Chapter 3 The Sinclair Legacy

Lyra

"Mom, make him stop," my sister whimpered, clutching her head in pain.

Mom simply continued eating her steak, completely unbothered. In fact, judging by the amused twinkle in her eyes, she was enjoying the spectacle.

"Answer me!" Dad bellowed. "How long? And don't you dare lie to me!"

"Two weeks!" Kira screeched. "I haven't gone to class in two weeks!"

"Then where the hell have you been going?!" he yelled.

"The cabin at the edge of the territory," Kira answered quickly. "Near the greenhouses."

Dad's eyes narrowed. "And what have you been doing there?"

Kira hesitated before finally lifting her head, despite the crushing weight of Dad's aura. "If you must know," she ground out, "I've been trying to gain followers on my channel."

Dad stared at her. "Gain followers on your channel?" His voice dropped into a dangerous growl.

Beneath his skin, I could feel Fang stirring. My father's wolf was already at the edge of his control, but Dad was keeping him firmly leashed.

His eyes began to turn yellow though.

"You clearly have no idea what your priorities are as a Sinclair."

Kira swallowed.

"From this day forward, you will no longer have the privilege of using your credit card."

Kira's eyes widened in horror.

Dad held up a hand before she could protest. "Not until you show me that you're worthy of the privilege again."

Kira looked as though he'd just sentenced her to death.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

There were worse punishments than facing an Alpha's aura.

"I'll call Headmaster Thorne in the morning," Dad continued. "You'll stay an hour after school every day for the next month to make up for your absences, and you'll complete extra-credit projects to catch up on the work you've missed. And from school, you come straight home."

Kira's expression became unreadable. I could see the angry set of her jaw.

"And if you fail even one of your subjects," Dad continued, his voice leaving no room for argument, "I will confiscate all your gadgets and have you scrub the floors like an Omega. And you'll wear the uniform that goes with it."

Kira's lip trembled. She looked as though she might cry.

I bit the inside of my cheek again.

That, apparently, was the real punishment.

And just like that, Dad's Alpha aura disappeared.

He picked up his fork and knife and resumed cutting into his steak as though nothing had happened.

As for my sister, she shot up from her chair. "I hate you!"

"Kira—" Mom started.

"I have a life, you know!" she shouted. "I don't want to be some wolf hiding under a pile of snow. I don't want to be the soon-to-be Alpha's sister who has to wear business suits and sit around playing corporate games with a bunch of lawyers and snobby millionaires."

"Kira, sit down—"

But she didn't listen to Mom.

"I want to be a star! An influencer! A celebrity! I want to live in a penthouse with everyone looking up at me. I want to buy designer labels and have an entire room turned into a closet. I want people to admire me. I want people to know me wherever I go!"

She threw her hands into the air.

"And I don't want to be mated to some ugly wolf," Kira said. "I want to be mated to someone I love. Someone I choose. Someone who chooses me. Why does Lyra get to be mated to Jax? Why do I have to wait for someone of your choosing?"

Mom pointed her fork at her. "Honey, be careful what you wish for." She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You might just get it."

Kira stomped her foot like an indignant child. "And how am I supposed to buy food or anything else I need without my card?"

I rolled my eyes. She was being dramatic. Like she didn't have money sitting in her Venmo account.

Then again, maybe she didn't. Maybe she'd already spent it all. Knowing Kira, probably on something she absolutely didn't need.

Dad quietly placed his utensils on his plate, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He handed her a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

"Allowance. For the week."

Kira stared at it. "I can't survive—"

Dad calmly reached out to take the bill back. "You don't want it? Okay." As he began to draw his hand away, Kira snatched it from his fingers.

"I hate you! I hate all of you! " she screamed again before storming toward the stairs.

She stomped all the way to her bedroom, then slammed the door hard enough to make the chandelier tremble.

Dad picked up his fork again. Mom shook her head, trying not to laugh.

I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, but it died the moment I caught the warning glint in my father's eyes.

Dinner continued in silence.

When the plates had been cleared, my father dabbed his mouth with his napkin and looked at me.

“Lyra, do you have a few minutes?”

I already knew the tone. “Accounting?”

He smiled and rose from his chair. “Accounting.”

I kissed my Mom’s cheek and followed Dad into his study, where the air always smelled of leather, old paper, and woodsmoke.

For the next two hours we bent over quarterly reports from the agricultural operations, traced shipping expenses out of Duluth, and hunted a stubborn discrepancy in one of the timber accounts.

Dad never made anything easy for me. He never had.

“Why did transportation costs increase?”

I studied the columns of numbers, the neat rows of figures that told their own quiet stories. “Fuel?”

“Partly.”

“Labor?”

“Good.”

I looked again, slower this time, until the answer rose from the page. “Winter road maintenance.”

He smiled then, the rare, genuine one that reached his eyes. “Exactly."

And I smiled back, because this—this quiet work, the challenge of it, the growing certainty that one day I would sit in his chair and know exactly what I was doing—was what I loved. Not the title. Not the distant idea of being called Alpha. Just the work itself.

It was ten-thirty when Dad finally decided we'd done enough work for the night. While he stepped into the bathroom, I returned the ledgers to the shelves, tucked the files back into his filing cabinet, and shut down his laptop.

As I straightened the papers on his desk, something caught my attention.

A large white envelope lay near the edge of the desk. Red trim, resembling silk ribbon, framed its edges, with the ends meeting in an elaborate bow. In the lower corner was an embossed seal of a crowned wolf.

It was addressed to my father.

The return address read:

The Supreme Alpha Council

c/o The Sovereign Crown Pack

Geneva, Switzerland

I glanced toward the bathroom. I could still hear the water running.

Curiosity got the better of me.

I picked up the envelope. It felt heavy in my hand, weightier than any standard mail.

I carefully eased my thumb under the back flap, trying not to tear the pristine white paper or mar the beautiful red-and-gold border on the front.

Inside was a single sheet of parchment edged in gold.

The scent of expensive, aged paper and a faint trace of wax drifted up as I slid the parchment out. It unfolded with a stiff, heavy snap, the gold edges catching the dim light of the study.

The same crowned-wolf seal was embossed at the top, and beneath it were lines of elegant calligraphy.

I began to read.