Chapter 12
Sebastian Sinclair kicked open the bedroom door, only to find it empty. The vanity was neatly lined with skincare products—except for her favorite rose perfume, which was missing.
His phone lit up with a message from Isabella Whitlock: “Sebastian, did Eleanor go back to her parents’ place?”
Gritting his teeth, he yanked off his tie, his gaze landing on the glaring document atop the nightstand. The gilded words “Prenup Agreement” burned his eyes.
“Eleanor Knight!” He dialed her number, his voice laced with fury.
Her cool tone answered. “What is it, Mr. Sinclair?”
“Are you done with this tantrum?” He snatched up the papers. “You’re filing for divorce just because I didn’t come home?”
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows where Eleanor stood, her fingers brushing the leaves of a newly bought plant.
“You misunderstand,” she said lightly. “I’m not asking. I’m informing you.”
Sebastian flipped through the agreement, his pupils constricting. On the last page was his own signature—dated three months prior.
“Impossible!” His voice shook. “When did I sign this?”
“The night of the quarterly celebration.” Eleanor pulled up the security footage on her tablet. “Should I send you the video?”
The screen showed him, drunk, with Isabella draped over his arm as he carelessly signed the document. Eleanor had stood nearby, calmly collecting it afterward.
A cold sweat broke across Sebastian’s forehead. He’d been wasted that night, but this—
“You set me up!” He hurled the papers to the ground. “I won’t acknowledge this!”
“Suit yourself.” She took a sip of coffee. “The lawyer’s notice will arrive at your office tomorrow.”
The dial tone hit him like a slap. As he stared at the scattered pages, his eyes caught a line of red ink beside the asset division clause:
“Down payment for Ms. Whitlock’s apartment has been reclaimed.”
His blood ran cold.
She had known everything.
