Chapter 4 Ruan Sinclair
Ruan Sinclair stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass in his office, watching the city of New York spread out below. He liked the view from up high because it was quiet. He took a sip of his black coffee, barely noticing its bitterness because his mind was still caught on the memory of a storm-scented woman who had disappeared six weeks ago.
"Mr. Sinclair," a voice called from the doorway, breaking his concentration.
Ruan turned slowly to see Cole, his private investigator, who could find a needle in a haystack. Cole looked nervous as he crossed the carpet. He placed a thin folder on the glass desk, hesitating, which showed how tough this particular search had been. The woman had covered her tracks with the skill of someone who had everything to lose.
"Tell me you found her," Ruan said, his voice low and impatient. He watched as Cole nodded and opened the file.
"It wasn't easy. She paid cash and used a fake name at the hotel," Cole explained, running his fingers along the edge of the document. "But we pulled the security footage from the lobby and ran facial recognition until we got a match."
Ruan set his coffee down and looked at the photo staring back at him. It was a shot taken at a charity lunch. She looked elegant, but her eyes were sad, holding the same shattered look he had seen right before she fell apart in his arms.
"Name?" Ruan asked, leaning over the desk.
"Aysel Vance," Cole said, "She is the wife of David Vance."
Ruan froze, a dark, incredulous laugh rising in his chest, echoing off the cold glass walls. The irony was almost too good. David Vance was the desperate CEO of Vance Tech, who had emailed Ruan’s assistant for months, pleading for a meeting and help for his failing company. Ruan had intended to crush him, to buy his legacy for a chicken change and strip it for parts, but now everything had changed.
"David Vance," Ruan murmured, running his thumb over Aysel’s picture. "So, the woman who hired me to replace her husband is married to the man begging me for money."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope she had left behind; the thick stack of cash felt like an insult to him.
She had tipped him, leaving five thousand dollars on the nightstand as if Ruan Sinclair, a man who could move markets with a whisper, was just a common service provider.
"Does she know who I am?" he asked, narrowing his eyes as he remembered how she had ordered him around.
"I don't think so," Cole replied, shifting his weight. "There was a mix-up with the room numbers that night. The escort she hired from the Platinum Agency went to room 402, but she walked into 404, so she thinks she got what she paid for."
Ruan smirked because he hadn't stopped her. He had grown bored with women who knew his net worth before they knew his eye color. When she walked in demanding silence and release, he had been intrigued enough to play along.
He never expected to become addicted to the way she fell apart or to feel this gnawing hunger that hadn't faded in six weeks.
"David Vance sent another invite this morning," Cole added, breaking the silence.
"For the Charity Gala on Saturday. He is desperate for you to attend. He thinks that if you show up, the other investors will calm down."
Ruan looked at the invite on his screen, then back at Aysel's photo, imagining the look on her face when she realized the man she had slept with wasn't a secret she could bury but the one holding her husband’s future.
"Accept it," Ruan said, closing the folder with a firm snap.
"Sir?" Cole blinked, surprised. "You hate galas."
"I’ve changed my mind," he said, walking back to the window to look out at the city that suddenly felt like a hunting ground. "Tell David Vance I will be there and that I look forward to meeting his family."
Ruan stood in the center of his living room, the only light coming from the city glow outside the window. He looked at the envelope on the coffee table, picked it up, and felt the thickness of the cash she had left him. He didn't spend time thinking about it because he had already made up his mind.
He pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to his assistant, telling her to accept the invitation to the Vance Tech Charity Gala. He tossed the phone onto the sofa next to the money and smiled coldly. He was done waiting. He would go to the party and introduce himself to Mrs. Vance properly.
Across the city, Aysel stood in front of her bedroom mirror, her hands shaking as she tried to pull up the zipper of her gown. It was a gold dress that David had picked out for her weeks ago, and it was supposed to fit perfectly, but tonight the fabric felt tight around her waist. She sucked in her breath and tugged gently, panic rising in her throat. The dress was tight, and her body felt swollen.
She managed to get the zipper up, but it dug into her skin, and a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. She closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the dresser to steady herself.
"Are you still not ready?"
David walked into the room, already dressed in his tuxedo. He looked impatient as he checked his watch. He didn't look at her face to see the sweat on her brow or ask why she was pale. He focused on the dress to make sure she looked expensive enough for his investors.
"I'm ready," Aysel said, forcing her voice to be steady while pressing one hand against her stomach. "The zipper was just a little stuck."
David walked over, adjusted his cufflinks, and sighed loudly.
"We can't be late, Aysel, tonight is crucial, Ruan Sinclair accepted the invitation i sent, If he does show up, I need you to be charming, I need you to be perfect."
Aysel nodded, but the name meant nothing to her. She was too busy fighting the urge to run to the bathroom and throw up. She grabbed her clutch purse and held it in front of her waist.
"I will be charming," she promised, following him out of the room, but her legs felt heavy.
She walked down the stairs, fighting the dizziness with every step. She kept her head high because she was an actor in David’s play.
Once she got into the car, she stared out the window at the passing streetlights, praying that the night would end quickly.
