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Chapter 3: Nepo Babies and Ring Fingers

ผู้เขียน: Diva.dazzel
last update วันที่เผยแพร่: 2026-09-12 14:37:54

I spent the next four hours hiding in my cubicle, strategically using my double monitor setup as a fortress.

​If I didn't leave my chair, I couldn't bump into him. If I didn't make eye contact, he couldn't fire me. But my brain was spinning in overdrive. Billy Logan was my boss. My actual boss. The guy whose broad shoulders, dark curls, and ridiculously sharp jawline had kept me up all night in Florida was now the man holding my corporate paycheck in his hands.

​The worst part? He was terrifyingly good-looking. Having a one-night stand is great when you can pull off a clean, flawless exit and never see the guy again. But sitting twenty feet down the hall from a guy you’ve seen completely undone? It was torture. I hated awkward run-ins. I liked clean cuts, fast escapes, and zero follow-ups.

​At 12:30 PM, I ducked under my desk, pulled out my phone, and hit FaceTime.

​Jane’s face popped up instantly, her background showing her high school locker bay. Within two seconds, Emily and Ivory joined the group call from their respective ends.

​"Rory, why are you crouched on the floor?" Ivory asked, her eyebrows pulling together on the screen.

​"I am in hell," I whispered loudly into the microphone. "You remember the guy from Saturday night? The sports car guy?"

​"The five-star happy ending?" Jane asked, a devious grin spreading across her face. "What about him?"

​"He's my boss."

​Silence hung over the call for two full seconds before Jane burst into loud, wheezing laughter. Emily covered her mouth in shock, while Ivory simply closed her eyes, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

​"Rory Sinclair, you cannot be serious," Ivory pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tell me you didn't."

​"I didn't know!" I hissed. "He was in Florida! Now he’s sitting in the executive corner office in Chicago! He literally shook my hand during the new hire greeting!"

​"Did he say anything?" Emily asked, wide-eyed. "Is he going to fire you?"

​"No, he just stared at me like he’d seen a ghost and called me Miss Sinclair," I groaned, resting my forehead against my knee.

​Jane was still cackling. "This is prime-time cinema. I hope he makes you work overtime."

​"Shut up, Jane," I muttered, but despite the chaotic mess I was in, a quiet wave of relief washed over me. Growing up, I never really needed outside friends. When you have three sisters who will mock your life choices while simultaneously having your back, friend groups feel completely redundant.

​"Listen to me, Rory," Ivory said, her voice dropping into total boss mode. "You keep your head down, you do your job, and you act like Saturday night never happened. Do not let a man ruin your fresh start."

​"Right. Strictly professional," I nodded. "Okay, I have to go before someone sees me under here."

​"Keep us updated!" Emily called out right before I ended the call.

​I crawled out from under my desk and sat back in my chair, catching my breath.

​"Are you going down for lunch?" a voice suddenly asked from the next partition.

​I jumped slightly, turning to see a girl with short dark hair, sharp eyeliner, and a sleek blazer leaning against my cubicle wall.

​"Lunch?" I asked, blinking. "They take actual lunch breaks here?"

​She laughed, leaning closer. "Is this your first corporate job?"

​"No, why?"

​"Because the foundation you slapped over your neck tattoo is starting to fade off, and you look like you're preparing for a military raid," she grinned playfully.

​My hand flew to my neck in absolute horror. "Oh my God."

​"Relax, I won't tell management," she smiled, extending a hand. "I'm Diana."

​"Rory," I said, breathing a sigh of relief.

​"Come on, Rory. Let me show you where the good food is before you starve."

​Five minutes later, Diana and I were sitting in the bustling ground-floor cafeteria. Looking around the huge space, I noticed the obvious social layout immediately. The finance bros sat in one corner, the marketing team in another, and the executives up on a raised platform.

​"It feels like high school all over again," I muttered, taking a bite of my salad.

​Diana smirked, following my gaze up toward the executive table—where Billy was currently sitting, looking effortlessly powerful as he talked to a couple of senior board members.

​"Don't tell me you're crushing on the boss too," Diana said, raising an eyebrow.

​"Crushing on him?" I scoffed quickly. "Please. He is so not my type."

​"Right, sure," Diana chuckled. "Almost every woman on the twelfth floor has thrown themselves at him. He’s ridiculously hot, I’ll give him that."

​"He's... alright," I lied, keeping my eyes fixed on my plate.

​"Well, lucky for us, I prefer women anyway," Diana said smoothly, taking a sip of her iced coffee. Then she gestured toward the executive table. "And besides, it doesn't really matter how fine he is—he's engaged."

​I froze, my fork stopping inches from my mouth. "He's... what?"

​"Engaged," Diana repeated casually. "Has been for like, two months. Big socialite wedding coming up, from what I heard."

​A sudden, sharp coldness settled straight into my stomach. Two months. He’d been engaged for two months—which meant when he was tearing my clothes off in the back of his car in Florida two nights ago, he was wearing a hidden leash. He cheated.

​My opinion of Billy Logan plummeted from awkward one-night stand straight to absolute garbage.

​"Anyway," Diana said, snapping me out of my downward spiral. "What are you doing tonight? Let's go out."

​I blinked, looking at her in confusion. "On a Monday night?"

​Diana let out a dramatic gasp, shaking her head. "I'm going to act like you didn't just say that."

​"I'm sorry," I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "That’s... definitely something my sister Ivory would say."

​Diana’s eyes widened slightly as the pieces clicked in her head. "Wait... Rory Sinclair? Ah, I get it now. I was told we had a nepo baby starting today."

​I gave an awkward, practiced laugh, rolling my eyes. "Guilty as charged, I guess."

​"I'm guessing you're totally new to Chicago?" Diana asked.

​"Brand new," I admitted.

​Diana grinned, a wicked sparkle flashing in her eyes. "Perfect. I'm officially your personal tour guide. Ever been to a gay club?"

​"Nope," I said, a smirk finally tugging back at the corner of my lips.

​"Good," Diana winked. "We're going tonight."

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  • Life as a sinclair : Book 1   Chapter 22

    Rory’s POV​The next morning, my desk was a disaster zone of physical client files, open digital spreadsheets, and half-finished design specs. But no matter how hard I tried to force my brain to focus on work, Sam’s voice kept echoing in my head.​He’s an addict. A total drug addict.​I sat back in my chair, staring blindly at my computer screen. When I first packed my bags and came to Chicago, searching for my biological parents had felt like a distant, almost adventurous concept. I thought I'd find some neat, straightforward story to fill in the missing pieces of myself. I never expected it to be this heavy. This complicated.​Looking back at last night, I could see so much of myself in Sam—the artistic streak, the restless energy, the way she spoke without a filter. I was practically eighty percent sure Sam was my birth mother.​But where did that leave me? How could I just drop a bombshell like that on her? How would Diana feel if she found out her new co-worker was actually her h

  • Life as a sinclair : Book 1   Chapter 21

    Rory’s POV​The moment the taxi pulled up to my apartment building, I rushed upstairs with Billy's blush peonies tucked securely against my chest.​Every single time Billy gave me flowers—which had only happened twice so far—I felt this overwhelming, sentimental urge to preserve them. To me, it wasn't just about keeping pretty petals; it was about holding onto tangible memories of every date we went on.​I sat at my kitchen table, carefully plucking the soft pink petals one by one. I laid them out on a sheet of parchment paper, pressed them flat, and gently transferred them into a velvet-lined wooden keepsake box I kept hidden under my bed. There they would dry safely, preserving the exact memory of tonight.​After tucking the box back into its hiding spot, I changed out of my dinner dress into a casual knit sweater and jeans so Marcus and Diana wouldn't suspect I had been out with anyone else. Then, I grabbed a bag of fancy artisanal pretzels from my pantry and caught another taxi ov

  • Life as a sinclair : Book 1   Chapter 20

    Billy’s POV ​I sat in Carter’s modern living room, staring down at the low glass table where two ice-filled glasses rested untouched. The heavy silence between us was cut only by the faint hum of the city outside. ​I had just finished telling him everything Dr. Harrison laid out at the clinic—the spiking toxicity levels, the rapid organ decline, and the non-negotiable ultimatum for a liver transplant. ​Carter stared at me, his usual carefree smirk completely wiped clean. "Billy, you need to tell your parents. You need to tell your mom, precisely, right now. Today." ​"No," I said firmly, leaning back and rubbing my face with both hands. "I told you, Carter, I don't want them involved. You know my father. You know what he’s capable of when he wants something fixed. He could literally bribe a hospital board, manipulate the registry, or practically kidnap someone to steal their liver off the record. I am not letting an innocent person suffer or go down for me." ​"So what's the altern

  • Life as a sinclair : Book 1   Chapter 19

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  • Life as a sinclair : Book 1   Chapter 18

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  • Life as a sinclair : Book 1   Chapter 17

    Rory’s POV ​I sat on the wooden stool in the center of my studio, a blank canvas staring right back at me on the easel. ​I’d been painting for twenty-four years, practically since I could hold a brush. I’d done everything from whimsical children’s pieces to heavy abstract oil paintings, and I was desperate to start expanding. Right now, I was supplying small collections to a local gallery in the village, but my goal was to get my work into major galleries all across Chicago. I even caught myself daydreaming about making it into the annual winter art auction—the kind where ultra-wealthy collectors drop hundreds of thousands of dollars on pieces that originally cost a fraction of that. ​The problem? I couldn't paint a single line. ​I held my paintbrush frozen in mid-air, waiting for a spark, a vision, anything. Nothing came. My brain was completely blank. ​"Why do you have zero inspiration today?" I muttered to myself, dropping the brush into a jar of turp with an irritated sigh.

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