Chapter 2 ETHAN
Across the hall, Ethan Sinclair was a brewing storm in a black suit. He hadn't wanted to come here tonight... He hated events like this, events filled with nothing but empty compliments and meaningless noise. He had managed to amuse himself a little with the clumsy young lady that had bumped into him earlier, he'd barely taken note of what she even looked like but it had been amusing all the same. That amusement however had been short lived the moment he ran into Arthur Langston at this gala of all places.
The Sinclair family's long-time lawyer had cornered him the moment he stepped back through the door of the main hall, hissing reminders in his ear like a vulture circling a carcass.
"Three weeks left Mr. Sinclair, No wife means no inheritance. The board is already sharpening their knives, they can't wait to gut you."
Ethan had brushed him off with a cold look as usual, but the words still burned inside his mind, haunting his every thought.
Three weeks. Three goddamned weeks.
He stalked through the gala, ignoring the patronizing greetings from desperate socialites who cast hopeful glances in his direction, all eagerly hoping to be noticed by the powerful Ethan Sinclair... Melbourne's youngest, coldest and most ruthless billionaire. But he needed air and space to deal with the turmoil inside him.
That's when he passed by the smaller exhibition wing... the one for the "lesser-known" artists, where the charity cases were tucked away from the real buyers. Just like most people who passed by, he didn't spare the paintings a second glance. They were nothing but one bland piece after another, emotional nonsense... Dreams turned into smears of color, utterly pathetic.
Ethan scoffed under his breath and turned to walk away, but then a murmured conversation behind him caught his attention. Two elderly patrons lingered by the alcove he'd just passed, speaking in hushed pitying tones.
"Poor girl. I heard she's about to lose her gallery... it belonged to her father, God rest his soul."
"Such a shame. She's really talented, you can see it in the brushwork. But talent doesn't pay debts, not in this city."
"If only someone could help her... but you know how these things go. She's drowning."
Ethan froze in his step, he didn't exactly know why at first but his mind was already thinking far ahead of him... The girl they were talking about was desperate, alone and had no ties. She could be just exactly what he needed to salvage his own predicament. No one would question it. No one would care, and most importantly... she needed him more than he needed her, so she wouldn't be difficult to keep in line. It was ruthless and predatory, it was perfect.
Ethan's lip curled into the faintest ghost of a smile.
He turned back and headed back to her stand, he knew exactly who they were talking about... the girl with the singular painting. He'd looked at it and written it off like the others, he hadn't even looked at her face but now he had no choice, she was an option in this war of marriage and inheritance. He was just in time to see her gather her unsold painting in frustration. Her chin was set hard and proud even now, although the slump of her shoulders gave away the truth of her disappointment. She looked ready to fall apart as she walked toward the exit, oblivious to the shadow that was watching her intently, a shadow that was now slowly realizing that she was the girl that had bumped into him earlier.
Lena practically fled the building in her frustration, the night air slapped her face with a cruel coldness that made her want to scream out in agony. She waved down a cab, blinking hard to hold back the tears that were beginning to gather in her eyes. She had failed yet again, another door slammed shut in her face.
Just as she climbed into the backseat of the cab, a powerful headlight flashed across her eyes as a sleek, black car glided up beside her. The windows hummed down slowly in a whisper of luxury. A man sat inside... the man, the handsome man that had caught her when she bumped into him... the man that had left her gasping for air long after he disappeared into the crowd.
"Get in," he said, this time his voice was low and had a commanding ring to it.
Lena stared at him, her heart was already hammering against her ribs. "Excuse me?"
The man leaned forward just enough for the streetlight to catch the hard lines of his face, the perfectly sculptured face with those fiery eyes and the aura of authority they carried.
"There's no time to waste," He said coolly, clearly not a man used to talking too much.. "You want to save that pathetic gallery of yours don't you?"
Shock punched the air from her lungs. "Who the hell are you and what makes you...?"
"Get in," he said again, cutting her off in a quieter voice like he was bored and her decision was inevitable. As if she had already agreed and just didn't know it yet.
Lena's instincts screamed at her to run, to flee from the alluring danger dancing in front of her eyes but curiosity and desperation clawed even louder and somewhere deep inside, something colder stirred within her. She slammed the cab door shut and moved mechanically toward his car, willing herself to stand still but unable to. The door opened without her touching it and she couldn't tell what it was... An invitation or a trap, or maybe both. As she slid into the luxurious leather seat, the world outside completely faded away. He didn't look at her again, rather he simply spoke into the darkness between them in that cool and authoritative voice that was clearly used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.
" My name is Ethan Sinclair, I have a proposition for you."