Page 7 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

THEO

I t had been a week since that night at the Hollow. Since I’d laid eyes on every single one of my dreams turned into reality, my life became a living nightmare.

Seven days of discipline, while I felt like I was splitting apart at the seams. Of straightening my tie, keeping my tone even, and my hands still. Of ignoring the flicker of memory every time Sin smiled at someone else. And the irrational jealousy that clawed under my skin.

I’d spent years perfecting the art of control. But Sinclair Soul was chaos incarnate. And chaos never played fair.

He’d blown into Brookhaven Ridge Country Club like the laws of this world didn’t apply to him.

Hair mussed, shirt untucked just enough to be noticed.

That mouth—always on the edge of a grin or a sin.

I wanted a taste, hungered for it. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, not technically.

He didn’t do anything right either. But I knew it for what it was.

A test.

And I was failing.

Every goddamn day, I felt it. His presence was like static just beneath my skin. I couldn’t look directly at him too long without losing track of what I was saying. I couldn’t not look at him without feeling like I was missing something. He consumed every thought in my head.

He was always there. Leaning against counters, tossing bar towels over his shoulder with that stupid, effortless flair. His jokes were too sharp, his laugh too loud, and all of it aimed just close enough to me to feel like a warning shot. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he remembered.

And I—I was choking on silence.

The knock on my office door wasn’t expected, nor was it a surprise. My father didn’t believe in scheduling meetings with me—he believed in interruptions.

“Come in,” I said flatly.

He stepped inside like he owned the air in the room. In a way, he did. This was still his club, even if my name was stamped on everything. It was only a matter of time until I signed in blood on the dotted line, and the mantle was passed to me.

“The Ballantyne deal,” he said, without preamble. “Gregory’s son is visiting tomorrow. I expect you to handle him. Personally. ”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“He’s… particular. Young, entitled. But influential. If he walks out unimpressed, the family pulls their investment from the west wing expansion.”

“I can manage him.”

He gave me a look like I’d said something deeply na?ve. “Can you?”

I swallowed. “I can.”

“You were distracted during the board presentation on Tuesday. You missed three minor errors in the financials.”

“I corrected them.”

“Too late. The impression was made.” His voice sharpened, eyes narrowing like he was assessing a crack in fine porcelain.

“You don’t get second chances in this world, Theo.

You show weakness once, and people will spend years looking for more.

I promise you they will find them along with every skeleton in your closet and use them to their benefit. ”

“Understood.” I exhaled through my nose, the walls closing in around me.

He moved closer, voice dropping. “And watch the staff. I saw the way one of the servers looked at you the other day.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. A cold shiver crawled down my spine. “Excuse me?”

He smiled tightly. “This place has eyes, Theo. If you’re going to command respect, you don’t fraternize. You don’t indulge.” He straightened my collar without asking, then patted my shoulder like I was twelve and still eager to please him. “Be better than this place. Or it will eat you alive.”

Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him like a judgment. I felt hollow. Nothing I ever did was good enough for him, and trying to measure up to his expectations was akin to scaling Everest single-handedly.

I walked the club floor, my mind lost in a daze, my father’s words reverberating in my head and a storm of crushing emotion behind my ribs.

The club was immaculate as always—white tablecloths, polished silverware, fresh cut flowers on each table.

It was a graveyard of expensive taste, paying homage to the past rather than moving with the times.

The air always smelled faintly of money and desperation.

The kind of place where people smiled with all their teeth and none of their soul.

This was my inheritance. My future. My cage.

Another hoop I had to jump through for my father to prove myself. To prove I was worthy of the Astor name and carrying on our legacy. But as days faded into years under his thumb, I realized how little I wanted all this.

As was so often the case for people like me, I was a product of my upbringing. Trapped. My life preordained. Free will didn’t exist. What would I do with my life if I weren’t here? What did I enjoy? What were my passions?

I didn’t know because I’d never been allowed to figure out who I really was.

The only thing I knew was that I could want someone with every fiber of my being, but never be allowed to touch them. That was my burden to bear in silence.

I heard Sin before I saw him—his voice, that irreverent lilt, rising over the drone of brunch prep in the kitchen.

“No, no—see, if you garnish the champagne with basil and mint, it just screams ‘I make questionable decisions in Europe.’ You want subtle rich. Not coked-out yacht boy rich.”

Laughter followed him like a halo. He was like gravity; everyone was inexplicably drawn to him. His presence gave them life like they had been slowly dying inside until he brought them back.

He didn’t care about protocol. He made the guests laugh, which made the floor managers tense and Timothy foam at the mouth with rage. He bent the rules without breaking them. Just enough to stand out. Just enough to drive me insane.

Just enough to drive that nail of want deeper under my skin.

He passed by me in the hallway, balancing a tray of champagne flutes, eyes flicking over me with smug intent. “Nice tie, boss. Is that ‘daddy’s disappointment’ blue?”

I stiffened. “It’s navy.”

“Oh,” he said, mock-innocent. “Tragic lighting.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t afford to. If I gave him an inch, he’d burn the whole house down and leave me trapped inside it.

He winked as he passed me, like he’d won something. And maybe he had. Because beneath all the polish and inherited authority—I wanted him. Still . A week later, and I couldn’t scrub him out of my mind.

The quarterly numbers bled together on the page, a sea of percentages and projections that refused to make sense no matter how hard I squinted. My eyes burned. My patience wore thin. With a frustrated breath, I shoved back from my desk and crossed the room in long, tense strides.

I stopped at the window—floor-to-ceiling glass that framed the eighteenth green like a painting hung in a museum. Outside, the landscape was surgical in its precision. Every blade of grass clipped to uniformity, every flower bed curated for maximum aesthetic impact. But even so, it was beautiful.

The trees lining the fairway swayed gently in the early afternoon breeze, their leaves flickering like coins—sunlight catching on the edges, flashing from emerald to jade and back again. Beyond the pristine sand traps and the velvet stretch of green, the sky was impossibly blue and cloudless.

I pressed a palm to the cool glass, letting my eyes unfocus.

I could almost feel it—the wind brushing against my skin, the sun warming the back of my neck.

I pictured walking barefoot across the green, the grass damp and soft beneath my feet, grounding me in something real, something untouched by expectations and legacy and quarterly profit margins.

But the glass between us was thick. And I wasn’t allowed to run barefoot. Not here. Not even as a child. Never.

Lost in thought, it took me a few minutes to realize a beautiful reflection had become the focal point of my view. Sinclair leaned in the doorway of my office like he lived there. A smirk curled his full lips, dark eyes glinting, hands hidden in his pockets.

“You’re really leaning into the whole ‘rich people mausoleum’ aesthetic,” he chuckled. “Just needs a sarcophagus and maybe some tragic poetry etched in gold.”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

He strolled in, easy and slow, like the space obeyed him. “Thought you should know table sixteen sent their compliments. Said the server was charming and exceptionally attractive. ” His smirk widened. “Guess who that was?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Oh, I live to be helpful.”

I turned back toward the window, trying not to let my eyes flick downward to his mouth. “Do you enjoy being difficult?”

“I enjoy being me. But apparently, that’s the same thing around here.” He crossed the room until his hands rested on my desk. “You look tired. You should get laid.”

I froze. Spine rigid, shoulders hunched up by my ears.

He grinned. “What? I’m just being helpful again.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Pushing what , Theo?” His voice dropped into something silky. Dangerous. It wrapped around me and tugged me toward him. “Your buttons? Your patience? Or is that something else I’m feeling every time I walk past you?”

“This isn’t a game.” I ground my teeth and clenched my fists.

“No,” he whispered, “but I bet you’d be really fun to play with.”

Silence stretched between us and intensified. Tight as a wire pulled taut between two cliffs.

I turned to face him head-on, stepped closer, eyes locked on his. “You think you’re clever.”

He smiled. “I know I’m pretty. The clever part’s just a bonus.”

“You need to be careful.”

“Why?” he taunted. “You might finally lose that iron composure of yours and touch me? Take what you want but won’t allow yourself to?”