Lester Sinclair Mga Nobela at Kwento

Melissa mumbled. “How would I know? Not as if I'm the one who brought her here," Sin replied. “I wasn't talking to you, d!ck head," Melissa snapped, rolling her eyes. Melissa, you can call her a badass b!tch, a crazy psycho, your choice. She's very good at archery and has some pretty interesting skills. She and Sin are always on each other's neck. Sinclair, but he prefers to be called Sin. Free-spirited, a playboy who chases anything under a skirt. However, don't take advantage of his kindness; he's second in command after Aurelio, closest to Aurelio himself, let's say a cheerful devil.

For the first time in my life, I truly understood what it meant to be sick to your stomach. Charles Sinclair wasn’t just a monster. He wasn’t just my father. He was the head of STIRUP—a dark empire built on human suffering, blood, and unimaginable horrors. A place where humans were a form of transaction with the devil. He was a peak of the pyramid. And is dirty blood ran in my veins? My voice was barely a whisper as I clutched my knees to my chest. “Nate… he’s my father… and he’s a demon.”

I read story after story of tragedy; whole families killed, children left orphaned, businesses destroyed… and then I came across the memorial piece for the Luna. A black and white image of her funeral took up the whole front page. The photographer had captured the shot from the side, showing Julius standing at her coffin, wearing a plain black suit, his head held high as he looked forward into nothingness. There was no evidence that he had shed any tears, in fact his face seemed to lack emotion altogether. It mirrored the face of the man who stood beside him, an older gentleman who I assumed was his father.

Reynez. “Sir… Reynez is your son?” Jaxon asked carefully, disbelief still evident on his face. Zayren didn’t answer. His silence was enough. His teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw tightening. Memories of seeing the boy flashed in Jaxon’s mind, the familiar eyes, the small gestures that felt painfully recognizable. His boss’ son! Living under another man’s name. “Why didn’t you talk to her, sir?” Jaxon asked softly now, his tone no longer shocked but sympathetic. He had seen his boss search tirelessly for years. He had watched him grow colder, more ruthless in business, but quieter in personal matters.

"Everyone else’s gifts have been presented. I wonder what precious gift you've prepared for Father?" "What? Is that the useless Cyrus's wife and son, who were cast aside twenty years ago?" someone said. Their words were like a bombshell, instantly causing a commotion. All eyes turned towards them. The Lester family's patriarch, Atticus Lester, now looked uncertain. Sylvia stood up nervously, and said respectfully, "Greetings to all the Lester family. I am Sylvia Harper, the late Cyrus's wife. This is my son and Cyrus's heir, Frederick Lester. We rushed out today, and didn't bring any valuable gifts. I bought a malachite pendant for Master Atticus, and I wish him eternal happiness and a long

I tell him honestly. "You're my assistant, you work for me and I pay you. So, that means you're obligated to obey me whenever we're at work," He says. "Yes, Mr Sinclair. I apologize." I can't lose this job, it's the only thing that has been keeping me and my family afloat. Since Mum and Dad lost their jobs and the store started failing, my job as an assistant to the CEO of Sinclair Enterprise is the only thing helping my family and me survive. Each of the Sinclair siblings handles different areas of the Sinclair conglomerate. Between them, they handle finance, media and PR, hotels, motor vehicles and tech, real estate, and some foreign holdings.

I needed the comfort, and it managed to calm down my erratic heartbeat. "I know." Damian nodded at one of the security guards- who didn't bother looking at me. What was the deal with that? Once we arrived at the front doors, it was already opening and a man greeted us. He had a friendly smile as he gave Damian a handshake and I recognised him as Santino. "Boss, thank you for coming. I didn't think you were going to make it," he said, a grin on his face that matched Damian’s . "Of course, but I'm not staying long. Nova, this is Santino, my cousin. Santino, this is Nova," he paused for a moment. "My date."

I shifted my gaze toward the window, forcing myself to gather what little I knew about Paul Sinclair—my father—before I ever knew he was my father. “The Sinclair family was the second most prominent family in Norland,” I said slowly. “My father, Paul Sinclair, founded the Sinclair Group from scratch. He expanded into multiple industries—construction, cosmetics, luxury goods, jewelry, food production. He was known as a relentless workaholic. That’s how the company grew so quickly.” I paused, absorbing the weight of it. “There’s almost nothing about his private life. He was extremely reserved. The only consistent rumor was that he had one daughter.”

Then I heard his voice clearly. “…I said I’ll handle it,” he was saying. Handle what? I frowned slightly, stepping a little closer. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?” another voice replied. A man. Lucky Mac. I didn’t recognize it. I leaned in slightly, trying to hear better. “I’ll figure it out,” Mac said, his tone sharper now. “This isn’t something you ‘figure out,’” the man snapped. “You’re already pushing your luck.” My brows furrowed. What were they talking about?