2| Ethan's World

Ethan Sinclair sat at his sleek, modern desk, the quiet hum of Sinclair Enterprises pulsing beyond the thick glass walls of his office. The panoramic view of the city skyline stretched before him, but his focus never wavered from the reports laid out in perfect alignment on his desk.

His dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place, and his piercing blue eyes moved over the documents with the kind of calm intensity that masked a relentless undercurrent of pressure.

Everything about him, from the precise order of his workspace to the quiet authority in his posture, spoke of control—something he rarely allowed himself to lose.

The phone buzzed, breaking the silence. Without looking up, he answered. "Yes?"

"Mr. Sinclair, the board meeting is in fifteen minutes," Jessica Morgan, his assistant, informed him.

"I'll be there. Have the reports ready," Ethan replied, his voice smooth, efficient. No wasted words. No room for error.

Ethan returned to his work, his mind a whirlwind of figures, projections, and strategies. Here, he was in control. The numbers made sense. The expectations were clear. Yet, beneath the surface, there was always a tension that never quite faded—a constant hum of pressure that came with the weight of responsibility.

Leaning back in his chair, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness. His gaze drifted to the framed photograph on his desk—a family portrait. It was one of the few personal touches in an otherwise sterile space, though he wasn't sure why he even kept it there.

He hated that picture.

It had been taken years ago, at some obligatory family event. His father had insisted, and Ethan, running on exhaustion from a late night at work, had barely managed to stand still long enough for the flash to go off. His eyes were tired, his expression unreadable. The whole thing felt staged, like most interactions with his parents.

His jaw tightened slightly as he looked away, his attention shifting to the other frame on his desk. This one, he actually liked.

A painting—of all things.

It was a print of an oil painting he'd bought at one of his friend's art exhibitions. Most people had walked past it, dismissing it for flashier pieces, but something about the simple sunflower had caught his attention.

It was unassuming, bright, and warm.

Unlike anything else in his office.

Unlike anything in his life.

Maybe that's why he'd bought it. Or maybe it reminded him of someone.

Someone he had once tried to forget.

The intercom buzzed again, and Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, Jessica?"

"Sir, Mr. Carter is on line two."

Ethan glanced at the clock, debating whether he had the patience. "Put him through."

David Carter—his best friend and the one responsible for dragging him to that art exhibition—greeted him with his usual, overly enthusiastic tone.

"Ethan, my man! How's life in the ivory tower?"

"Busy as ever," Ethan replied, already anticipating whatever nonsense was coming. "I told you to stop calling on the company lines."

"And I told you to stop ignoring your personal phone during office hours," David shot back. "How else am I supposed to check in? Make sure you haven't been swallowed whole by those spreadsheets you love so much?"

"I appreciate the concern," Ethan said dryly. "Call my office line for this again, and I'll have Jessica block you."

David let out a dramatic sigh. "You wound me. This is why people think you have no soul."

Ethan smirked. "Yet, you keep calling."

"Because I'm a good friend," David quipped. "Anyway, I actually have a reason this time."

"Let's hear it."

"There's another charity gala this weekend—art exhibition, decent crowd, and before you roll your eyes, yes, it's good PR."

Ethan clicked his pen against the desk. "Not interested."

"Didn't think so. But I figured I'd let you pretend to consider it."

"Consider it rejected."

David scoffed. "You work too much."

"I work the necessary amount."

"You mean until you look like you haven't slept in a year?"

"Some of us have responsibilities."

"And some of us know when to step away before we drop dead at our desks."

Ethan exhaled slowly, already regretting answering. "Is that all?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just promise me you'll think about it."

Silence stretched for a beat.

"I'll think about it."

David chuckled. "And I'll see you there."

Ethan frowned. "I didn't say yes."

"Didn't say no, either. Later, Sinclair."

The line went dead before Ethan could reply. He stared at the phone for a second before shaking his head. David never did take no for an answer.

But sometimes, David was right.

The relentless pace of life at Sinclair Enterprises was taking its toll. But there was no room for weakness in his world. He had responsibilities, expectations to meet, and a legacy to uphold.

The clock on the wall reminded him of the upcoming board meeting. Ethan gathered his materials, his movements precise, methodical. He fixed his expression—cold, unreadable. Things always seemed to move smoother when he pretended to be detached.

At least in the office. Straightening his tie, he headed for the door.

"Jessica, I'll need the quarterly reports on my desk by the time I return," he said as he passed his assistant.

"Of course, Mr. Sinclair," she replied efficiently.

The board meeting was grueling, but Ethan Sinclair handled it with his usual poise and efficiency. As the members filed out, offering polite nods and firm handshakes, he gathered his papers and made his way back to his office. The discussions on quarterly projections and strategic initiatives still echoed in his mind, but another, more pressing matter awaited him.

He had barely settled into his chair when his personal phone buzzed.

"Evelyn Sinclair."

Ethan's jaw tightened. His mother rarely called, and never on his personal line—especially not during office hours.

Although hesitant, he picked up. "Mother," he greeted, his voice neutral.

"Ethan," Evelyn's voice came through, gentle but firm. "How are you doing?"

A pointless question. They both knew this wasn't a social call. "As well as can be expected," he replied smoothly. "What can I do for you?"

There was a brief pause. And then Evelyn got straight to the point. She always always did.

"Ethan, you're getting married. Your father and I have discussed this at length."

Ethan's grip tightened around the receiver. Of course. The rare times she called, it had to be about this.

Ethan exhaled slowly, forcing himself to remain composed. "That's unexpected." His voice was cool, almost indifferent. "I don't have the time for that right now."

"Your father has demanded it," Evelyn continued, her tone softening slightly—as if that would make it easier to accept. "I'll send you a list of suitable ladies. If you like anyone, let me know."

Of course. A list. Like he was choosing a business acquisition, not a wife. Ethan's expression hardened. His father was another man who always got what he wanted, and this was no different. He could fight it, but what would be the point?

"I understand," he said curtly. "Pick whoever you deem best. I don't have time to look through anything at the moment."

There was a pause. A slight hesitation.

"Ethan, I'm sorry," Evelyn said, and this time, there was a hint of genuine regret in her voice. "I know this isn't easy for you."

Ethan cut her off, his tone turning cold. "It's what Father wants, and I'll comply."

Silence stretched between them. It was the longest pause yet, as if she were searching for something else to say. But there was nothing left.

"Very well," she finally murmured. "I'll be in touch."

"Goodbye, Mother," Ethan said, ending the call without waiting for a response.

He set the phone down with a controlled motion, his jaw still clenched.

For some reason, the office now felt suffocating. Ethan stood and walked to the large windows, staring out at the city below—but not really seeing it.

An arranged marriage, he thought bitterly.

It was just another business transaction to his father, another way to solidify alliances and ensure the continuation of the Sinclair legacy. Love had no place in such arrangements. He had known this day would come, but it didn't make the reality any easier to swallow.

The phone call with his mother had brought back memories of his childhood, growing up under the strict and demanding influence of Robert Sinclair. Any sign of weakness had been swiftly corrected, any display of emotion met with cold disapproval. Ethan had learned to guard his feelings closely, to present a façade of unshakeable confidence.

But now, as he faced the prospect of an arranged marriage, the cracks in that façade threatened to widen.

The intercom buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. "Mr. Sinclair, your next appointment is here," Jessica's voice announced.

Ethan inhaled deeply, straightening his tie, willing himself back into the present. "Send them in," he said, his voice calm, controlled.

As the office door swung open, he pushed aside the irritation, the doubt, the lingering weight of expectation. There was no room for distraction. Not now. He had responsibilities to uphold, a company to run.

And in the Sinclair family, duty always came first.

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Photo credit: Pinterest

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