Revenge of the Billionaire Heiress

Arabella

The Sinclair Enterprises tower stood like a monument of glass, steel, and ambition rising twenty-five floors above Manhattan's oldest financial district. Arabella stepped out of the front seat of car, and walked through the rotating doors without pausing.

No appointment. No text ahead. That was the privilege of being Arabella Sinclair.

The polished marble floors reflected the elegant cut of her cream trousers, the sway of her ivory silk blouse. She wore her hair down today brushed into smooth, loose waves and a pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her head like a tiara.

She passed through the security gates with a slight smile, barely glancing at the staff who nodded in recognition. Everyone in the building knew who she was. She wasn't just Leonard Sinclair's daughter, she was the princess of the Sinclair family, they all talked about. The one who walked red carpets and closed business deals in the same breath.

Arabella was here for one thing: a spontaneous lunch with her father. But she figured she'd stop upstairs first and see if any of her brothers were working in their office.

The executive floor was quiet, as always. Elegant in a their own way, Arabella loved the contrast between here and the chaos of the outside world.

She turned down the left corridor and peeked into Parker's office first. Empty. Typical. He was probably golfing or "networking" at some rooftop bar with that model who called herself a creative director.

Next was Hudson. His assistant greeted her with a wide smile.

"Miss Sinclair. He just stepped into a call."

Arabella smiled back. "Tell him his favorite sister stopped by."

The woman laughed. "You're his only sister."

Arabella winked. "Exactly."

She continued toward Grant's office, the one that always made her think of discipline and spreadsheets. He was the most serious of the three, always deep in a project or some negotiation. But he still had a soft spot for her. They all did.

His assistant wasn't at her desk, so she knocked lightly on the door and stepped in.

Grant was seated at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened slightly, his focus on a portfolio of printed spreadsheets. His eyes lifted at the sound of the door.

"Bella."

"Grant." She stepped in smoothly. "Tell me you're not too busy to take a break for your favorite sibling."

He leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "What brings you here?"

"I'm meeting Dad downstairs for lunch. Thought I'd check in on the brothers first. See if any of you are alive."

He raised an eyebrow. "And you thought you'd wander the building in those heels, causing a stir?"

"Always," she said sweetly, crossing to sit across from him. "You missed brunch the other day"

"Board meeting ran long."

"I thought so, Hudson said you've been deep in a new proposal."

He shrugged. "A few things. You know how it is."

Arabella tilted her head, studying him. "You always say that when you're not telling me something."

Grant's smile faded just a little. "Not everything is a secret."

"Mm. I'm not convinced."

He stood, reaching for his suit jacket. "Come on. Let's walk down together."

She stood with him, falling into step as they exited the office and moved toward the private elevator. Their reflections danced in the gold-trimmed mirrors of the lift his tall, composed frame next to her elegance.

"Dad said to meet him in the dining room," she said casually.

"Of course he did."

The elevator chimed and opened on the ground floor, where the hush of the executive lobby softened into the curated calm of Sinclair's in-house restaurant.

Leonard Sinclair was already seated, a glass of bourbon in one hand, a newspaper folded beside him. He looked up as they approached, smiling wide.

"There's my girl."

Arabella kissed his cheek, then slipped into the seat beside him.

"You didn't tell me this was going to be a family lunch," he added, gesturing to Grant.

"She didn't," Grant replied dryly.

Arabella grinned. "Surprises keep things fun."

Their father chuckled. "Still running the company like your mother ran the household only prettier."

"Prettier and more organized," Arabella corrected, lifting her water glass. "Cheers to legacy."

As they placed their orders and the soft murmur of conversation surrounded them, Arabella felt a rare calm settle over her. For all the cracks showing in her personal life for all the whispers about Preston, the tension she was ignoring this right here was hers. Her family. Her bloodline. Her place.

Being around her family always gave her a form of peace.