The Perfect Heiress

The Only Knight

Vivienne's POV

When I woke up, the world outside was shrouded in darkness. A sudden flash of lightning tore through the sky, casting jagged shadows over the chaos around me. The air was heavy with the sharp, biting scent of alcohol.

Pearl, my dog, anxiously wagged her tail, circling me nonstop. Maybe she thought I had been still for too long—afraid I was dead.

Groggily, I pushed myself up from the couch, my head pounding from last night's drinking. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep in the living room again. Lately, this had become a habit—drinking until I passed out wherever I landed.

Not that I was an alcoholic. No, I was an heiress. An heiress nursing a broken heart over a man.

I had just broken up with my high school sweetheart—or rather, he cheated on me, so I ended it.

I caught him in the act when I visited him on set.

I hadn’t planned on surprising him. It was just one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions, the kind you make when you’re young and in love. I thought it would be sweet—thought he’d be happy to see me.

Instead, I found him tangled up with some up-and-coming actress in his trailer, her bare skin glowing under the dim vanity lights. They didn’t even notice me at first. They were too busy kissing all over each other, moaning as loud as they can.

Then he did.

His face twisted into something between panic and guilt, but the worst part? He didn’t even try to explain. He just stared at me like a deer caught in headlights, like he hadn’t been expecting to get caught so soon.

Everything had been chaotic since.

Our relationship had never been promising to begin with. He was just an ordinary guy, while I was the only daughter of the richest family in New York City—the Sinclair.

And yet, I had wanted it to work. I had used my resources, my connections, everything at my disposal to help him build his career in acting.

Now, it all seemed pointless.

Outside, dense raindrops streaked the glass windows. Inside, the darkness pressed in, thick and unsettling.

The coffee table in front of me was littered with empty bottles, scattered jewelry, and half-eaten pastries. My laptop screen flickered dimly, moments away from shutting off. The screensaver glowed faintly—an old photo of me and him.

Beside it, a cheap-looking tabloid lay discarded. My face dominated the cover, crudely edited with a torn effect, the headline screaming in glaring yellow text:

"Fairytale Shattered! Vivienne Sinclair broke up with her sweetheart Adrian! Even TWO-TIME BEST ACTOR couldn't get into the Sinclair family!"

Before my laptop could go into sleep mode, a new email popped up, illuminating the dim screen.

[Cora: Hello, Miss Sinclair. I am Cora, Assistant to Mr. Knight. Mr. Knight has asked me to check if you would be available for dinner this weekend from 6 to 8 PM. If so, the reservation will be at La Notte Nera on Austin Road. Please let me know of any dietary restrictions. Looking forward to your response.]

Pearl kept circling me, restless.

I stared at it, frozen.

Mr. Knight?

There was only one Knight in all of New York City.

My alcohol-dulled brain sluggishly recalled last month’s heated argument at the Sinclair mansion.

"Vivienne, if you refuse the Knight engagement, fine. If you want to play house with that little actor, fine. Then hand over everything—including Sinclair&Co! Let’s see if he still stays with you when you have nothing!"

"One eccentric in this family is enough—your second brother, Julian, already embarrassed us. Don’t think I’ll allow another celebrity into this house. Over my dead body!"

"Sinclair&Co will go to Lilly. With her fiancé’s backing, she won’t be any worse than you."

Sinclair&Co had once been a renowned French jewelry brand until it fell into decline five years ago. That was when my family’s empire—Sinclair Global Holdings—stepped in, acquiring and rebranding it.

Since then, it had been under my management, thriving in my hands.

And now, Father was just going to hand it all over to Lilly if I refused the arranged marriage he had chosen for me?

Lilly—the social-climbing opportunist who had been a thorn in my side since the day my father acknowledged her existence.

My company. My legacy. And that girl was being gifted all of these on a silver platter?

Over my dead body.

And then there was the man my father had chosen for me—Chuck Knight, the second heir of Knight Enterprises and the future head of the Knight family.

As a husband, he fit the ideal profile in every way.

The Knight family’s legacy spanned six generations, its name synonymous with power and prestige. They owned Knight’s Bank—one of New York’s top five financial institutions—its influence stretching deep into Washington, D.C.’s political circles. Their wealth was unmatched, their authority absolute among the elite.

At just twenty-eight, Chuck Knight was already at the helm of the family empire, overseeing Knight’s Bank with the precision of a seasoned magnate. While other young heirs still relied on their fathers for pocket money, he was commanding billion-dollar investments, shaping the future of finance.

But I’d heard of his playboy reputation more times than I could count.

The wild parties, the secret affairs, an insatiable hunger for power. He was ruthless in business, cutting down rivals with surgical precision.

He was even less suited to be a husband than I was to be his wife. And I refused to spend the rest of my life with a man like him.

I stared at the email, my expression turning ice-cold.

On paper, this union was ideal—mutually beneficial for both families. For me.

But I had never been one to let myself be treated as a mere piece in someone else’s game. Especially not my father’s business dealings.

That he had arranged this engagement simply because I had broken up with someone? That was infuriating.

It felt like a threat—either I walked into this engagement with the number one asshole in NYC, or I lost everything I had built for Sinclair & Co.

Pearl let out a soft whimper, as if sensing my irritation. I exhaled sharply, setting her down on the couch before stretching out my stiff limbs.

No. If my father believed I would simply submit and let him dictate my life, he was gravely mistaken.

As the sun rose, its golden light spilling into my room, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead. Today, I would go to Sinclair Headquarters, demand an explanation for this abrupt dinner arrangement, and, if possible, persuade my brother to help me get out of this engagement.