CHAPTER 13
THEO
“Come straight to the office after your shift,” Father said, voice clipped, final. A decree disguised as casual over breakfast. It was never a request. It never had to be. “There’s a meeting with the Langford board. Another with the Zurich equity partners. You’ll sit in. Take notes. Review them for tomorrow’s board meeting.”
“I have work,” I replied carefully, keeping my voice flat, obedient. “Contractors are coming to price the marquee for the gala.”
His eyes lifted over his glass of orange juice—cold, amused, cruel.
“You haveresponsibilities, Theo.” The word meantto him.To the Astor name. To the legacy he forged in ice and steel and expected me to bleed myself into preserving. “I’m sure Colhoun can handle the drapes.”
I said nothing. There was no point. He always won the moment he opened his mouth. But I felt it. The leash tightening. The invisible collar around my neck, silk-threaded and barbed, always tugging me back into place.
It became harder to ignore the need—theache—that clawed at me under my skin. It had a name now—Sinclair.
Every time I stepped into the country club, I told myself I was there to work. To serve some hollow parable about humility and “understanding the staff” as if it wasn’t just another form of punishment wrapped in gold leaf. Another gilded cage I was supposed to be grateful for.
But then I’d seehim.
Carrying a tray of cocktails like he owned the place, like he didn’t care who saw him, wind-tossed hair, that smirk like a blade drawn at the throat of anyone who dared underestimate him.
And I forgoteverything.
He was gravity, and I was always falling—helpless, weightless, undone. He barely looked at me these days. Not unless we were alone. He was angry. Distant. And I deserved it.
I’d treated him like nothing. The wayhetreated me. Every cruel dismissal that came out of my mouth tasted like my father’s voice. I hated it. I hatedmyself.
But when our eyes met across a ballroom, behind the bar, in the shadows—the fire was still there. Stillours.
I found him out by the east patio, wiping down tables while a cluster of board wives whispered through teeth too white and smiles too tight.
“Sin.”
He didn’t look up. Didn’t outwardly acknowledge me in any way. Just scrubbed harder at a spotless surface. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Iworkhere.”
“You don’t need to work here,” he snapped, still refusing to meet my gaze. “That’s the whole fucking point.”
I took a step closer. “You’re angry.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Talk to me.”
He turned then, finally, and itwreckedme. His eyes—those eyes that once looked at me like I was the only real thing in the world—were flat now.
“Why?” he asked. “So you can ghost me again after? Pretend none of it happened?”
“I haven’t?—”
“Yes. Youhave.” His jaw clenched, voice shaking. “You disappear. You vanish for days. Then show up again like I’m some part-time indulgence you can pick back up when you’re bored. And I’m supposed to just—what? Wait?”
“It’s not like that,” I said, but evenIdidn’t believe me. “My father?—”
“Your father isn’t the onefucking me, Theo.” His voice broke on my name. “Youare.”
The words hit with surgical precision, no warning, no armor to protect me, he’d stripped it all away. I staggered beneath them, breath catching in my throat.
