Sinclair's Lost Heir[The Rise Of The Betrayed Son-in-law]

CHAPTER 4

Ethan’s POV

Inside, the bedroom was nothing short of opulent. A massive king-sized bed, draped in silk sheets, stood against a backdrop of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking an expansive garden.

A chandelier hung overhead, casting warm golden light across the room.

There was a walk-in closet that looked larger than my old apartment, and a bathroom that gleamed with pristine marble and gold accents. A seating area, complete with a fireplace and leather armchairs, added to the grandeur.

"Take some time to settle in," Olivia said, her voice softer now. "It’s a lot to process. Rest. Grandfather will want to see you first thing in the morning."

She left me alone in the vast room, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through my hair. Just hours ago, I had been in a prison cell, my future nothing but a bleak stretch of empty years.

Now, I was standing in the palace, my name carrying a weight I hadn’t yet fully grasped. I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts of what was to come.

---

The next morning, a soft knock pulled me from my sleep. I blinked, momentarily disoriented, until I remembered where I was.

"Boss Ethan?" A gentle voice called from the other side of the door.

I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Come in."

The door creaked open, and a pair of maids entered, their uniforms pristine. One carried a tray of breakfast—fresh fruit, eggs, and what smelled like freshly baked bread—while the other approached cautiously.

"Your grandfather requests your presence at breakfast," she said with a respectful bow of her head.

I nodded, standing up and stretching. "Tell him I’ll be there."

After quickly freshening up, I followed the maids down another long corridor, my mind still adjusting to this new existence. Every turn revealed more of the palace’s grandeur—artwork that belonged in museums, vases worth more than my entire past life, and servants who moved with precision and deference.

The dining hall was nothing short of breathtaking. A massive glass chandelier hung above a long mahogany table set with fine china and gold-plated cutlery. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in natural light, offering a view of the lush estate gardens. At the head of the table sat William Sinclair.

He stood the moment I entered, a broad smile lighting up his face. His presence was commanding—an aura of authority radiated from him effortlessly. Despite his age, he carried himself with the poise of a man still very much in control of his empire.

"Ethan," he greeted warmly. "Come, sit."

I hesitated for just a fraction of a second before moving toward him. The moment I was close enough, he clasped my shoulder, his grip firm.

"I have waited for this moment for years," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "To finally see you standing before me."

I didn’t know how to respond. What did you say to a man who had spent decades searching for you?

"I…" I started, but he shook his head, his smile unwavering.

"There will be plenty of time for words," he assured me. "For now, eat. You’ll need your strength."

The meal was filled with quiet observations. William asked me questions about my past, my experiences, the years I had spent believing I was alone. And though I still felt like an outsider at this table, there was something undeniably reassuring about his presence.

When breakfast was over, he placed a hand on my shoulder again. "Come with me. There is much to show you."

….

The Sinclair Business Headquarters was an architectural masterpiece—an imposing glass and steel structure that towered over the city skyline. The moment we stepped through its grand entrance, I felt the sheer magnitude of what it meant to be a Sinclair. Employees dressed in immaculate suits moved with purpose, nodding respectfully as we passed.

"This," The President said, gesturing around, "is your legacy."

He led me through the sleek, modern corridors, explaining various divisions of the company—the oil sector, the financial investments, the philanthropic branches. Everywhere I turned, there were reminders of the Sinclair name, engraved into plaques, etched onto awards, spoken in reverent tones.

"You will need to learn everything," he told me as we stepped into an expansive boardroom overlooking the city. "The Sinclair Empire is vast, and soon, you will be at its helm."

I swallowed, the weight of his words pressing down on me. "I don’t know the first thing about running a business of this scale."

William chuckled. "You will learn. And you will have the best teachers."

He turned to face me fully, his expression suddenly serious. "In a few days, there will be a dinner. The most powerful figures in our world will be there. You will be introduced formally."

I exhaled sharply. "So soon?"

"The world must know you are back," he said simply. "And you must be ready."

His gaze bore into mine, filled with expectation. "Give me your best, Ethan. That is all I ask."

I nodded slowly, determination stirring within me. "I will."

As I stood in the towering glass room, gazing out at the city below, I realized that my life had truly changed. And for the first time in years, I felt something stir deep within me—something I hadn’t felt since the Hales had destroyed me.

Hope.

But beneath that hope was something even stronger.

Vengeance.