The Unveiling      

As I stepped inside, the grandeur of the mansion's interior took my breath away. The foyer was vast and open, with a polished marble floor that reflected the soft glow of crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.

The walls were adorned with rich, dark wood paneling and intricate moldings, showcasing the fine craftsmanship that had gone into the estate's construction.

Portraits of distinguished ancestors stared down from their gilded frames, their eyes seemingly following me as I moved.

A grand staircase curved gracefully upwards, its banister a masterpiece of carved mahogany. The air was filled with a faint scent of jasmine and aged books.

The ambiance was one of quiet, almost oppressive, wealth and power.

A stern-faced butler appeared and motioned for me to follow him. We passed through a series of elegantly decorated rooms, each more luxurious than the last.

There was a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound volumes, a drawing room with sumptuous velvet drapes and antique furniture, and a dining room with a long table that could easily seat twenty guests.

Finally, the butler led me to the waiting room. It was a cozy yet opulent space, with plush armchairs upholstered in rich burgundy fabric, a Persian rug that felt soft underfoot, and a large fireplace that crackled with a welcoming warmth. The walls were lined with bookshelves and adorned with tasteful artwork, creating an atmosphere of refined comfort.

I took a seat, my eyes wandering around the room, trying to calm my nerves.

"Miss Eve, Sir Sinclair will be with you shortly," the butler said with a refined smile. "While you wait, may I offer you anything?"

Eve glanced around, then replied, "A strong black coffee and a plate of those chocolate truffles you're hiding in those expensive glass containers."

The butler's eyelid twitched ever so slightly, but he kept his composure. "Of course, Miss Eve," he responded with a stiff nod, turning to fulfill my expensive request.

If Sinclair was going to kill me for what I was about to say, I wanted to die tasting those chocolates one last time. At least I'd die happy.

A few minutes later, an old man stepped through the doors. His hair and beard were pure white, but even at over seventy, his posture was regal, exuding an undeniable aura of authority.

Sinclair sat directly in front of me, his piercing emerald eyes made me straighten my back unknowingly.

"Speak," he commanded, his voice deep, "What is wrong with Sebastian?"

I flashed him my sweetest smile, which only deepened the old man's frown. "Grandfather, I believe this is the first time we've met. Aren't you going to ask your granddaughter how she's doing?"

Sinclair let out a harsh breath, his cane thudding hard against the floor. "Consider yourself lucky you're my grandchild, or I'd have you thrown out."

He started to stand, but I quickly said, "I know something about Sebastian that you don't, and I'm here to make a deal with you."

Here goes nothing.

Sinclair raised an eyebrow before slowly taking his seat again. "What is it?"

I had to hand it to the old man — he really didn't care about me at all! My life was less important to him than his dog's.

I glanced over at his secretary by his side, Victor was his name. Tall, slim, handsome, with a no-nonsense face, cold dark eyes, and long dark hair tied behind his back.

"I want to speak to you alone," I said, hinting at Victor to leave.

Victor's eyes narrowed at me, but I met his gaze with a smirk.

"It's fine, Victor. A little girl couldn't do anything to me," Sinclair said, waving him off.

"As you wish," Victor relented, but not before giving me a warning glance as he left.

What did he think I was going to do, give the old man a heart attack?

"Tell me about Sebastian. You have one minute."

I hadn't prepared what I was going to say, so I just rolled with it. "If I'm going to tell you, I want you to promise—no, actually, write it down in a contract—that you'll protect me when the time comes."

"What is this nonsense about?"

"I know," I said, my tone serious as I held his gaze. "I know I'm not a real Rosette, and that my beloved parents are planning to get rid of me in six months."

Sinclair's face remained unchanged. "So, you know. What about it?"

I thought I was ready for his indifferent response, but it still stung to realize how little he cared. Deep down, I had hoped he was unaware, and that if he did know, he would protect me.

But it was clear now — no one in this family had ever cared enough to save me from being cast aside. 

So be it then.

If Sinclair Rosette sees me as nothing more than a stranger, I'll treat him the same — just another business deal on the table.