Blood Is Not A Contract

Chasing her

Adrian Sinclair was terrible at chasing people.

He was good at mergers, at takeovers, at walking into a room and having everyone stand. But asking a girl to lunch? Buying her dresses? Telling her he didn’t want her to leave?

He had no manual for that.

So he kept doing what he knew: business logic. Excuses.

*Excuse #1: The Mall*

"Get ready," he said on Saturday morning. "We are going to Sinclair Mall. I need to observe the new wing."

Nora, in her faded dress and messy bun, looked up from making tea. "You need me to observe your mall?"

"Yes. Customer perspective. You are a young customer. A Sinclair customer."

His ears were red.

At the mall, he bought anything— she looked at twice or her eyes lingered on for a little too long,

she said a dressed looked beautiful— he got it. She said the shoes look nice— and he packed it.

she was excited to have the chance to see a real chanel bag, and he bought all the limited editions in the shop for her.

Exaggerated—but Adrian didnot know how to show love without being awkward. So he did it the only way he knew how to.

"It's not for you," he said in the car, staring straight ahead. "It's for the Sinclair reputation. You cannot wear faded dresses. People will say I mistreat my wife."

Nora looked at the bags and then at him. "Okay... for the Sinclair name."

He nodded, relieved she bought it. She didn’t.

*Excuse #2: The Air*

On Sunday he came downstairs and announced, "I need air. There is a restaurant by the lake. I need to check if the air there is good for business."

"Air?"

"For a new project. Fresh air is good for studying. You should come."

Another terrible excuse.

At the lake, he ordered everything she liked and kept pushing the plates to her.

"Eat. You are too thin. Ellie mentioned it in her... report."

"You asked Ellie about me?"

"No. She volunteered the information. As staff. Part of daily report."

Nora smiled into her juice. All his excuses were leaking.

*Excuse #3: The University*

Monday night. He put an envelope on the dinner table.

Nora opened it. Admission letter. City A Elite University.

Her mouth fell open. "Adrian, this is the most expensive university in the city."

"You carry the Sinclair last name now," he said stiffly. "You cannot study on scholarship at a cheap university. People will think I mistreat my wife. City A Elite is where Sinclair wives should study."

"I have a scholarship already," she said softly.

"It's canceled," he said quickly. "I called them. Full scholarship at City A Elite instead. Fees paid. You start next month. They have the best education department. Since you want to be a teacher."

She stared at him. "You remembered I want to be a teacher."

"I remember everything my wife says. For reputation management."

She stood up and hugged him, quick and grateful. Adrian froze, then patted her back once, awkwardly, like he was defusing a bomb.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"It's nothing. It's just money," he muttered.

It was everything to her.

*The Dormitory Problem*

Two weeks later, the letter from City A Elite came with housing forms.

"On-campus dormitory option," Nora read. "It's included. It's cheaper and closer to classes."

Adrian, who was pretending to read the news, snapped the paper shut.

"No."

Nora blinked. "No?"

"You will not stay in a dormitory."

"Why not?"

"Because." He had no reason prepared. He scrambled. "Because... you carry the Sinclair last name. Sinclair wives do not live in dorms. It looks bad. What if the press finds out? 'Billionaire’s wife lives in shared dorm.' My reputation."

"Adrian, thousands of students live in dorms—"

"And none of them are married to me."

The way he said _married to me_ made Nora go quiet.

"But the commute is long," she said.

"I will have a driver take you. Every day. Back and forth. That is the solution."

He said it like it was a compromise. It wasn’t. It was him making sure she came home to him every night.

Nora didn’t argue. Because part of her liked that he wanted her home.

*The Accident*

Adrian wasn’t supposed to see them.

It was late. He came downstairs to get water and saw Nora’s notebook open on the coffee table. She had fallen asleep on the sofa, head tilted, pen still in her hand.

He was only going to close the notebook.

But the first page had a dress. Not just any dress. A flowing cream gown with soft pleats, with tiny buttons down the back. Next page: a business suit but feminine, with sharp lines. Next: a school uniform redesign that looked expensive but comfortable.

Adrian stopped breathing.

He flipped another page. Sketches, fabric notes, little comments in the margin: _maybe chiffon here?_ _too much lace?_

He had never seen anything like it. His wife, who he thought only studied business law, could draw like this.

He backed away before she woke up and went upstairs.

That night he didn’t sleep.

*Excuse #4: The Gym Room*

The next morning, workers were in the east wing.

Nora came down for breakfast and stopped. "What is happening?"

Adrian was at the table with coffee, pretending not to care. "Renovation. The gym room."

"Renovation? But you use that room every morning."

"I don't use it," he lied. He hadn’t used it in months. "Waste of space. I need a... hobby room."

"A hobby room?"

"Yes. For design work."

Nora frowned. "Whose design work?"

"Mine," he said quickly. Then realized how stupid that sounded. "Not mine. The company's. We might start a clothing line. Sinclair Apparel. Need a space to test concepts. You can... help. As a consultant. Since you have opinions on dresses."

Nora stared at him. "Adrian, are you turning the gym into a design room? For me?"

He stood up abruptly. "I am turning it into a design room for the company. If you want to use it, you can. If not, don’t. It’s just sitting empty."

He walked out before she could see his face.

That afternoon, the gym was gone.

In its place: a bright room with white tables, dress forms, fabric shelves, a sewing machine, big windows, and a corkboard. There was even a small fridge with juice — the kind she liked.

On the corkboard was one of her sketches. The cream gown. Framed.

Nora stood in the doorway, hand over her mouth.

Ellie came up behind her. "Sir had it done overnight, Miss Nora. He measured the room himself at 2 AM. Said 'she needs light in the morning.' "

Nora didn’t say anything. She just walked in and touched the fabric.

*The Boundary*

He never went into the room while she was there. Not at first.

He would walk past the door, slow down, then keep walking. Like he was inspecting the hallway.

One day she was working late, pinning fabric to a dress form. She heard footsteps stop outside.

"Adrian?" she called.

The door opened a crack. He looked in, hands in pockets, like a man who had gotten lost.

"The light in the hallway is... fine," he said. "I was checking."

"The design room has its own light," she pointed out.

"Right. Right." He didn’t leave. "How is... the company project going?"

Nora smiled. "The Sinclair Apparel line is doing well. I finished three designs today."

He nodded, serious. "Good. Good for the company."

There was a long pause.

"Do you need anything?" he asked finally.

"No. Thank you."

"Okay. Good night."

"Good night, Adrian."

He closed the door and leaned against the wall outside, exhaling. He wanted to ask her a hundred questions. Which fabric she liked, why she chose that cut, if she was happy. But he didn’t. Because if he asked, she would know. And if she knew, she might say no.

So he kept his distance. He kept the boundaries.

But he started coming home earlier.

He started driving her to university himself twice a week, "to check the traffic for the driver."

He started asking Ellie to make her favorite dessert, "for guests."

He started leaving design magazines on the coffee table, "for the company."

And Nora started waiting for him.

She started saving her best sketches to show him, "for feedback on the company line."

She started wearing the dresses he bought her to dinner, and watching if he noticed.

He always noticed. He just never said.

One night, as she was locking the design room, Adrian was there in the hall.

"You don’t have to walk home from university," he said suddenly.

"I’m not. You have a driver."

"I mean after. From here. You shouldn’t walk around this big house alone at night. To the kitchen. To your room."

Nora laughed. "Adrian, I’m fine."

"It’s a safety issue," he said, very seriously. "Sinclair security protocol."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "Okay. Safety protocol."

He walked her to her room. Didn’t go in. Just stood at the door.

"Good night, Nora."

"Good night, Adrian. Thank you... for the room."

His throat moved. "It’s for the Family name."

"I know," she said softly. "Good night."

He walked away, hands in pockets, heart beating like he was sixteen again.

He had never pursued anyone. He didn’t know how.

So he did it the only way he knew: with excuses, with boundaries, with a gym turned into a design room, with a driver and a university and twelve dresses.

Small things. Awkward things. Things that said _I see you_ without him having to say it out loud.

Because the truth was terrifying:

He was scared that if he was forward, she would reject him.

So he would stay. Every day. In every small, ridiculous way.

Hoping she chose him back