Chapter 151 Ambush

Chapter 151 Ambush
Morning sunlight spilled through the high windows of the Sinclair Tower lobby, catching the silver trim of Ethan's suit as he stepped inside. The quiet joy from the previous night still lingered in him, Sophie's news had softened something in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, the morning didn't feel heavy.
He adjusted his cufflinks as he walked, his movements crisp, composed, and effortless. Staff greeted him with polite bows of the head, and Ethan responded with the faintest nods, his version of approachable.
But before he reached the private elevator, he spotted his secretary, standing stiffly near the security desk. She wasn't just waiting; she looked unnerved. Her fingers twisted the corner of her tablet, and her eyes were filled with hesitation.
Ethan slowed but didn't stop, only arching a brow at her. She quickly rushed toward him on anxious heels.
"Good morning, Mr. Sinclair," she said, voice tight.
Ethan pressed the elevator button, eyes never leaving her. "Mia. Why do you look like the building is on fire?"
Her throat bobbed. "Sir... the Board of Directors...." she swallowed hard "they filed an emergency petition this morning to temporarily dismiss you as CEO."
Ethan's steps halted mid-stride.
For one silent second, everything around them felt suspended, the hum of the lobby, the echo of distant footsteps, even the elevator's soft ding.
Then Ethan inhaled once, slow and steady, and exhaled through his nose. Not shocked. Not rattled.
Just... irritated.
His jaw shifted as he gave a short huff, almost a scoff, and resumed walking. "They've tried before," he said coolly, stepping into the elevator. "They will fail again."
Mia hurried beside him. "Sir, this time they claim to have substantial evidence of misconduct,"
Ethan's gaze cut to her, sharp enough to make her fall silent.
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"They don't have proof of anything," he said with cold certainty. "If they had, they wouldn't be requesting a temporary dismissal, they would be demanding a permanent removal."
The elevator doors slid open to his floor.
Ethan walked into his office with the calm of a man entering his own throne room. He removed his coat, handed it to the waiting assistant, and set his phone on the desk with a controlled precision that said he was already preparing for war.
He scanned a few documents, straightened his tie in the reflection of the glass wall, and then, without rush, left the office and strode toward the boardroom.
If the board was expecting him to be shaken, they were about to be disappointed.
He pushed open the boardroom doors with one hand.
The boardroom was packed, more bodies than usual, more tension than the polished walls could contain. Ethan stepped inside, prepared to face the same predictable board members who had tried to unseat him before.
But his stride faltered.
Sitting at the long mahogany table, among the usual directors, were faces he never expected to see in such a meeting.
Sir Levi.
And two of his uncles, men who had been close to his late grandfather, Max Sinclair. Their presence wasn't casual. They hadn't attended a board meeting in years. If they were here today, it meant something was different. Something serious.
For the first time that morning, Ethan's heartbeat shifted, not with fear, but with alertness.
He composed himself instantly, straightening to his full height, expression unreadable.
Sir Levi, grey-haired, dignified, and holding an aura of old Sinclair authority, cleared his throat and rose to address him. His voice carried the weight of seniority and tradition.
"Ethan," he began, his tone formal, lacking warmth, "this meeting was not called lightly. Your presence was required due to the gravity of the matter before us."
Ethan walked to his seat at the head of the table but did not sit. "Then let's get on with it."
Sir Levi exchanged a glance with Ethan's uncle, Nathaniel, before continuing.
"As you know," Sir Levi said, folding his hands behind his back, "the Sinclair name was built on integrity, discipline, and legacy. Values your grandfather, Max Sinclair, held above all else."
The mention of Max's name tightened the air, drawing silent respect around the table.
Sir Levi's gaze hardened slightly. "A breach of Max's will, or a deviation from the foundations he laid, is not merely poor judgment, it is a direct insult to his legacy... and to this company as a whole."
Murmurs of agreement circled the table.
The silence in the boardroom thickened, pressing against the windows and marble walls as Sir Levi straightened his posture. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of finality, calm, firm, and devoid of hesitation.
"Ethan Sinclair," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, "effective immediately, and due to a direct breach of Max Sinclair's will, you are hereby suspended as CEO of Sinclair Group until further notice."
A few gasps broke from less composed board members. Some exchanged uneasy glances. Others, those who had clearly been waiting for this moment, sat back in their chairs with an air of satisfaction.
Ethan didn't blink.
He didn't flinch, didn't tense, didn't show even a flicker of shock. If anything, his stillness became sharper, like a blade being honed by pressure rather than cracked by it.
He pulled out his chair slowly and sat, adjusting the cuffs of his suit with measured calm. "I respect the board's decision," he said evenly, his tone polite but edged with steel. "However, before you attempt to strip me of the position entrusted to me, I believe I am entitled to know precisely what I have done wrong."
A beat of silence passed, until a document glided across the table toward him. It didn't slide gently; it was tossed with a little too much force, landing inches from his hand.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, not at the paper, but at the manner in which it was delivered.
He picked it up.
A single sheet.
Not a dossier, not a financial report, just one page.
He unfolded it and began to read.
The blood drained from his face, not visibly, but internally, where his control cracked, just for a second. His heartbeat stumbled, then thundered against his ribs.
It was the contract.
The private written agreement between him and Lena... the one drafted at the beginning of their arranged marriage. The one intended to protect them both. The one no one outside their lawyers should have ever seen.
His fingers tightened around the page.
From the far end of the table, a chair scraped back sharply. Lawrence rose with theatrical indignation plastered across his face.
"This," he declared, pointing at the document like it was a piece of evidence in a trial, "is a direct violation of Max Sinclair's will and the values of this company!"
A murmur of agreement rippled across the room.
Lawrence continued, voice rising with practiced outrage. "Faking a marriage just to take the CEO seat? That level of deceit cannot be overlooked. If Ethan Sinclair," he emphasized his name mockingly, "is willing to orchestrate a fraudulent marriage to secure power, then God knows what else he is capable of behind our backs."
Ethan's jaw tightened, his grip on the page whitening at the edges.
Lawrence didn't stop. "Max Sinclair built this empire on legacy, on bloodline, on honor, on truth. And what did you do?" He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "You staged a marriage for convenience. For eligibility. For control."
A low hum of whispers filled the room.
A board member added sharply, "This goes beyond poor judgment, Ethan. This is manipulation of lineage, reputation, and the Sinclair name itself."
Ethan's eyes lifted from the paper, cold and lethal now, the full storm beginning to gather behind thembut he still held his silence.
Because in that moment, one truth hit him harder than the accusation:
Someone had leaked that contract.
Someone close.
Someone inside his circle.
And this wasn't just a corporate ambush.
This was personal.