As I stepped inside, the grandeur of the mansion's interior took my breath away. The foyer was vast and open, with a polished marble floor that reflected the soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.
The walls were adorned with rich, dark wood paneling and intricate moldings, showcasing the fine craftsmanship that had gone into the estate's construction.
Portraits of distinguished ancestors stared down from their gilded frames, their eyes seemingly following me as I moved.
A grand staircase curved gracefully upwards, its banister a masterpiece of carved mahogany. The air was filled with a faint scent of jasmine and aged books.
The ambiance was one of quiet, almost oppressive, wealth and power.
A stern-faced butler appeared and motioned for me to follow him. We passed through a series of elegantly decorated rooms, each more luxurious than the last.
There was a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound volumes, a drawing room with sumptuous velvet drapes and antique furniture, and a dining room with a long table that could easily seat twenty guests.
Finally, the butler led me to the waiting room. It was a cozy yet opulent space, with plush armchairs upholstered in rich burgundy fabric, a Persian rug that felt soft underfoot, and a large fireplace that crackled with a welcoming warmth. The walls were lined with bookshelves and adorned with tasteful artwork, creating an atmosphere of refined comfort.
I took a seat, my eyes wandering around the room, trying to calm my nerves.
"Miss Eve, Sir Sinclair will be with you shortly," the butler said with a refined smile. "While you wait, may I offer you anything?"
Eve glanced around, then replied, "A strong black coffee and a plate of those chocolate truffles you're hiding in those expensive glass containers."
The butler's eyelid twitched ever so slightly, but he kept his composure. "Of course, Miss Eve," he responded with a stiff nod, turning to fulfill my expensive request.
If Sinclair was going to kill me for what I was about to say, I wanted to die tasting those chocolates one last time. At least I'd die happy.
A few minutes later, an old man stepped through the doors. His hair and beard were pure white, but even at over seventy, his posture was regal, exuding an undeniable aura of authority.
Sinclair sat directly in front of me, his piercing emerald eyes made me straighten my back unknowingly.
"Speak," he commanded, his voice deep, "What is wrong with Sebastian?"
I flashed him my sweetest smile, which only deepened the old man's frown. "Grandfather, I believe this is the first time we've met. Aren't you going to ask your granddaughter how she's doing?"
Sinclair let out a harsh breath, his cane thudding hard against the floor. "Consider yourself lucky you're my grandchild, or I'd have you thrown out."
He started to stand, but I quickly said, "I know something about Sebastian that you don't, and I'm here to make a deal with you."
Here goes nothing.
Sinclair raised an eyebrow before slowly taking his seat again. "What is it?"
I had to hand it to the old man — he really didn't care about me at all! My life was less important to him than his dog's.
I glanced over at his secretary by his side, Victor was his name. Tall, slim, handsome, with a no-nonsense face, cold dark eyes, and long dark hair tied behind his back.
"I want to speak to you alone," I said, hinting at Victor to leave.
Victor's eyes narrowed at me, but I met his gaze with a smirk.
"It's fine, Victor. A little girl couldn't do anything to me," Sinclair said, waving him off.
"As you wish," Victor relented, but not before giving me a warning glance as he left.
What did he think I was going to do, give the old man a heart attack?
"Tell me about Sebastian. You have one minute."
I hadn't prepared what I was going to say, so I just rolled with it. "If I'm going to tell you, I want you to promise—no, actually, write it down in a contract—that you'll protect me when the time comes."
"What is this nonsense about?"
"I know," I said, my tone serious as I held his gaze. "I know I'm not a real Rosette, and that my beloved parents are planning to get rid of me in six months."
Sinclair's face remained unchanged. "So, you know. What about it?"
I thought I was ready for his indifferent response, but it still stung to realize how little he cared. Deep down, I had hoped he was unaware, and that if he did know, he would protect me.
But it was clear now — no one in this family had ever cared enough to save me from being cast aside.
So be it then.
If Sinclair Rosette sees me as nothing more than a stranger, I'll treat him the same — just another business deal on the table.
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"What my family does is beyond my control. I'm too old for this," Sinclair said coldly. "As long as they keep the family safe and the business thriving, I want no part in it."
"So, you don't care about the life of a stranger whose taken bullets and poison meant for your real granddaughter?"
"You've benefited from that life. You were an orphan, and my son saved you. He gave you a name, a status — everything most girls can only dream of."
"He didn't save me — he used me. And now he plans to discard me."
Sinclair's face remained as hard as stone, as if I were speaking to a statue.
Why were the men in my life all like this? I wondered.
"If you don't help me, then Sebastian will die."
Sinclair paused, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. "And pray tell, how is my dog's life connected to yours?"
This was it — the moment of truth. I was betting everything on this one card, foolish and reckless, but there was no turning back now.
"I know something about Sebastian that could potentially save his life. If you help me live, I'll tell you what it is."
Sinclair's expression didn't waver. "If you mean Sebastian's cancer, I already know."
". . . "
I felt the world collapse around me. The walls closed in, suffocating me with the weight of my own foolishness.
"You . . . you know?"
Sinclair's eyebrow arched as a smirk tugged at his lips. "Judging by your reaction, I assume that's the big secret you were holding onto. Too bad — I've known for a long time. And he couldn't be save. You're already a year too late," he finished like he could read my plans.
How could this be? I was certain Sinclair didn't know. If he did, wouldn't he have done everything in his power to save Sebastian long ago? Or had I been wrong? Had he tried to save the dog, only for it to die in the end?
"I've known about Sebastian's cancer," Sinclair continued. "I kept it a secret to prevent anyone from using his sickness against me. But what baffles me is how you know. Only Victor and a few trusted experts are aware of his condition."
How did I know? Simple — I've regressed and seen the future, but there was no way I could tell him that. He'd have me committed to an asylum.
"Who told you?" Sinclair's voice was sharp like a knife.
"Is that really important right now?"
Sinclair's eyes narrowed as he picked up his cane. "You're right. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you leave my sight before I have security throw you out."
He stood, his cane tapping the floor with finality. "And never come back."
I bit my lip, the anger boiling inside me. My fists clenched as I fought the urge to grab him and force him to listen. But I knew better — Sinclair wouldn't be swayed by emotion. My plan had failed, but I wasn't giving up. If I couldn't reach him with sentiment, I'd appeal to his true nature — business.
"Wait!" I dropped to my knees, swallowing my pride as I begged. Every nerve in my body screamed to get up, but my life was on the line, and I had to endure. "Loan me ten million dollars!"
Sinclair froze mid-step.
"Loan me ten million, and I'll return half a billion within six months. All I need is for you to take me under your protection!"
I heard him chuckle, but he didn't turn around. To him, I must have sounded insane. What business skills did I have? How would a seventeen-year-old possibly gather that much money in such a short time? It must have seemed like a joke.
"And why would I want to do that? As you can see, I can easily get that amount of money, even if, by some miracle, you manage to accumulate it."
"Because it will prove that I'm valuable to be discarded!" I shot back. "Getting that amount of money in that short time will prove my skills and earn my place here."
I could sense a shift in the air. Sinclair valued money, but he valued people who could be useful to him even more.
"All your propositions are based on 'what ifs,' with no concrete evidence of your abilities. I'm not about to shell out ten million dollars on a gamble. Get out."
"They are 'what ifs,'" I admitted. "But wasn't it 'what ifs' that built this empire? Didn't everyone dream and started in 'what ifs' first? Ten million is just a drop in the bucket compared to what you'll gain if I succeed!"
There was a tense silence before Sinclair's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Victor!"
Victor appeared within seconds.
"You called, sir?"
"Escort her out," the old man ordered, the thud of his cane growing fainter as he walked away.
I closed my eyes, my heart sinking. This was it. I had failed.
". . . and deposit ten million dollars into her account."
My eyes shot open, wide with shock. Victor's mouth hung agape.
"One billion by six months," Sinclair finished. "Or I'll personally see that you drown on some forgotten island."
And with that, he was gone.
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