LUST AND LOVE: Seven Director Husbands

Ariella's POV

Black is the color of power, but today, it's also the color of grief.

The limousine door swings open, and I step onto the lush green grass of the Sinclair Memorial Gardens.

Immediately I do, Camera lights flash and blink so quickly at my face that they match the rapid beat of my heart.

"Miss Sinclair! Over here!"

"How does it feel to inherit the empire?"

"Did your father leave any parting words before he died?"

I don't answer them and instead keep my head high, thankful for the black veil that's currently covering my face although it's trembling slightly in the gentle wind.

My father was a tyrant in a suit, but now he's a corpse in a coffin.

The empire he built- Sinclair Global Holdings- stretches across every single industry you can name: tech, finance, arms, fashion, real estate, pharmaceuticals and entertainment.

And now, all of it belongs to me.

"Miss Sinclair," I hear someone call, but I don't turn, thinking it's the press till a hand grabs me gently by my arm.

It's Richard, my father's attorney, in a suit that looks way older than I am.

"They're waiting for you," he tells me, giving me a look I can't exactly tell what it means with those small eyes of his.

Nodding I follow him through the sea of mourners, giving only a brief look and a nod at each of the faces that blur past me

There are politicians with fake tears, socialites with crocodile smiles and business rivals heartlessly calculating their next move against my father's company at his funeral.

But there's one particular row that draws my eye as I walk by, moving closer to their spot.

It's a row of seven men, all in black suits that make them look like undertakers rather than directors.

They're the Seven---- at least that's what we call them collectively------ the men who ruled my father's empire in his name.

I slow my steps to look at them properly even though the moment's too brief.

Rafael, the director of Tech is leaning back with a smirk, having the audacity to have a calculating look in dark eyes.

Damon, the director of Finance is sitting with his back straight and coldly runs his gaze over me in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.

Luca, director of Fashion, is sitting cross legged with a designer scarf that is draped rather artfully across his chest.

Carter, director of Arms, is smirking, actually smirking, with dark amusement in his eyes and I just faintly catch sight of the tattooes peeking out from his cuffs.

Elias, director of Real Estate, is just smiling----- deceptively I'm sure.

Jace, director of Pharma is completely stoic with his arms hands folded across his chest, and looks at me as if I'm a lab rat.

And Tristan, director of Entertainment, is lounging with an easy smile curving up his lips. His smile looks so playful that I almost think his eyes are wicked.

I swallow hard, feeling my heart hammer as I final walk to stand in front of them.

Why do I feel like these men will be a problem to me?

They all rise to their feet at the same time.

"Miss Sinclair," Rafael drawls. "Welcome to the future."

"Future?" I repeat and my voice ends up coming out harsher than I had intended it to, then Damon speaks and I turn to face him, almost freezing on the spot by the kind of look he gives me.

"Your father's death changes nothing. Sinclair Global Holdings still stands, and you, Miss Sinclair, are now the face of it."

A bitter laugh rises in my throat and I retort "His legacy, you mean. His empire of lies."

Luca's smile is soft, and almost sympathetic at my words as he says, "Empires are built on more than lies, darling. They're built on power, and power demands loyalty."

I open my mouth to throw his words back at him, but Richard steps forward, clearing his throat to get all our attention.

"If you'll follow me, Miss Sinclair. The will is to be read in the boardroom."

'Boardroom', I can't believe this----- even here, at my father's funeral, everything is business.

The boardroom is a glass walled room and when we walk in the Seven Directors immediately take their seats around the table and fix their eyes on me.

I, however, refuse to sit and instead stand at the head of the table while my hands tremble slightly at my sides.

"Get on with it, Richard," I snap.

Richard opens a thick leather folder from a briefcase and begins to read;

"Per the last will and testament of Mr Alexander Sinclair, all assets and controlling shares of Sinclair Global Holdings are bequeathed to his only child, Ms Ariella Sinclair."

I let out a breath immediately he calls my name, feeling relieved.

But then Richard continues reading. "However, there is one stipulation."

My stomach drops. "Stipulation?"

What's going on?

I glance at the Seven and manage to get a glimpse of Rafael's smirk widening, Damon's eyes narrowing and Luca tilting his head, curiously.

Carter on the other lets out a low whistle while the rest have blank look on their faces.

Richard clears his throat again and I turn my attention back to him.

"In order to maintain the stability of the conglomerate, Miss Sinclair must marry the Seven Directors listed in the attached contract."

"What?!" I literally scream.

"It's standard, Ariella. It's means to ensure no single person or corporation can seize control," Damon says suddenly.

"Standard?" I hiss.

"This is insane. You can't be serious."

Why would my father write such an absurd condition in his will?

Why should there be an condition at all in the first place?

Rafael leans forward, and looks totally amused at my reaction.

"Darling, your father was nothing if not thorough. He wanted to make his empire stayed intact, and that means binding you to us."

"Binding me?" I choke. "Like a damn contract?!!"

Carter grins wolfishly at me. "Exactly like a contract."

Elias's voice is smooth, too smooth. "Consider it a partnership, Miss Sinclair," Elias says.

"Seven men, one empire, one wife."

Tristan chuckles, at his words. "Think of the headlines, love. Heiress Marries Seven Billionaires. Can She Survive the Power Play?"

I look at them horrified they're agreeing to this and suddenly my head starts to spin.

I grip the edge of the table tightly, but it's only to regain my balance so I don't fall.

"I won't do it."

Right then Richard places his aging hand on my back and I jerk, looking up at him.

"If you don't do as the will says, you'll forfeit everything---- the shares, the empire, your inheritance; all of it. Think again child."

My breath catches at his words and I turn to the Seven.

"You'd leave me with nothing?" I say and the statement comes out as a question to which Jace nods in response to.

"Your father's empire would be divided among the seven of us. That's the alternative."

Rafael suddenly stops smirking and looks at me seriously as he says, "Make no mistake, Ariella. This isn't a negotiation, it's survival."

I feel like I'm about to pass out.

I don't want to marry these men but I see now why my father put in this condition.

It's to let me have power and balance when I take over officially.

At this moment, my father's voice repays in my head: "Power is a game Ariella. Learn to play or be played."

My hands tremble as Richard slides the contract across the table and the pages blur in my sight as I feel my eyes itch by what I feel is the lowest point I've reached in my entire life.

"Sign, Ariella," Damon says like a command.

"Or walk away with nothing."

The Seven lean in, each man waiting for me to refuse and be disgraced, and my heart pounds.

My mother's face turns in my mind, and I remember how soft and sad, and always afraid she looked.

I will never be like her, and I won't disappoint my father.

Having made up my mind, I pick up the pen with my cold trembling fingers and sign my name.

When I look up, Rafael's eyes lock with mine.

"Welcome to the game, Mrs. Sinclair-Director."

Ariella's POV

The penthouse I enter is a masterpiece---- very modern and luxurious, all glass walls and polished marble, cold steel and warm wood.

The inner architect is so detailed that it feels like I'm walking into a museum but it doesn't surprise me so much---- as an only daughter I saw and experienced the wealth that many could only dream of.

They say the rich stay in penthouses because it gives them a sense of freedom and power, but right now despite the fact of how high this penthouse is, I can't leave off the feeling that I'm in a cage.

... And you know why.

The seven of them are waiting when I step inside and suddenly the huge room feels too small and the air feels too thin to breathe in

The first person I notice is Rafael who's leaning against the in- built bar with a half empty glass of something amber in his hand.

He smiles at me lazily, "Welcome home, Mrs. Sinclair-Director."

"Don't call me that," I say, bristling at the title but he only smirks.

"You signed the contract, darling. Titles come with the territory."

I cross my arms and try to hide the tremble in my hands. "This is insane."

Damon's voice cuts in, "You're here because your father made it so. Our job is to ensure you understand that."

I meet his cold, gray eyes, feeling my stomach twist at how... robotic and unfeeling his sentence just sounded.

"Understand what?" I ask.

"That you're not in charge here," he says in a flat tone. "We are."

Before I can retort, Carter steps forward and again I catch a glimpse of his tattoos that are visible just under the cuff of his white shirt.

"Easy, Damon," he drawls, "Let's not scare the poor girl on her first night."

He stops just in front of me, and I can feel the heat of his body, just as his voice drops to a rough and dangerous edge.

"We've all waited a long time for this, princess."

His words make me step back instinctively, but he follows, grinning darkly at me.

"Are you afraid?"

"No," I lie, though my pulse hammers in my throat.

"Good," he says and leans down into me, his breath hot brushing against my ear.

"Because fear makes things... interesting."

Just then, a noise by the window draws my gaze and when I turn, Luca is lounging there with his legs crossed and his dark hair tousled perfectly.

He watches me like a cat watches a bird, and smiles.

"Don't mind them, darling," he says in a lazy purr.

"They're just eager to see what you're made of."

Jace stands near the fireplace with his arms folded, looking so detached.

"We need to establish a schedule," he says in that calm tone people say he's known for.

"Ariella's time must be managed efficiently."

"A schedule?" I repeat in disbelief.

Elias sighs dramatically at this, "Really, Jace, must you be so boring? Let the girl catch her breath."

Tristan leans against the wall with a playful grin on his lips.

"I say we let her decide. Who do you want to spend your first night with, Ariella?"

The question literally hangs in the air once it leaves his tongue and my mouth goes dry.

"That's enough," Damon snaps suddenly, "We're not children fighting over a toy."

But Carter chuckles. "Speak for yourself."

The tension in the room suddenly feels like a living thing, crawling over my skin and my head spins.

Just when I feel like I'm about to suffocate, Rafael's voice cuts in, "Come with me, Ariella."

He gestures toward a hallway that leads deeper into the penthouse, away from the others and before I can think, I follow him, eager to get away from the many pair of intense eyes watching me.

His suite is dark and I immediately wonder if it's darker than the others.

There's moody lighting, black furniture, and floor- to- ceiling windows that make the view of the city outside look like a living painting.

He closes the door behind us, and suddenly the air feels too thick to breathe in.

"What are you doing?," I say, my voice trembling.

"This obviously isn't my room."

He takes a step closer, locking his eyes on mine. "Nothing much," he murmurs.

My heart races as he reaches for my hand and brushes his fingers against my skin lightly.

"Tell me, Ariella," he says softly. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes," I admit.

"That's good."

He steps even closer to me and slides his fingers slide up my arm, leaving goosebumps. "But you're also curious, aren't you?"

I swallow hard, feeling my breath catch. "Maybe."

He laughs lowly- a sound that only makes my stomach tighten.

"I like that," he says and lifts his other hand lifts to my cheek, brushing my lip with his thumb.

"You have no idea how many secrets this place holds," he murmurs.

"Secrets about your father, about us and you."

"Then tell me," I ask boldly although my voice is shaking.

"Not tonight."

I open my mouth to protest, but his lips are suddenly inches from mine.

His breath is warm, and his scent, a heady mix of cologne and suddenly danger, washes over me.

"Rafael-"

"Shh," he breathes, bringing his lips so close that I can feel the ghost of a kiss.

"Don't fight it."

My heart pounds so hard that I think it might burst and his hand slides to the back of my neck, curling his fingers in my hair.

I tilt my head up, my lips parting and every nerve on my body on fire as he draws near,

But just before our lips meet, there's a noise from outside---- doors opening and voices raising.

Rafael stiffens, moving his eyes to the hallway. "Damn it," he mutters, tightening his grip on me for a heartbeat before he pulls away.

"Get some sleep, Ariella," he says, "You'll need it."

Then he turns and leaves me there with my heart racing and my lips trembling.

Turns out this is my room.

Rafael's POV

The city skyline stretches below me, as I stare out the window of my room in the penthouse suite with a glass of whiskey and ice in my hand.

Ariella Sinclair.

That name tastes like ash and at the same time, honey on my tongue.

Her father's legacy- Sinclair Global Holdings- destroyed my family, chewed us up and spat us out like we were nothing.

I was fifteen when it happened; old enough to understand what was going on but too young to do anything about it.

I close my eyes now and think of my father's office- wood paneled, always smelling of his cologne and old books.

It was like a fortress to me until the day the letters came with bank notices and eviction orders.

Things became tough for us, but the final blow was a buyout ordered by Alexander Sinclair, Ariella's father, that left my father with nothing but debts and... despair.

I remember my mother's non stop tears and the way my father stopped looking me in the eye like he was ashamed of himself.

I didn't understand his shame but I finally did when we found his body, and I remember the promise I made at his funeral.

... 'One day, I'll make them pay.'

Now, years later, I direct at the heart of the empire that destroyed my father's.

Sinclair's daughter is the final piece in a game that I've been playing for a long, long time to finally have my revenge but she's not at all what I expected.

Ariella's not the ice princess I imagined her to be.

She's fire and defiance, strength and a surprising sort of vulnerability all tangled up together.

Each time she looked at me since the funeral, it's like she's trying to see through me and strip away the layers I've spent years building.

Exhaling, I take a long sip of whiskey and feel the burn slide down my throat.

A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts but before I can answer, the door opens.

The others don't lightly or gently at all so I should know who it is, but for some reasons I'm actually surprised to see Ariella standing there, framed by the low light.

Perhaps it because she's in a silk robe that does nothing to hide the curves on her body that even the funeral clothes this morning couldn't cover from my eyes--- curves I've tried not to think about.

"Rafael," she says in a low and hesitant voice.

"Can we talk?"

Her eyes are wide, and I know she's here for answers I can't give.

Mentally I scold myself for talking too much earlier in her room--- there's no answer I can give her now.

"Come in," I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended it to; I wish she had just fallen asleep as soon as I left.

She steps inside, and the door clicks shut behind her.

Bastard thing.

"Why did you leave me like that?" she asks, twisting her hands on the belt of her robe. "One second you're... and the next you're gone."

I stare at her, "Because this-" I gesture between us "-is complicated."

Her brows knit together at my words like I've confused her and she says; "It doesn't have to be."

I let out a harsh laugh. "Doesn't have to be? Ariella, nothing in this world comes without a price. You should know that by now."

She steps closer to me and the scent of her skin- vanilla and sweetness fills my senses.

"Then tell me the truth. Why are you here? Why do you care to be in this... one to seven marriage?"

I don't answer; I don't plan answering any of her questions but then she adds;

"Richard said Directors could leave but they would be compensated for all the years they'd worked with my father---- unlike in my case. So tell me why did you agree?"

"Why did YOU agree?" I ask, turning the question back at her.

"I'm my father's daughter," she replies, raising her eyebrows at me like I had just asked the most stupid question possible.

"Well...?" She says, still stubbornly waiting for my reply.

I look away from her to the window and see the city lights blurring into a mix of white and red.

"I'm here because your father destroyed everything I loved," I say and the words taste like blood on my tongue.

"He stole my family's business and ruined us."

Ariella gasps softly as if she's surprised at the fact---- seems like daddy didn't tell his daughter how he operated his business.

"My father-?"

"Yes," I snap,. "Your father was a monster, Ariella. He crushed anyone who stood in his way, and he did it with a smile."

She swallows hard. "I didn't know," she whispers. "I swear."

I close the distance between us in one stride and wrap my arm around her wrist.

"You didn't know, but you're part of it now. You're his heir and his legacy."

"I'm not him," she immediately claims--- typical--- but even as she says that her lips tremble.

"I want to believe that," I say, surprising myself by actually saying that aloud.

"But every time I look at you, I see him."

She reaches up, brushing her fingers over my cheek, burning me with her touch is electric.

"Then look at me," she whispers. "Really look at me."

I do, and her eyes are wide, dark and full of something I can't name- hope, maybe, or fear, that makes more sense.

Suddenly all I see is her and my hand slides to her waist, pulling her even closer.

Her robe parts slightly, revealing the curve of her neck, her collarbone and the soft skin I'm feeling now that begs to be touched.

"You're playing a dangerous game," I murmur, hovering my lips over hers.

"So are you," she breathes and I crush my mouth to hers.

She gasps, flying her hands to my shoulders and digging in with her fingers.

I lift her, carrying her to the bed and hear the whiskey glass break on the floor.

Seems I'd let go of it without knowing.

"Rafael-" she rasps, breaking from the kiss and looking up at me with her eyes wide and her lips swollen from my kiss.

"Shh," I whisper, tracing my fingers over the curve of her jaw.

"Let me."

It feels better to touch her than to answer any of her questions, especially about her father.

I untie her now loose robe completely, watching the silk slide over her skin like water and watching as her breath catches, and her breasts rise and fall as I drink her in.

"You're beautiful," I murmur, my voice rough and her lips part, letting out a soft moan as my hands explore, sliding over her curves.

"Please," she whispers, her now hooded.

"Please what?" I tease, brushing my lips over the shell of her ear.

"Please don't stop," she pleads.

A growl rumbles in my chest as I claim her mouth again, roaming my hands and exploring every inch of her.

She arches into me, trembling and tangling her fingers up in my hair and I take her slowly, savoring every gasp, every shiver, every whispered plea.

But even as I lose myself in her, a voice in my head whispers that I shouldn't want her and shouldn't definitely be doing this

But her moans, the way her nails scrape down my back, the way her lips part when she says my name-

Fuck.

I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent and the sweetness, and the heat of her skin.

"Ariella," I groan, my voice coming out ragged.

"Rafael," she gasps, arching her body against mine.

Our bodies move together in a rhythm for every thrust and every kiss as I lose myself in her sweet scent and soft skin.

When she comes, I watch her eyes roll into the back of her head and hear my name become the only word she remembers, and I wish I had met and fucked her sooner.

I'm not even sure why I think that way.

"I hate you," I murmur, my voice muffled by my own pleasure and confusion.

But she's too far gone to hear what I said and I'm too far gone to realise that someone's taking a photographs of the both of us from outside the window.