Start Over

Soft jazz notes drifted through the spacious dining room of the Sinclair Mansion. Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the man-made lake rippled gently under the afternoon breeze. Birds chirped in the distance, casting a deceptive calm over the estate. The peaceful setting did nothing to erase the sharp tension radiating from Beatrice Sinclair. She forced a bright, practiced smile, looking across the mahogany table at the elegant blonde woman sitting opposite her stepson.

"I never expected you to remember my favorite perfume, Nadia. I truly appreciate the gesture," Beatrice said. She shifted in her velvet seat, her fingers drumming nervously against the tablecloth. Her eyes darted toward Maximus. He sat motionless next to Nadia. He stared at his expensive teacup, taking slow sips of the dark liquid without saying a single word. His cold indifference was suffocating.

Beatrice swallowed hard and tried to bridge the gap. "So, how was your trip to Paris?"

Nadia flashed a sweet smile, her dimples showing. She leaned forward, animated and eager to engage him. "It was perfect. Sadly, it wasn't a vacation. I barely slept at all. Fashion week was brutal as always. The schedules were packed from morning until midnight."

Maximus did not blink. He did not look up to acknowledge her story. He just placed his cup on the saucer. The quiet clanking sound echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

Beatrice felt the icy atmosphere thickening. "Ah, look at the time. I believe your favorite cookies are done baking. Let me go check on the chefs." She stood up so fast her chair scraped loudly against the marble floor. She practically ran toward the safety of the kitchen, desperate to escape the freezing aura of her stepson before the situation turned worse.

The second Beatrice disappeared from view, Maximus stood up. He casually buttoned his suit jacket, his face an emotionless mask showing no interest in staying another second.

"Max... where are you going?" Nadia gasped. Her innocent blue eyes looked up, locking onto his dark, icy stare. She froze. The sheer coldness in his expression stole the breath straight from her lungs.

"I have a meeting," he stated. His voice held no warmth, sounding entirely flat.

"But I just arrived." Nadia gestured frantically to a small velvet box resting on the table. "You haven't even opened the gift I brought you. I picked it out specifically for you."

"Let my mother open it," Maximus replied. He turned his back to her and took a deliberate step toward the exit.

Desperation flared in Nadia's chest. She jumped up, reached out, and grabbed his forearm. Her fingers dug into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

"Are you planning to avoid me forever?" she asked. Her voice cracked, tears welling in her eyes.

Maximus stopped in his tracks. He slowly turned his head, his gaze dropping to her hand clutching his arm. He stared at her beige frilly dress, then back up to her face.

"I would appreciate it if Miss Thorne stopped touching me," Maximus warned.

"Max, please look at me..."

"Call me Mr. Sinclair." He did not raise his voice, but the deadpan tone carried absolute authority. Nadia flinched as if he had struck her physically. A tear spilled over her eyelashes, rolling down her cheek. "I believe it would not be appropriate if the media took a single picture of this. It would ruin Miss Thorne's reputation."

"It has been five years," she whimpered, her grip loosening slightly as she begged for a second chance. "I know I hurt you. I know what I did. Please just listen to me."

"If I knew Miss Thorne was visiting today, I would not have come," Maximus said, cutting through her pleas. "I prefer it if you keep your distance. There is nothing between us. I refuse to give the media any reason to misunderstand the situation."

Nadia let out a choked sob. "Maximus, I was your fiancée."

"Was." He scoffed, the sound dripping with cold disdain. "'Was' is a complete sentence." He shook his arm, forcing her hand off his sleeve.

Nadia refused to back down. "Can you at least treat me like a friend? My words echo in this empty room, Max. I know I made a massive mistake. But that is in the past now. Can we please start over?"

Maximus narrowed his eyes, his patience gone. He opened his mouth to deliver a final rejection.

Right then, his cell phone rang, breaking the heavy silence.

He pulled the device from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID. The icy fury in his eyes vanished instantly. A dark, satisfied smirk spread across his lips, melting the previous coldness. He lifted the phone to his ear.

"What took you so long?" he asked. His tone shifted, radiating a dangerous kind of triumph.

He stood there in the dining room, ignoring the weeping woman standing inches away. A brief stretch of silence passed through the speaker. Then, a sharp sigh echoed over the line.

"Let's get married," Camilla's voice answered.

Maximus let out a low chuckle. "Send me your address. I will send Conrad to pick you up."

He ended the call, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and walked away. He did not look back at Nadia. He did not care about her tears. His strides were long, purposeful, and fast as he left the mansion behind.

Outside the grand front doors, the bright afternoon sun hit the sprawling driveway. Maximus walked down the sweeping stone steps toward his waiting luxury car. Before he could reach the door, a familiar figure appeared on the path.

Donovan Sinclair paused midway up the driveway. He wore a casual designer sweater, looking relaxed until he spotted his older brother marching out.

"Max," Donovan greeted, a hesitant smile forming on his lips. "You didn't tell me you were visiting Mother today."

Maximus stopped. He looked at his younger half-brother with cold authority. "Tell your mother to stop interfering in my personal life."

Donovan's smile dropped. He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair to defend Beatrice's actions. "What did she do this time? Was it Nadia again? Look, Max, Mother just wants you to settle down. You know how she and Father worry about your future. They just want..."

"How was your recent trip, Donovan?" Maximus cut him off. His voice was casual, but his eyes were sharp. "How did the conference go?"

Donovan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "It went well. I managed to secure the preliminary agreements for the tech division."

"It seems you have far too much free time lately," Maximus interrupted again. He took a step closer, towering over the younger man. "You have enough time to loiter around and discuss my private affairs."

Donovan tensed. "What? That is not true. I was just trying to explain Mother's..."

"I am reassigning you," Maximus stated flatly. "There is a new project launching in Asia. You will fly out to supervise it."

Donovan froze. His jaw dropped in shock. "Wait, what are you talking about? You promised me the European expansion. I was supposed to go to France! I have been anticipating that assignment for months."

"France is too easy," Maximus replied. "You need a real challenge. You need something that will take up a lot of your time so you stop meddling."

Panic seized Donovan's chest. He chased after Maximus as his brother resumed walking toward the sleek black car. "Max, please reconsider! The French assignment is critical. Asia is halfway across the world. I cannot just leave."

Maximus stopped at the door of his car. He turned back, his gaze pinning Donovan to the pavement.

"Tell your mother this is her only warning," Maximus declared, wielding his absolute power over the Sinclair Empire. "The next time she attempts to pull a matchmaking stunt like this, I will kick you out of the company entirely. You know very well how I keep my word."

Donovan swallowed hard. The air in his lungs vanished. He could not form a single word in response.

Maximus offered a cold smirk, slid into the backseat of his car, and shut the door. The engine purred to life, and the vehicle glided down the massive driveway, disappearing through the front gates.

Donovan stood frozen on the concrete. The exhaust fumes drifted away, leaving him alone in the suffocating silence. A burning, toxic wave of pure jealousy and humiliation crashed over him. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His nails dug into his palms until the skin nearly broke.

He was a Sinclair. He carried the same name and lived in the same estate. Yet, Maximus treated him like a pest. He felt like a rat forced to beg for crumbs just to maintain a basic executive position, while his brother held all the power. Even their father refused to intervene when Maximus made these ruthless decisions.

Donovan glared at the empty driveway. He needed a shield. He needed powerful leverage that Maximus could not touch, something that would force his arrogant brother to treat him as an equal.

His thoughts locked onto a single target. Camilla Stratton.

Her inheritance was massive. The Stratton shares were a cornerstone of the industry. Her family name carried immense weight. If he secured Camilla, he secured his anchor in the Sinclair Empire. Maximus would never dare exile a man backed by the Stratton fortune and the VS Group's influence.

Donovan spun on his heel and marched back into the mansion. The panic that had gripped him melted into a desperate ambition.

He stepped into the grand foyer and walked briskly toward the living room. On the velvet couch, he saw Nadia Thorne weeping into Beatrice's shoulder. His mother patted the blonde woman's back, shooting a helpless look toward the hallway.

Under normal circumstances, Donovan would have stopped to comfort Nadia and play the sympathetic brother. Today, he did not care. He ignored the crying woman and walked right past the living room. He took the grand staircase two steps at a time, heading straight to his room.

He slammed the door shut, pulled his phone from his pocket, and found Camilla's contact name. He dialed the number immediately, desperate to secure his anchor, completely unaware that she had already agreed to marry his brother.