another word.
The door had barely clicked shut when it opened again, this time more deliberately. Arthur Langston Sinclair family lawyer entered. older, sharper than he looked. He held a folder in one hand and his phone in the other.
"You'll want to see this," he said without greeting.
Hugo raised an eyebrow. "Good morning to you, too."
Arthur gave a tight smile. "Apologies. Early start."
He placed the folder on the desk. "Tip came in from one of my old press contacts, discreet, but solid. Vivienne staged the whole thing. Paid paparazzi. Planted the story herself.
The Sinclair family held power and connections in every corner. With eyes in every sector, it wouldn't take them a day to uncover the source of any mess and everyone involved.
Hugo flipped open the folder. Inside were screenshots, a hotel invoice, and what looked like a submission email to one of the blogs.
Arthur watched him carefully. "Want me to take it public? Defamation, maybe press tampering. I can file by noon."
Hugo closed the folder without urgency and set it aside. "No lawsuits."
Arthur looked up, slightly puzzled. "No?"
He reached for his coffee again.
"I'll handle it quietly."
If the Sinclair family was known for anything, it was their spotless reputation not for lack of problems, but for handling them quietly, and with precision.
Hugo's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, then answered with a calm, familiar ease.
"Didn't think I'd hear from you this early," he said, a hint of dry amusement in his voice.
Ethan's tone was cool on the other end. "I figured you were already two steps ahead."
"I am," Hugo replied. "The company line's on fire. Press won't shut up. You really let Vivienne stay?"
"She walked in. I didn't stop her."
Hugo let out a quiet scoff. "You're too calm for a man under fire."
"I don't care," Ethan said simply.
"How's Lena taking it?"
There was a pause. Then Ethan answered, flat as ever. "It's a contract, Hugo. There's no problem."
"I need the press silenced."
"I'm working on it," Hugo said. "Give me a few hours."
The call ended without another word, no goodbyes, just understanding.
Lena sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her thoughts tangled. Just weeks ago, she was a broke artist scraping by, unsure of her next move. Now she was living in a private estate, surrounded by luxury, and married to a billionaire.
A billionaire's wife.
Not for long, she reminded herself.
Her mind wandered back to the chaos that morning Vivienne showing up uninvited, loud, bitter, and bold. The tension still lingered in her chest. It was messy, dramatic, and far too public for Lena's quiet nature.
She was still deep in thought when a gentle knock came at the door.
Genevieve stepped in with a small smile. "It's time to go shopping," she said. "We've got plenty to pick up."
Before Lena could answer, the door opened again.
Ethan walked in, calm and composed, carrying a designer shopping bag. Without saying much, he handed it to Genevieve.
Inside was a soft sundress, a pair of elegant heels, and sunglasses.
"We'll shop tomorrow," he said coolly. "I want to take her out today. Just a quick tour."
As Ethan turned to leave Lena's room, his phone vibrated quietly in his pocket. He pulled it out without urgency, glancing at the screen.
A message from Hugo lit up:
Landing cleared. Chopper will touch down at the golf court in twenty. Quiet entry, as requested.
Ethan read it once, then locked the screen and slipped the phone back into his pocket, his expression unchanged.
"Change into the dress," he said to Lena, voice low. "I won't keep you long."
Then, without another glance, he walked out composed, unreadable.
Lena blinked, unsure whether to be stunned or flattered but something in her chest softened.
Vivienne stepped out of the guest house just as the sun dipped low behind the hills. The Sinclair estate stretched before her quiet, pristine, and massive. She adjusted her coat and began the walk toward the main building, heels clicking along the stone path, her pace sharp and impatient.
The distance was longer than she remembered. Trees lined the walkway, perfectly trimmed hedges flanking each side. Everything looked untouched, as if it had been frozen in time.
She muttered under her breath.
"Of course he stuck me in the far wing... arrogant bastard."
lips tightening. Her hair clung slightly to her cheek from the humid Roman air.
"All this walking... like I'm some stray," she hissed, breath low and bitter. "Let him enjoy it. It won't last."
A small smirk curled on her face as she approached the marble steps of the main house.
"He really thinks I'm here to beg?" she whispered to herself. "No. I'm here to end this charade."
Her fingers trailed the smooth stone banister as she climbed, her eyes locked on the glowing lights behind the tall windows.
"Let them play house," she muttered. "When I'm done, the world will see them for what they are."
She reached the large double doors, straightened her coat, and took a deep breath. The show, she believed, was about to begin.