Enid Sinclair Fanart Novels & Stories

Astrid answers, and Rune shoots her a look filled with disdain. Sinclair’s gaze suddenly jerks up, and he stiffens, his lips tightening. He steps away from me suddenly, his fingertips brushing mine. “I’ll be right back.” Sinclair I didn’t imagine it. I walk down the steps, spinning in circles. I saw him, I know I did. Fenrir Wilder was standing by the double doors, hands clasped behind his back, formidable as ever, and yet, there had been a soft smile on his face, and an odd emotion lining his green eyes.

My phone chirps, and I see a message from Sinclair. Stop bothering me – I found better company for the night. Then, immediately following the text, a photo appears. Sinclair is naked in a strange bed, his eyelids heavy over a sultry stare, his clothes from this evening slung over a nightstand. And there beside him, naked as the day she was born – is Lydia. _____________________

I was at the kitchen table, notes scattered like accusations, when Diana’s words still sat heavy in my chest. The doorbell cut through the quiet. I wasn’t expecting anyone. I crossed the apartment on unsteady legs and opened the door. Robert Sinclair stood in the hallway. Fifty-eight years old man. Silver-haired. Built with that quiet authority that didn’t need to announce itself—it simply existed, in the steadiness of his eyes, in the way he filled the doorway without crowding it.

I grit out standing up to him. Sinclair's jaws tighten as he is visibly caught aback. Then, the anger appears in his eyes as he captures my neck again in his grasp. I don't know if he is aware he does that, but Sinclair holds so much strength that he could snap my neck if he wanted to, yet, I feel so... turned on. "I am Mr. Sin to you, Redhead. If you were any wise, you would remember what landed you here in the first place and that your friends have my money," Sin bites out, sneering at me.

That’s a cool idea,’ he said in the mind-link. “I want one for each hand,” I said. “Aiden likes the idea, too.” “I want one for each hand, too,” he pouted. I bit my bottom lip as he pouted. His eyes darkened. Mmm… “Oh! By the way, Sinclair, can you be back by the end of the week? Adrian is coming back, and we are throwing him a welcome party,” I said. “Sure! I’ll be there. How is he doing?” “He seems ready for a change,” I said honestly.

There, standing in the dimly lit hall, was Sinclair Carter. He looked different now. Gone was the polished businessman. In his place stood a man on the edge of desperation. Dark circles under his eyes. Sleeves rolled up. A gun in his hand. Adrian stepped forward, his own weapon raised. “This ends tonight.” Sinclair chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Does it?” He looked at Claire then, his eyes dark with something sinister. “You always did have a way of ruining things, didn’t you?” Claire met his gaze, unflinching. “And you always did have a way of underestimating me.”

"You're mine now. I will never let you go." Sinclair raised her hand. Gazing at the work of art he had placed on her finger. A square-cut pink diamond, set in gold, with tiny emeralds and pink stones surrounding the band and the precious jewel itself. The perfect piece must be an antique, unique, and must have cost millions. None of that matters. Only his love.

Her mother, Helena, stood beside him. The moment Verity stepped inside, her mother’s expression crumbled. “Verity.” For one second, Helena looked as if she might rush forward and embrace her. But she stopped herself. Perhaps she saw the hesitation on her daughter’s face. And she finally understood that affection could no longer be taken without permission. Edward’s gaze moved briefly to Quentin. His posture straightened. “Quentin,” he said with careful respect. “Thank you for coming.” Quentin gave a slight nod. “Mr. Sinclair.”

“God, I love you so much more, Clyve Clifford Linton.” *** The End

He smiles as he brushes my cheek with his thumb to wipe my tears. "You make me look like a fúcking idiot, dude. " Vincent hisses and I laugh. "You're an idiot and I'm sure everyone knows that. Why's it a surprise to you?" Sinclair teases and Vincent glares at him. "Shut up, fucker!" "I'm sure Heather appreciates your gift, Vincent. Though, I must say; Sinclair sure knows how to make a woman weak. " "You're fúcking supporting him, too?" "Language!" I scold, nodding to where Ara stands playing with the plushie Sinclair got her.