No Second Chances

"Babe, we're putting the wedding on hold. I need to marry Kyler first." "Excuse me?" My eyes locked onto Kensington. She didn't even look at me.

Instead, she slipped her arm through the crook of the man standing beside her. "Stop being so dramatic." Her brows pinched together, irritation radiating from her rigid posture. "It's just a piece of paper.

Once the heat dies down, we'll file the divorce papers, and I'll still marry you." A hollow laugh scraped up my throat, the sound brittle and freezing the air between us. "Then what exactly does that make me?" Her gaze finally shifted to me. "You've always cared about maintaining a dignified image.

If I don't step in to protect Kyler, the Fang family will annihilate his future." "All you have to do is take one step back.

It costs you nothing of substance." "And your point is?" "So take one for the team and help me out. You of all people should understand." The freezing reality slammed into my chest.

This wasn't a request. It was a notification. She was simply informing me that she had already boxed me up and shoved me into my designated corner.

Chapter 1 "Hubby, let's put our wedding on hold for a bit. I need to marry Kyler first.

You… you can understand where I'm coming from, right?" The words dropped between us, sucking all the oxygen from the room. A sharp ringing pierced my eardrums.

The glare of the crystal chandelier overhead burned into my retinas.

Kensington stood directly in front of me, her makeup flawless, her tone disgustingly gentle—as if she were discussing what to order for dinner instead of blowing up our lives.

Without even waiting for a syllable to leave my mouth, she shifted her weight and looped her arm through Kyler's.

The movement was sickeningly fluid, rehearsed to perfection behind my back countless times. "Sinclair, just do this for me." Her eyes locked onto mine, a fabricated hint of pleading in her brow, yet zero hesitation. "If the Fang family forces Kyler to marry that cripple, his entire life is over." The ringing in my ears finally snapped into dead silence.

Over?

What about mine? "Do you a solid?" Sandpaper scraped against my vocal cords as I forced the words out, my vision sharpening into cold, highdefinition clarity. "Then what the hell am I?" I shrugged off her hand.

The motion wasn't violent, but it was enough to freeze the perfectly crafted expression on her face. "We grew up together.

The board members and our grandparents finalized this union, and the engagement announcement hit every major publication six months ago." I dropped my voice to a dangerous, glacial register. "You're calling off the wedding to marry the charity case your parents sponsored.

Did you even factor me into this equation?

Or my family?" "Did you spare a single second to think about how the shareholders will look at me?" I am Sinclair, the man holding the reins of the entire Sinclair conglomerate, where every single decision I make dictates the flow of billions in capital.

Our engagement isn't just two oldmoney empires merging; it's a massive bellwether that Wall Street watches like a hawk. Kensington's brow furrowed.

The faint twitch of her jaw betrayed her annoyance, but she forced herself to keep playing the patient diplomat. "Stop blowing this out of proportion.

I'm just going through the motions with Kyler." "Once the media circus moves on, I'll file the divorce papers, and I'll still marry you in the end." The words spilled out rapidly—a perfectly memorized script. "We've been together for years.

How could this possibly affect us?" I stared at her, the features I'd known since childhood morphing into those of a complete stranger.

Going through the motions—her sanitized way of demanding I act like a pathetic, spineless backup plan, swallowing a PRlevel social humiliation with a smile.

She was dead certain I would wait for her like a loyal dog, forever leashed to the safe radius she drew around herself. Kyler hadn't uttered a single syllable.

He stood rigidly beside her, practically swimming in an illfitting suit. His spine was ramrod straight, but his gaze remained glued to the floorboards.

It was a calculated posture—half playing the victim avoiding the crossfire, half waiting for his new sugar mommy to do the talking for him. I knew exactly who he was. Kyler.

The Kensington family's pet charity project. StraightA student, perpetually tightlipped.

Over the years, he'd clocked more hours lounging around their estate than most of their actual blood relatives.

I just never factored in that he'd end up standing in my living room, parading this particular title. "You genuinely think I'm going to sign off on this?" I asked.

Kensington's polished mask slipped before snapping back into smug complacency. "You will." The sheer arrogance in her tone was suffocating. "You've always been the rational one.

You know how to be a team player." A team player. The phrase slapped me across the face, sharp and degrading. She wasn't asking for a favor. She was issuing a directive.

A rapidfire montage of the past few years flashed behind my eyes. Dates she canceled at the eleventh hour, leaving me to order my assistant to scramble and clear my schedule.

The executive board meetings I bailed on just to sit with her when she threw a temper tantrum.

The prestigious internship slot I handed over to Kyler on a silver platter just because she whined about him having it rough.

Compromise after compromise, all digested by her as absolute entitlements. "And did you ever bother to calculate," I tilted my head, locking onto her eyes, "what happens if I decide not to understand?" Chapter 2 She froze, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Sinclair, don't be like this," she pleaded, her hand still resting on Kyler's arm.

The sight of it was a jagged irony. "I'm the one backed into a corner here, aren't I?" A dry laugh escaped my lips, devoid of any warmth. "You agreed to the engagement.

Your family leaked the announcement." "Now you're the one walking back.

And you expect me to just swallow the 'no choice' excuse?" Kensington's mask of patience finally cracked. "Why do you have to be so damn difficult?

I'm trying to be sensitive to your feelings here." I nodded slowly. Sensitive. So sensitive that she was parading her next husband right in front of my face.

Kyler finally spoke up. "Mr.

Sinclair." His voice was low but steady. "I… I'm sorry about this." He finally looked up, his eyes a messy cocktail of guilt, nerves, and a deeply buried flicker of… anticipation.

He was waiting for me to play the "bigger man" and step aside. "Don't waste your breath on an apology," I said flatly. "Who you marry is none of my business." His face stiffened.

Kensington let out a breath of relief, clearly mistaking my detachment for submission. "Sinclair, I knew you'd understand.

Once this blows over, we—" "You're delusional." I cut her off.

The living room plunged into a suffocating silence. "My 'understanding' ends here." The blood drained from her face. "What is that supposed to mean?" I looked her dead in the eye, each word a sharp blade. "The second you decided to marry him, we were over." Her mouth hung open, her tongue failing to find a rebuttal.

She'd spent years getting used to me being her unwavering support system; she never saw the cliff coming. "Don't be impulsive," she stammered. "This is just temporary." "Save your breath." My tone was a flatline. "You made your choice.

Live with it." I stood up, fastening the button of my suit jacket, and didn't spare them a single glance. I strode toward the door without looking back. "Contact your lawyer.

First thing tomorrow morning, I'm having PR release the official statement calling off the engagement." The door clicked shut behind me. I didn't look back.

It wasn't just rage; I knew every extra word I gave her was just fuel for her narrative. As I pulled out of the Kensington estate, my phone lit up.

The name on the screen was Kensington's mother. I let it ring. Streetlights blurred into long streaks of white against the windshield. My head was clearer than it had been in years.

This wasn't a sudden whim on their part; they had just been waiting for the right moment to drop the guillotine.

On the third ring, I finally tapped the screen. "Sinclair," she said, her voice dripping with manufactured warmth. "Don't take what just happened to heart." I kept my eyes on the road, my voice a flat line. "Say what you called to say." A momentary silence followed. "Kensington is young.

She's too softhearted; she can't stand to see someone in pain.

You know Kyler's situation—he's truly at the end of his rope." I listened, offering her nothing but silence. "Sinclair, you're an adult in control of a business empire.

There's no need to get worked up over an emotional little girl.

If this private mess causes fluctuations in the Sinclair and Kensington stock prices, the wolves of Wall Street won't let any of us off the hook." Chapter 3 "Won't let any of us off the hook." I knew exactly what that meant.

The "us" bleeding out on the trading floor wouldn't include the Kensingtons. "And your point is?" The silence stretched on the other end of the line.

She hadn't expected the pushback. "Sinclair, our families have decades of history. We can't let a momentary lapse in judgment torch that bridge." "Take a step back.

People in our circle will remember your grace." Take a step back. I let out a dry, humorless breath. "Mrs. Kensington, your board proposed the merger.

Your PR team set the date." "Now you're the ones breaching the contract.

I'm not giving up a single inch of ground." Her tone dropped a few degrees, losing the manufactured warmth. "Sinclair, don't burn bridges you can't rebuild. You're emotional.

Sleep on it." I hit end call. The screen went black. They weren't calling to negotiate. They were calling to force my hand. Next morning, 8:00 AM.

My assistant tailed me into my corner office before I even reached the desk. "Mr. Sinclair, a few board members are asking questions about the wedding.

Rumors are already bleeding into the market." I stripped off my suit jacket, tossing it over a leather chair. "Standard. Issue the corporate denial protocols.

Do not offer unauthorized explanations." He nodded, shifting his weight. "One more thing.

The Kensington family is requesting a dinner reservation." I didn't look up from my laptop. "Decline it." "They specified it's just a private family sitdown." "Then it's a complete waste of my time." I opened the Q3 projections, acting as if the world hadn't shifted on its axis.

But Wall Street runs on blood and gossip. The second I pushed through the glass doors of the boardroom for the 10 AM strategy meeting, a dozen pairs of eyes locked onto me.

Calculating. Pitying. Hungry. I ignored them, taking my seat at the head of the mahogany table. The meeting ran like a machine.

Profit margins, capital allocations, quarterly milestones—zero deviations. Toward the end, one of the VP's cleared his throat. "Mr.

Sinclair, are you… managing some personal distractions recently?" I snapped my folder shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot. "My personal life does not bleed into my balance sheets.

If you lack confidence in the projections, my door is open for your resignation." He shrank back into his chair, lips sealed tight. The room cleared.

One of the senior board members, a guy who'd backed me since day one, lingered by the door. "Sinclair. How are you playing this?" I didn't sugarcoat it. "By the book.

Liabilities will be cut." He nodded slowly, letting out a long breath. "Still ruthless as ever." Noon. I stayed at my desk, knocking back a black coffee. My phone vibrated.

Unknown caller ID. I swiped to answer. "Mr.

Sinclair." The voice on the other end was tight, defensive. "It's Kyler." I leaned back against the leather headrest, letting the silence stretch. "I want to explain what happened with Kensington," he pushed out, the words stumbling over each other. "I know you're pissed." "Explain what exactly?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft.

He choked on his next breath. "I… I didn't do this on purpose. If the Fang family wasn't squeezing me so hard, I never would have—" "Kyler." I sliced through his pathetic stutter.

He went dead silent. "Your current tax bracket doesn't entitle you to offer me explanations. You're getting married.

You don't need my signoff." A heavy pause clogged the line. "But I don't want you to get the wrong idea," he finally muttered. "Kensington… she still cares about you." Chapter 4 "Her feelings are none of my concern, and your choices don't require my blessing." I killed the call, slicing off whatever pathetic excuse he was about to vomit out.

That afternoon, the Kensington camp sent their heavy hitter. Not Kensington, but her father.

When he appeared in the doorway of my office, his expression was a hell of a lot cooler than his wife's frantic tone the night before. "Sinclair.

We need to talk." I flicked two fingers at my assistant to clear the room.

The moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, he cut right to the chase. "My family severely miscalculated this situation, but the ink is dry.

Keeping this standoff going won't benefit you in the slightest." "And who exactly does it benefit?" I asked.

A heavy pause hung in the air. "At the very least, it prevents the fallout from getting ugly." I stared dead into his eyes. "The only reason you think it's getting ugly is because I refuse to play ball.

If I nod and smile, I'm the only one left holding the bag." The muscles in his jaw tightened. "You're backing us into a corner." "I didn't force your hand.

You made your bed." The air in the office thickened into concrete. He stood up, dropping his voice into a low, rumbling threat. "Sinclair, feelings can be rebuilt.

But once you lose your seat at the table, it's damn near impossible to claw your way back." I stood up to match his height, keeping my tone flat. "A seat at the table isn't something you inherit from someone stepping aside.

You take it." He held my gaze for a long, calculating minute before turning on his heel and walking out. The news of Kensington's wedding didn't come from her.

My assistant dropped it on me while sliding my daily itinerary across the desk. "Mr.

Sinclair, the networking gala at the Cloud Ridge Club is tonight." He paused, clearing his throat. "At the exact same time, the Kensington family is… holding the wedding." I nodded once, taking the file. "Proceed as scheduled." He didn't ask another question.

The Kensington wedding was a thoroughly pathetic affair. They booked some unrated, cheap banquet hall on the south side of the city.

There wasn't even a professional security detail onsite—a nightandday difference from the centurydefining wedding we had originally planned on a private island.

That setup alone screamed volumes. They wanted to sweep the mess under the rug while still getting the ring on her finger. I didn't bother showing up.

After the afternoon board meeting wrapped, I headed straight to my private suite and changed. The guy staring back in the mirror looked identical to the one who walked in.

Razorsharp tailored suit, a dark silk tie, zero unnecessary flair. I stood there for three seconds, verified my armor was perfectly intact, and walked out.

The chandeliers at the Cloud Ridge Club blazed. The second my Italian leather shoes hit the marble floor, a handful of familiar faces intercepted me. "Sinclair, it's been a minute.

What kind of massive buyout are you brewing these days?" I tossed them a few standard replies, I kept my tone lukewarm.

It didn't take long to clock the underlying static in the room. Eyes lingered on me for a fraction of a second longer than usual.

Some people looked like they were choking on unasked questions, while others overcompensated by acting utterly oblivious.

I didn't need to be a mind reader to know exactly what they were waiting for. They wanted blood in the water.

A crack in the armor, a flash of frustration—if I showed anything less than absolute composure, they'd spin it into weakness. I refused to give them a single drop.

Halfway through the gala, a guy swirled his scotch and sidled up to me.

He was the head of a venture capital firm we'd partnered with last quarter. "Sinclair, hearing some whispers about trouble on the home front?" I locked onto him, my voice flat. "Just liquidating a bad asset." He let out a low chuckle, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. "Good.

I was starting to worry it might impact our joint ventures." "It won't. The timeline stands." He nodded, visibly swallowing the relief.

Chapter 5 That kind of reaction was infinitely more authentic than any fake sympathy. They didn't give a damn about my emotional state.

They were just calculating if I still had a firm grip on my throne. I lifted my scotch and worked the room. Mergers, quarterly projections, aggressive expansions.

Every single syllable I dropped landed with calculated precision.

Someone finally cracked under the tension. "Sinclair, you're surprisingly sharp tonight." I locked eyes with him. "It's a networking event.

Am I supposed to be off my game?" He blinked, swallowing hard before forcing a laugh. "Out of line. My apologies." I didn't press it, and I sure as hell didn't explain myself.

The gala wrapped earlier than projected. As I headed for the exit, an oldguard board member intercepted me.

His gaze was a messy knot of calculation and pity. "You didn't show at the Kensington wedding?" "No," I replied smoothly. "She tied the knot today." "I'm aware." He let out a long breath. "You're taking this well." I casually adjusted my platinum cufflinks. "I don't hemorrhage my time on deadend investments." He choked on his next word, settling for a stiff nod.

The Maybach glided away from the club. I leaned my head against the leather headrest, letting my eyes fall shut. My phone stayed dead silent.

It wasn't until my driver pulled onto my street that the screen lit up the dark cabin. Unknown number.

Just one line. [You really didn't show up.] I stared at the harsh blue light for half a second before swiping the notification away. Engaging now was a waste of battery life.

Back at the penthouse, I stood under the freezing spray of the shower before throwing on a dark henley and sweatpants.

The skyline glittered silently beyond the floortoceiling windows, locking the chaos of the city outside.

I dropped onto the leather sofa and fired a text to my assistant, bumping my morning meetings up by an hour.

The second I tossed my phone onto the coffee table, the private elevator chime echoed through the foyer. I pulled the heavy oak door open. Kensington stood in the hallway.

She had ditched the cheap wedding gown for a plain white sundress. She looked drained.

Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, and the rims of her eyes were bloodshot. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, blocking the doorway.

She searched my face, desperate to find a crack in my composure. "I thought you'd crash it." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Why the hell would I do that?" I shot back.

Her teeth sank into her lower lip. "Because… we've been together for years." I stepped aside, leaving a gap just wide enough for her to slip through. "Get in." She stepped into the foyer, her eyes darting around the expansive living room.

She knew every inch of this penthouse. She used to own the passcode.

Now, she stood there like a trespasser waiting for security to escort her out. "The ceremony wrapped?" I asked, leaning against the kitchen island.

She gave a stiff nod. "Yeah." "Go smoothly?" She hesitated, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress. "It was fine." I didn't push.

The penthouse fell dead silent, save for the faint hum of the central AC. "Why didn't you show up tonight?" she finally blurted out, unable to handle the quiet. "I had prior engagements," I replied. "More important than my wedding?" I stared at her, unblinking. "To me?

Absolutely." The blood rushed out of her face. "Are you just doing this to be petty?" "No," I said, my voice dropping to a glacial chill. "I'm just prioritizing my assets." She stared at me like she was looking at a stranger. "Are you genuinely not hurting over this at all?" I let the question hang in the air for a second. "Hurting is a useless metric.

It doesn't fix a damn thing." I crossed my arms. "You're a married woman now.

Me having a breakdown isn't going to rewrite the contract." Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her own forearms. "You never used to be this cold." "I used to think there was room for negotiation," I stated, my tone devoid of any warmth. "Now I realize some deals are just dead on arrival." Chapter 6