Chapter 56 Look what the cat dragged in
Ethan eyed Lena sternly. He had just asked her a question, but she didn't respond; she only stared at him with a strange, distant look. With a sharp snap of his fingers in front of her face, he brought her back to the moment.
"I see you've been digesting everything I just said," he remarked dryly.
Lena gave a small nod. In truth, she hadn't heard a single word.
"Well then," he continued, tone softening slightly, "you can immerse yourself in the paintings. I bought some art supplies they're in the storage room. If you ever feel like painting something, just consider this studio yours."
"Thank you very much," Lena said, her voice quiet but sincere.
He handed her a small set of keys, brushing her fingers slightly in the process. Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the door. Just as he reached it, his phone rang sharply, slicing through the silence.
He glanced at the screen AUTOLUX EXPO - PR COORDINATOR. Without hesitation, he answered.
"Ethan Sinclair."
A smooth, professional voice came through. "Good afternoon, Mr. Sinclair. This is Clara from AutoLux Expo. Just a quick reminder that AutoLux Expo 2 will be taking place in two days, at the Grand Pavilion."
"I'm aware," he said evenly.
"Yes, of course. You received the invite weeks ago. We just wanted to reconfirm your attendance. The organizers are hoping you'll be there again; it wouldn't be the same without you."
Whenever Ethan Sinclair was on the guest list for an event, reminders were guaranteed to follow over and over again. Not because he was forgetful, but because his presence was invaluable. His name alone brought weight, influence, and a flood of attention.
People didn't just want Ethan at their shows, they needed him. Having him attend wasn't a courtesy, it was leverage. It boosted relevance, attracted investors, and signaled prestige. So no matter how early the invite went out, they always followed up. Politely. Persistently. Almost desperately.
She continued smoothly, "All the arrangements have been refined to your standard, your entrance remains exclusive, and your seating has been placed for maximum discretion and visibility.
Ethan's voice was calm, uninterested, but firm. "Alright. I'll be there."
"Wonderful," she said, clearly relieved. "We're really looking forward to having you."
He ended the call with a soft click.
Lena, who had been quietly arranging brushes near the corner, looked up. "Autolux expo?" she asked, brows lifting. "They're having a second season??"
He glanced at her, slightly surprised. "You know about Autolux expo?"
"Of course," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I went to the first one."
"You?" He tilted his head. "That was a private event. Invite-only."
She nodded. "I wasn't invited. I got in as a staff member."
He didn't say anything, just kept watching her.
"I knew one of the organizers. Got me in through the back. I wore black, carried a tray, and tried not to get kicked out before I saw everything." She laughed a little at herself. "It was worth it."
Ethan's expression didn't change, but something about the way he stood made it clear he was intrigued.
Ethan stared at her for a moment longer than usual, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He looked... impressed. Not in a loud or obvious way but in that quiet, calculating way he always looked when something didn't quite add up the way he expected.
She had gone to AutoLux.
And not just heard of it gone.
That show wasn't something you stumbled across. It wasn't advertised, wasn't mainstream. Only people who really knew and loved cars even knew it existed.
He gave a small shake of his head, almost amused. "Well," he said dryly, "I guess their security isn't as tight as they like to claim. If you got in without a pass, maybe I won't be safe at the second one either."
"No, no, no," Lena said quickly, holding up a hand. "It wasn't like that."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"No, no," Lena said quickly. I'd been hearing about the show underground through a couple of people who worked with the organizers. They kept talking about the cars, how insane the builds were. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I love that stuff. I just... really wanted to see it for myself."
"Hmm," Ethan murmured, his tone unreadable. "I'm guessing you'll be sneaking into the second season too."
Lena laughed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "No," she said, a little wistfully. " I don't know anyone working with them anymore, so... I guess that's it for me."
Ethan studied her for a moment, his expression difficult to place. Then he simply said, "Alright," and turned, walking out of the studio without another word.
Margaret Sinclair sat alone in her quiet home on the outskirts of the city, but peace was the last thing she felt. The silence pressed in on her, heavy with old memories.
She tightened her grip around the teacup in her hand as her mind drifted back to the call she'd received earlier that morning. Ethan's uncle Max Sinclair's younger brother his voice still echoed in her ears, calm but sharp. A reminder. A warning, really.
"You haven't forgotten the arrangement, have you, Margaret? Max may be gone, but the contract still holds."
Her stomach turned. That word contract. She hated it. Hated everything it represented.
Years ago, Max Sinclair had taken everything from her. Her choices. Her freedom. Her son. He'd made it clear that her role in Ethan's life was to be limited. And she had agreed. Not because she wanted to but because she had no power to fight him then. Max was ruthless, and he had a way of twisting things until submission looked like the only sane option.
But when he died, Margaret had started to breathe again. Really breathe. She thought she was finally free.
Now, the past was clawing its way back.
She stood and walked toward the window, staring out into the fading evening light. The house was quiet, too quiet. And suddenly, it didn't feel like hers anymore.
Margaret hated all of it.
The lies she'd told. The distance she'd kept. The role she was forced to play just to ensure Ethan became the man Max wanted him to be. She had been the shadow behind the curtain always watching, never seen.
And now, when she thought she might finally step into the light, when she thought there might be space to rebuild what was lost with her son, she was being dragged back into silence.
Again.
The anger rose hot in her chest. Her eyes burned not with tears, but with rage. She stared at the delicate porcelain cup in her hand, she struck it from the table.
The sharp crash of shattering porcelain echoed through the house.
In the kitchen, one of the housemaids froze mid-chew, a biscuit still in her mouth. Her brows furrowed, she quickly swallowed, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurried toward the sitting room.
"Ma'am?" she called out, peeking in. Her eyes widened at the sight of the broken cup on the floor. "Are you okay?"
Margaret didn't answer.
She stood perfectly still by the window, her back to the maid, her shoulders rigid with tension. The room was thick with a silence that felt dangerous.