All Chapters of Life as a sinclair : Book 1: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The driver is downstairs, Rory!" Ivory’s voice echoed down the hall, sharp and loud enough to cut through the quiet hum of the early morning.​I hauled my oversized leather duffel over my shoulder, taking one last look at my bedroom before heading down the stairs. Outside the front gates, a sleek black SUV was idling, complete with a personal chauffeur waiting to grab my luggage.​Ivory stood in the foyer, already in full production-mode, holding her phone in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. Beside her acting career, she ran her own high-end cosmetics line, which meant she spent half her life managing spreadsheets and the other half buying out luxury services just because she could.​"I still think you should have taken the family jet," Ivory said, eyeing my casual outfit—a worn vintage tee, dark cargo pants, and my favorite beat-up sneakers—with mild disapproval. "First class on a commercial flight is fine, but the private jet gets you into Chicago without the airport

Billy's pov The heavy iron gates opened with a low groan, and I pulled the sedan up the winding driveway. I stared out the window, jaw clenched, already regretting this. ​I hated this place. I hated the towering marble pillars, the manicured lawns, and the suffocating silence. I hadn't set foot in this house in over a month, but my mother’s frantic texts—“Just one dinner, Billy. Please. For me”—finally broke me. ​Inside, the dining room felt less like a family home and more like a high-stakes board meeting. My father sat at the head of the long table, staring at a stack of quarterly reports. ​"You're late, William," my father said without looking up. He was the only person on the planet who called me William, using my full legal name like a brand of ownership. ​"Traffic," I lied, pulling out a chair. ​"Billy!" My mother rushed over, throwing her arms around me in a tight, trembling hug. She smelled like expensive jasmine and gin—her usual dinner armor. "I'm so glad you came

The art supply store was usually called a frame shop or an independent gallery, but to me, places like this were sanctuaries. ​It was Saturday afternoon, and I was still reeling from my meeting with Ms. Jade. She had called me earlier that morning with news that made my blood run cold and my heart race all at once: my birth parents were alive. Not only were they alive, but they were living right here in Chicago. She promised to get back to me soon with the exact location and official papers, leaving me floating in a weird, anxious void. ​When I’m overwhelmed, I draw. And when I draw, I eat bananas. It’s an elite combination. ​So, with a half-eaten banana in one hand and my leather portfolio tucked under my arm, I pushed open the door to Lumière Fine Arts & Gallery—a sleek, high-end studio tucked into the trendy art district. I wasn't just here to look at paint supplies; I was looking for a spot to sell my original work. ​I walked up to the front desk, where a middle-aged woman

Rory’s POV​"Okay, but listen," Diana said, leaning across the breakroom counter and taking a slow sip of her iced iced coffee. "If you ever want a quick, zero-commitment desk scandal, Greg from accounting is single. But stay away from Marcus in marketing—he’s slept with half the junior design team and still forgets their names in staff meetings."​I chuckled, leaning against the marble counter while stirring my sugar into my mug. "Good to know. What about the top floor?"​"The executive suite?" Diana raised an eyebrow, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Off-limits. Total ghost town for romance. A couple of girls tried flirting with Mr. Logan last year—one literally dropped a napkin with her number on his desk during a pitch—and he had HR pull her off the account before end-of-day. The man is a ice block."​I paused mid-stir. "Really? He doesn't... talk to anyone?"​"Girl, no," Diana scoffed, waving a hand. "He doesn't play about his work, and he definitely doesn't play

Billy’s POV ​I grabbed my small leather toilet kit from my pocket and locked myself inside her guest bathroom. ​I popped open the container, slipping two pills out into my palm. It wasn't something I was proud of, nor was it something I wanted anyone in my life knowing about. I refused to let my secret health issues become my identity. ​I splashed cold water on my face, took a deep breath, and tossed the pills into my mouth. Just as I raised a glass of tap water to my lips— ​Click. ​The bathroom door swung wide open. Rory walked straight in, holding a fresh towel. ​"Jesus Christ!" I barked, flinching as water spilled down the front of my shirt. "Can you not knock?!" ​Rory stopped dead in her tracks, blinking at me in pure surprise. "What? It’s not like I haven't seen you before." ​"That is not the point!" I snapped, my hand instinctively closing around the pill bottle in my pocket. "This is basic decency. Do you have any manners?" ​"I'm sorry!" she held up her hands, rolling