Chapter 61 - 0061: Hey Big Brother

Chapter 61: Chapter 0061: Hey Big Brother

Graham’s Point Of View

The heavy oak door of my ground-floor study slammed shut behind me, the sharp click of the deadbolt locking into place sounding like a vault door sealing off a warzone. I dropped heavily into my executive chair, raking both hands down my face until my palms stung.

My knees still trembled faintly from the confrontation at the dining table, a humiliating reminder that even a man who commanded boardrooms and armies of lawyers could be reduced to this... shaking, furious, and utterly powerless against his own household.

The silence in the room was suffocating. Every ticking second brought back the image of Elena’s wicked, mocking smirk at the dining table, her dark eyes flashing as she purred into her phone. "Hey, baby..."

The sheer audacity of her, playing me like a cheap fiddle in front of my mother and Lillian, had my pulse hammering against my ribs like a trapped beast.

I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes until colors burst behind my lids, desperate to erase the memory, but it clung there stubbornly, taunting me.

Before I could even drag a breath into my lungs, a timid, soft knock rattled the mahogany wood.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have the patience for anyone.

The door unlocked from the outside... a spare key I’d foolishly given her, and Lillian slipped inside. She had changed out of her lavender dress and into a soft cream silk outfit that hugged her small frame, her eyes downcast, the picture of timid, repentant grace.

She looked small, fragile, and utterly terrified as she closed the door quietly behind her, as though the click of the latch might summon my anger down on her head.

"Graham..." she whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she stepped over the thick Persian rug. "I... I came to apologize. I couldn’t let you sit in here angry with me."

I didn’t move. I kept my elbows propped on the desk, my chin resting on my laced fingers, glaring at her through the dim lighting of the study. "I told you I needed silence, Lillian."

"I know, and I’m so sorry, babe," she pleaded, rushing forward until she was standing right at the edge of my desk, her lower lip trembling. "I didn’t mean to upset you at breakfast. Truly, I didn’t. I was just... I was worried about you. I saw how stressed you were with the board, and when your mother started talking, I just wanted to keep the peace. I didn’t mean to provoke Elena."

"Well, you did," I said, my voice dropping into an icy, unyielding growl. "You sat in her chair, wearing diamond earrings I bought you, talking about her womb like you were a saint delivering a sermon. Do you have any idea how that looked to her?!"

Lillian flinched, tears instantly welling up in her amber eyes. "I was just trying to be nice! I didn’t know she would snap like that!"

"Elena didn’t snap without cause!" I roared, slamming my flat palm against the desk so hard the brass lamp rattled. "I warned you once, Lillian, and I am going to tell you for the absolute last time... know your place in this house!"

Lillian gasped, taking a step back, her hand dropping over her tiny bump. For a moment, guilt flickered through me at the sight of her flinching like a wounded animal, but the memory of Elena’s humiliated expression at the table smothered it before it could take root.

"You are here because I chose to protect my child," I continued, standing up and towering over her with cold, merciless authority. "I brought you into this estate so you wouldn’t have to deal with the stress and media burden of pregnancy alone in some apartment! But make no mistake... this is still Elena’s house! She is my wife! She commands this estate! If you ever speak down to her again, or try to use my mother as a shield to spite her, I will personally pack your bags and put you in a gated compound three states away! Am I making myself clear?!"

Lillian stared at me, her face completely drained of color, terror shining in her wet eyes. She swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. "Yes... yes, Graham. I’m sorry. I understand. I swear I understand."

"Good," I grunted, sinking back into my chair, my chest heaving. "Now leave me alone. I have critical corporate issues to handle."

She stood there for a long, agonizing second, her fingers twisting together, and I almost believed she would finally obey and leave. But instead of retreating, she rounded the desk slowly, her soft slippers making no sound against the floor. Before I could push my chair back, she sank into my lap, wrapping her delicate arms tightly around my neck.

"Graham, please don’t be mad at me," she whimpered, burying her face into the crook of my neck, her soft curves pressing against my chest. "I can’t take it when you look at me with so much hatred. It hurts the baby. It hurts me."

"Lillian, get up," I warned, my hands going to her waist to push her off. "I am not in the mood for this."

"Just five minutes, please," she begged, tilting her face up to mine. Her amber eyes were wide, glossy, and drowning in desperation. "Come with me to the city today. Just for an hour or two. I need to get proper maternity clothes at the boutique in the East Quarter... my stomach is swelling and none of my designer skirts fit. Please, Graham. I don’t want to go alone. People are staring at me, whispering about being your mistress... I need you beside me."

"No," I snapped, my grip tightening on her waist to lift her off. "I have three board meetings and urgent security reports. Go with the driver."

"Graham, please!" Lillian insisted, her fingers clutching the lapels of my suit jacket with sudden, fiercely possessive strength. She leaned in close, her warm, sweet perfume clouding my senses. "Just the boutique! Two hours! You can bring your laptop in the car! Please... don’t leave me alone today."

Before I could bark out another refusal, Lillian leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine.

It wasn’t a gentle, timid kiss. It was deep, heavy, and intensely sensual... a desperate, calculated effort to melt my resistance and reclaim my attention from the ghost of my wife.

She parted her lips, sliding her tongue against mine, her hand moving up to grip the back of my neck, pulling me down into her heat. She kissed me like a woman fighting for her life, pouring all her warmth, her sweetness, and her body into the mold of my chest.

For a split second, the sheer sensory overload forced a low, dark groan from my throat. My fingers dug instinctively into her hips, deepening the kiss, allowing the primal heat to drown out the noise in my head. Somewhere beneath the haze, a small, disgusted part of me recognized exactly what she was doing, and hated myself for letting it work anyway.

When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her breath ragged, her cheeks flushed with victory.

"Please, babe?" she whispered against my mouth, her thumb gently tracing my jawline. "Just the boutique. Then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the week."

I closed my eyes, exhaling a long, defeated breath through my nose. My head was pounding, my body exhausted from the emotional warfare. "Fine. Two hours. But if you delay me by one minute, I am leaving you there."

Lillian squealed softly, pressing a quick, triumphant kiss to my cheek before sliding off my lap. "Thank you! I’ll get my coat!"

Ten minutes later, my personal cell phone buzzed sharply in my pocket as I stepped into the private elevator down to the garage. I yanked it out, seeing the caller ID.

Marcus. Head of Security.

I swiped the screen instantly, pressing the phone to my ear as Lillian walked ahead of us toward the sleek black SUV. "What do you have, Marcus?"

"Sir... it’s about him," Marcus stammered, his voice laced with a rare, shaking panic. "It’s about Jaxx. He’s back."

Every drop of blood instantly drained from my face. My footsteps froze on the polished concrete of the garage floor. The elevator doors slid shut behind me with a soft chime, absurdly cheerful against the sudden roar in my ears.

"What the hell do you mean, back?" I growled, my voice dropping into a lethal, terrifying register.

"He’s here in the city, Mr. Sinclair," Marcus whispered urgently. "Got word from one of our spotters near the East Quarter. Saw his motorcade yesterday evening."

My blood surged into a violent, boiling froth. "Yesterday?! You said he’s in town! When the fuck did he arrive?!"

"About... a week ago, sir."

A massive vein throbbed violently in my temple. My roar ripped through the quiet garage, echoing off the concrete walls. "A week?!! You mean to tell me that bastard has been in my city for an entire week and I’m just hearing this now?!!"

"I... I only just got confirmation, sir..."

"Of what fucking use are you to me then?!!" I thundered, my fist clenching so hard my knuckles popped. "What the hell have I been paying your team millions for?!!"

"I’m sorry, sir, I thought..."

"Shut the hell up!" I snarled, disconnecting the call. In a fit of pure, unadulterated fury, I hurled the phone across the garage. It shattered against the concrete pillar with a deafening crack, glass and metallic pieces scattering everywhere, skittering across the concrete like shrapnel from a grenade.

Lillian jumped, letting out a sharp gasp, spinning around to look at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Graham! What’s wrong?!"

"Get in the car," I barked, my voice dark, dangerous, and completely unhinged.

I didn’t wait for her. I yanked the rear door open, shoved myself onto the leather seat, and stared out the tinted window as the driver sped out of the estate. My reflection stared back at me, hollow-eyed and pale, a stranger wearing my face.

Jaxx. Fucking Jaxx. Even the sound of his name in my mind felt like toxic venom sliding down my throat. That bastard was pure, unadulterated poison. Always had been. Always would be.

I remembered the last time he crossed into my territory three years ago. Multi-million-dollar supply lines hijacked. Corporate board members bribed. My security details ambushed in broad daylight. Every time that ruthless son of a bitch showed his face, absolute chaos rained down.

He had no respect for law, no fear of consequences, no morals. Just raw, terrifying audacity and lethal intent. I could still remember the smell of smoke and copper from that last encounter, the way it clung to my clothes for days afterward like a curse I couldn’t wash off.

He didn’t care about corporate alliances. He didn’t care about who he burned to ashes.

And now he was back. In my city.

Why? Why now?!

My mind raced through a hundred violent possibilities. Was he here to hijack the upcoming merger? Was he setting up a rival syndicate in the East Quarter?

Or... was he here for something far worse?

The thought alone sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through my gut. I pulled open the armrest compartment, yanked out an encrypted backup phone, and rapidly dialed my secondary security chief. The line picked up on the second ring.

"Yeah, boss?"

"I want eyes on him. Day and night," I ordered, my voice an icy whisper that promised murder. "I want to know where he sleeps, who he talks to, what he’s drinking, where he’s pissing. I want to know the exact second his fucking heart beats!"

"Understood, sir. You want us to engage?"

"No contact!" I snapped. "No threats. Just watch him. For now."

"And if he gets close to anything or anyone that matters to you, Mr. Sinclair?"

My jaw clenched until my teeth ground together. "Then you end him. Fast. Quietly. Leave his body in the river."

"Got it."

I slammed the phone shut. My knuckles were pure white, my chest heaving as if I’d just run a marathon. Damn it. I wasn’t ready for this war. Not today. Not with my marriage crumbling around my feet, not with Elena’s silence eating through me like acid, not with Lillian carrying my child in the seat beside me.

The high-end designer boutique in the East Quarter smelled suffocatingly of lavender candles and heavy floral perfume... sweet, flowery, and utterly nauseating. The kind of sickly scent that makes your lungs burn when your head is already a chaotic crime scene.

I stood by the gilded garment racks near the glass entrance, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, my jaw locked so tight it pained my ears. Every few seconds my gaze cut toward the door, some primal instinct refusing to let me fully settle, as though the walls themselves might crack open and spill Jaxx’s chaos into the room.

Pastel pink walls. Mirrored marble pillars. Plush velvet seating. Everything about the establishment radiated curated, high-society elegance. And yet, none of it could distract me from the terrifying thunder of my pulse.

I held my backup phone to my ear.

Ring... ring... ring...

"Your call has been forwarded to automated voicemail..."

I ended it, my thumb frantically pressing redial.

Ring... ring... ring...

"Elena... please," I muttered under my breath, my voice raw, desperate, and broken. "Pick up the damn phone. Please, baby. Just answer me."

I hated the way my voice cracked. I hated how pathetically weak I sounded... like a dying man begging for a drop of water. But I was. God help me, I was begging. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I registered the absurdity of it: Graham Sinclair, feared across three industries, reduced to pleading with a dial tone.

Voicemail.

I shut my eyes tight, swallowing hard against the violent lump in my throat, inhaling through my nose, trying desperately to shove down the clawing panic consuming my chest.

Lillian had vanished into the boutique’s private VIP fitting lounge fifteen minutes ago, coercing three terrified sales assistants into carrying armfuls of silk maternity gowns she probably wouldn’t even wear.

I lowered the phone, staring blankly at the ornate wallpaper ahead of me. Every second of silence from Elena felt like a physical blow to my chest. Her silence was deafening. It was killing me. I found myself wondering, with a bitterness that surprised even me, whether she was safe, or whether she simply didn’t care enough to answer.

And then... something shifted in the air.

It was subtle at first... a sudden, sharp drop in atmospheric pressure. The kind of heavy, static charge that fills the sky right before a bolt of lightning tears a building in half. My security instincts, honed by years of surviving corporate and street wars, flared wildly to life.

The ambient chatter of the boutique died down. The soft background jazz seemed to mute itself.

My eyes slowly lifted toward the front of the store.

No fucking way.

Broad, commanding shoulders that filled the entire doorway. Low-slung black jeans. A fitted black shirt clinging to his muscular frame like a second skin. Intricate, dark ink tattoos crept up the side of his neck like lethal black vines, disappearing beneath his jaw.

He walked with an effortless, predatory grace... like the ground beneath his boots owed him rent, like he was born solely to shatter the peace of lesser men.

He strolled right through the boutique’s grand glass doors as if he owned the entire street, looking like chaos incarnate taking a casual stroll through velvet and lace.

And then his eyes drifted over the gold racks... and locked straight onto mine.

He stopped. A slow, razor-sharp smirk spread across his face.

That fucking smirk.

The exact same arrogant, mocking twist of his lips I hadn’t seen in years, but one that had haunted my darkest nightmares more times than I would ever admit to a living soul. It was a smirk that always, without exception, left a trail of blood and ruin behind it. My hands curled into fists at my sides before I even realized I had moved.

My throat constricted into a tight knot. My blood turned to absolute ice. My heart literally paused in my chest - just for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough to feel the cold touch of dread.

He strolled closer, his steps slow, deliberate, and completely unbothered, using two long fingers to pull his black aviator sunglasses off his face. Beneath them were eyes filled with the same reckless, lethal fire that had nearly destroyed my empire years ago.

He stopped five feet away from me, towering, dark, and utterly untouchable.

He opened his mouth, his voice dropping into the quiet, elegant room - smooth, controlled, sharp as a switchblade, and heavy with a terrifying history.

"Hey, big brother."