Jean Sinclair Novels & Stories

“At this point, if Mrs. Sinclair says she wants the moon, her husband will probably build a rocket and bring it down for her.” A man laughed quietly. “That’s nothing. If she says she wants the whole world, he’ll hand it over without blinking,.even if the rest of us suffer for it.” “Just remind me never to get on her bad side,” another voice muttered. “I don’t want to lose my life because I accidentally splash water on her dress.” The words drifted around me, some filled with admiration, some with jealousy, some with fear. They were shocked, stunned beyond belief that someone like Hades Sinclair would publicly place himself beneath a woman, willingly no less.

Jeane Wilson, 26 was the youngest of the Wilson triplets. She was home alone when the loan sharks came. Jeane was busy on her rusty laptop, submitting her romance novel to harleyquinn for the one hundredth time when the kitchen door smashed open. She instantly knew who her intruders were. Afraid, she grabbed a penknife and dashed to the back of her room door.

“Good. That gives us room to start negotiations.” That was it. Cold, safe, business talk. I could live with that. Halfway through the flight, he leaned a little closer and tapped his pen against the margin of the document I was reviewing. “Our client, Vivian Sinclair,” he said. “Heir to the Sinclair family business. You familiar with her?” I glanced up. “Heard of her. Rumor says she’s practically royalty in France. Smart, strategic, with a good reputation.” “And pretty,” he added, almost absentmindedly.

I knew she would be a piece of work, but I was willing to put in the time and effort to get through to her. I had told Lucian and Maxwell that our ruthless and mean approach was why she was like this. The girl had tried to run over twenty times, and even though Lucian threatened to beat her up, she still dared to do it again. It was time we broke her with kindness. We would see her lovely side if we treated her as she should be treated. I did not want to believe that this was all that there was to Scarlett. Yes, she seemed mean and ungrateful, but I believed it was a defence mechanism, and Lucian was too blind to see it. My decision to accept her eventually was not because of magic but becau

I trail off, not able to put my riotous emotions into words. Sinclair exhales deeply and stands, his thumb brushing back and forth along my cheek. “And that’s what I’m afraid of.” He admits. “If something happens to me, I want you as far away from that danger as possible.” I gnaw on my lower lip, averting my eyes as tears well. “Then there’s really no way I can change your mind?” “No, Ella.” Sinclair confirms. “My mind is made up.” He towers over me, his wolf flashing in his eyes. “Now, about this climbing bookcases business…” ____________________

A sudden chill crept up the back of my neck at this lightning-quick change in her demeanor. "You... may not realize it," her voice trailed off softly. "But it seems you're the one who's done something wrong. A distinguished family like the Sinclaires wouldn't do such things without reason, would they?" Ah... I laughed dryly. Its sounded like the scraping of sandpaper in my own ears. Even in a prison cell with her prison uniform wrapped around her, this woman still looked at the Sinclaires as if they were gods.

Besides it’s not like she planned going here from the very start. “She’s wonderful wasn’t she? She really pulled the audience in.” Ms. Finnegan complimented and Catherine thought that this instructor had forgotten the she had heard all the nonsense Ms. Finnegan spouted at Lyra. “Sure, it didn’t seem you liked her during your class.” Catherine said unamused and Ms. Finnegan nervously laugh at Catherine’s comment. Catherine was sure that Ms. Finnegan is trying to be all sweet and all because her mother is a renowned Prima Ballerina and not only that but her mother has a lot of connection.

“So let’s not pretend this evening hasn’t shifted.” She glanced at Damien briefly as he stood at the back unmoving. “I’ve known Damien Sinclair since I was twenty-one years old. And I’ve seen him in every shade a man can be. Cold. Brilliant. Relentless. And yes, in his younger years, reckless.” Murmurs stirred. Phones hovered. “But I’ve also seen him do what very few men with power ever bother to do.” She let the pause stretch. “Evolve. This photo is not a revelation. It’s a relic. A desperate attempt to weaponize a past he doesn’t deny. But I stand here tonight beside him, not because he’s perfect, but because he fought like hell to be better than he was.”

Audrey Sinclair sat at her desk, staring at the glowing screen of her laptop. The article's headline screamed back at her: "Sinclair Heiress Returns Amid Mental Health Concerns: Is Audrey Sinclair Fit to Lead?" Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through the comments. People were calling her unstable, broken, a risk to the whole damn company. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of her wrist, right over that old scar, fighting the sting in her eyes.

Watching by the dark waiting for the right time to strike down, but at the same time symbolizing the great power Fiachra laid down to their family. Morrigan’s hand slipped away from Colfre’s hand making him look at her as she gleam brightly at him. It was as if the stars aligned when Colfre saw her bright smiles. She hoisted her dress and the soft rustle of her dress echoes around the silent corner of the hallway. Smiling wide she started to jump gracefully, her long raven hair dancing at her elegant hops and her dress rustling at her elegant strides. Colfre watches her as she bounces happily around the long hallway to her study. His eyes gazed at her with such gentleness and sadness, gliste