The Ruthless Billionaire Claims His Rival's Sister

"What if I slept with Julian Kensington-my brother's sworn enemy?"

Chloe Sterling asked the question to her own reflection, her voice a whisper in the cold morning air. She said it lightly, as if asking what dress to wear,but there was something tightened in her voice, like a string pulled to its breaking point.

The face in the mirror didn't answer. It just stared back at her,a twenty-two-year-old ghost with eyes that had already seen too much. There was no fear in those eyes. Only a stillness, like ice over deep water.

"Julian Kensington."

She repeated the name . Andrew's business rival. Before, whenever he heard this name, Andrew's fists would tense almost to the point of shattering.

If Andrew believed that his sister was about to sleep with his sworn enemy, he would come to stop her without hesitation. He would rush home immediately, the proposal would be postponed, and he wouldn't have to suffer that devastating humiliation.

This time, the one left alone in Times Square to face public mockery would be Sloane Ashford.

It was the only option she had. She wasn't sure it would work.But it was the only weapon in her hands. Sharper than screaming.

Time goes back to an hour ago.

Chloe shot up in bed. Her body was drenched in sweat, the silk of her nightgown cold and clammy against her skin.

She was dead. She remembered the fall, the wind, the pavement rushing up to meet her. And the figure above-Sloane Ashford, standing at the edge of the roof, watching her plummet, with a smile on her face.

"You should have walked away while you still could."

Chloe's hands flew over her body-collarbone, arms, ribs-all smooth, unbroken. No wounds. No bruises. No fractures. She was alive.

A vibration buzzed from the bedside table. Her private cell phone.

She lunged for it, snatching it up. The date on the screen made her pupils shrink to pinpricks.

Two years ago.

It was the day her brother, Andrew, was going to propose to Sloane Ashford.

Andrew.

Her brother. He was going to propose to Sloane. And then she would destroy him-disowned, the company gutted, their father's legacy turned to ash. Then prison. Then death. Alone. Disgraced.

And then Chloe herself. The roof. The hands shoving her from behind. The sickening lurch of weightlessness.

Sloane, standing at the edge, watching her fall, with that smile on her face.

Chloe sat there, her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms, using the pain to remind herself she was alive.She had come back to a time when nothing had happened yet, when every tragedy could still be averted.

A soft knock sounded at her bedroom door. The gentle, familiar voice of their housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, followed.

"Miss Chloe, breakfast is ready. Are you going to pick out a dress for Mr. Andrew's engagement party today?"

The word "engagement" was a key turning a lock in her mind.

Because at this engagement party, Andrew disowned and broken for that woman. The company, their father's legacy, collapsing under the weight of scandal and debt. Her brother, dying alone and disgraced in a prison cell.

She was silent for a moment, not responding to the sound outside for a long time.

"Miss? Are you alright?" Mrs. Gable's voice was laced with concern from behind the door.

Chloe took a deep. "I'm fine, Mrs. Gable," she called out, her voice a hoarse whisper. "Just a bad dream."

She lifted her head.A new light was kindling in their depths, something hard and sharp, forged in the fires of a hell she had already walked through.

She had nothing left to fear.

She remembered this day perfectly. This afternoon, Andrew would hijack the massive screens in Times Square for a proposal that would dominate the city's news cycle.

Last time, she had screamed at him, called him a fool. He had dismissed her as a "spoiled, vicious sister," his words a slap she remembered even now. He hadn't listened. He had walked straight into the abyss.

No. Not this time.

A direct confrontation would only push him further toward Sloane. She needed a better way.

She stood up, her gaze sweeping the room, searching, hunting for a weapon. She needed to get to Andrew first, to confirm his location, his status.

Her fingers found his contact on her phone, hovering over the call button. The memory of his last, desperate phone call from prison echoed in her ears.

She snatched her hand back, dropping the phone on the bed. Calling him now to accuse him would be useless. It would only put Sloane on alert.

She needed something more clever. More destructive. Something that would rip Andrew away from Sloane's side immediately.

Her mind raced, sifting through memories. What did her brother care about most? Besides that woman, what was his greatest weakness?

Her. His sister. And the Sterling family name.

A wild, dangerous idea began to form, a spark in the darkness of her mind. What if she created a scandal of her own? A scandal so big, so threatening to the family's reputation, that he would have no choice but to drop everything?

And who better to be the male lead in this scandal than Andrew's business arch-nemesis? The one man whose name alone made Andrew's jaw clench.

Julian Kensington.

A cold, sharp smile touched Chloe's lips.

I'm sorry, brother. To save you, I'll do whatever it takes.

Chloe sat on the edge of her bed and opened her tablet. The headlines screamed at her from every news outlet, a coordinated media blitz.

Sterling CEO Andrew Sterling to Propose to Starlet Sloane Ashford Today?

A Times Square Fairy Tale: Inside Andrew Sterling's Grand Romantic Gesture.

The articles were filled with "leaked" details, painting a picture of a whirlwind romance culminating in a spectacular public proposal. Chloe's stomach churned as she read how Sloane's team had "artfully" fed information to the press to maximize the hype.

And there, on the screen, was Sloane Ashford's face, smiling demurely. Although this face bore a striking resemblance to that of her late mother, and she should have felt a sense of closeness to it, the mere thought of what this woman had done in a past life made her physically nauseated.

Time was running out. She only had a few hours.

She snatched her phone and dialed the number of her most trusted confidante, her personal assistant, Eva Hayes.

The moment the call connected, Chloe's voice was low and urgent, stripped of its usual lightness. "Eva, I need you to do something for me right now. No matter the cost."

"Chloe?" Eva sounded startled on the other end. She had never heard this tone from her boss before.

"You just have to trust me, Eva," Chloe said, cutting off any potential questions. "Everything, for the Sterling family, depends on this."

She took a breath. "Go to the most exclusive custom pleasure boutique in the city. The one that requires a private appointment. I need you to order something for me."

She paused, letting the weight of her next words sink in. "It needs to be the most expensive, the most outrageous item they have. And most importantly, it needs to have a unique mark on it-the Kensington family crest."

Silence. Eva was so shocked she couldn't even form a word. Pleasure boutique? The Kensington family? It was a combination that made absolutely no sense.

"Don't ask why. Just do it," Chloe commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I need it in my hands within two hours." She hung up before Eva could protest.

With the first step in motion, Chloe began to prepare for her performance. She went to her vanity and applied her makeup with a surgeon's precision-a smoky, smudged eyeliner that hinted at a long, debauched night; a deep, berry-red lipstick that looked both glamorous and slightly messy.

Next, the outfit. She chose a slip dress of emerald green silk. The fabric clung to her body, languid and sensual. It looked like something one would wear after a night of wild passion, not before a family breakfast.

Then, she set the stage. She deliberately mussed the pillows on her bed. She went into her brother's closet, found an old silk dress shirt he no longer wore, and tossed it carelessly at the foot of her bed, a prop to create the illusion of a man who had just left in a hurry.

Chloe sat on the sofa by the window, watching the yellow cabs stream down Fifth Avenue, her heart a calm, steady drumbeat in her chest. She was waiting for her weapon.

She thought of Eva. In her last life, after Andrew's death, the loyal assistant had tried to avenge him, gathering evidence against Sloane. But Sloane had been too powerful by then, and Eva had been framed and sent to prison. This time, Chloe would protect her too.

The doorbell chimed. Eva herself brought the discreet, elegant black box, her face a mask of confusion and worry.

Chloe took the box and opened it.

Inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, was a delicate, daring body chain made of white gold. And there, on the tiny clasp, was the unmistakable, micro-engraved emblem of the Kensington family: a griffin with its wings unfurled.

"Chloe, what are you doing?" Eva finally whispered, her anxiety palpable. "Involving the Kensingtons is not a joke."

Chloe looked up and gave her assistant a small, reassuring smile. "You'll understand soon, Eva." She closed the box and took a deep breath. "Now, get Andrew on a video call for me."

Though her mind was reeling, Eva did as she was told. A moment later, Andrew's handsome, but distinctly impatient, face appeared on the tablet screen. The background looked like a busy backstage area.

"Chloe? I'm in the middle of something. This had better be important."

Chloe shifted her position on the sofa, letting the silk strap of her nightgown "accidentally" slip from her shoulder. She leaned into the camera, her voice a lazy purr.

"Brother, I just wanted to ask... what's your rival's favorite color for a tie?"

Andrew frowned, completely thrown. "What rival? What the hell are you talking about?"

Instead of answering, Chloe picked up the body chain. She let it dangle from her fingers, the fine gold catching the light as it swayed in front of the camera.

She deliberately zoomed in, letting the lens focus on the tiny, perfect griffin crest. Then she looked back at Andrew, a slow, wicked smile spreading across her lips.

"Oh, nothing," she said sweetly. "It's just that my new toy happens to have the Kensington family crest on it."

On the screen, the annoyance on Andrew's face vanished, replaced in an instant by disbelief, then a wave of dark, gathering fury.

"And I was just wondering," Chloe continued, her voice dripping with poison, "do you think Julian Kensington would prefer to see me wearing it... or to take it off me himself?"

The air crackled. Andrew's breathing became heavy, his eyes boring into her through the screen, as if he wanted to reach through and strangle the imaginary man she spoke of.

Chloe knew her first move had been a success. Andrew's focus was no longer on Sloane Ashford.

It was entirely on her. And his nemesis.

"Chloe Sterling!"

Andrew's roar was distorted by the tablet's speaker, a sound of pure, undiluted rage. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? Throw that thing away! Now!"

A small, cold laugh escaped Chloe's lips. She ignored his command and instead clasped the body chain around her own slender wrist. The cool metal was a shocking sensation against her warm skin.

"Throw it away?" she purred, twisting her wrist so the griffin crest caught the light again. "But it's the first gift Julian ever gave me. It was very expensive."

Every word was a lie, a carefully chosen dagger aimed straight at Andrew's pride.

"When did you get involved with him?" he bit out, his face turning a dark shade of red. "You know damn well that the Kensingtons and us-"

"Oh, sometime while you were busy planning surprises for that actress, I suppose," Chloe answered vaguely, her eyes wide and innocent. She wanted him to blame himself, to feel that his obsession with Sloane had left a door wide open for his enemy to walk through.

She shifted the tablet's camera angle slightly, a seemingly careless movement that brought her rumpled bed and the discarded man's shirt into full view.

"He just left," she said, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate whisper. "We had a very... entertaining night."

The sight of the shirt was the final blow. Andrew's control shattered. The thought of his sister, his Chloe, in bed with his greatest rival was a violation he couldn't stomach.

"Where are you? Stay in the apartment. Don't you move," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I'm coming back right now."

"Coming back? But brother, don't," Chloe said, her voice laced with mock surprise. "Aren't you about to make history? Propose to your one true love? I wouldn't want to interrupt."

Her words stopped him cold. On one side was the woman he "loved," the meticulously planned proposal, the waiting media. On the other was his sister, supposedly tangled up with his sworn enemy.

Just then, a feminine voice drifted from Andrew's background. "Andrew, darling, who are you talking to? It's almost time."

It was Sloane Ashford.

Chloe's smile widened. Perfect. She wanted Sloane to hear this.

Andrew shot a distracted, irritated glance over his shoulder, waving a dismissive hand at Sloane. His attention was still locked on the screen.

"It seems your leading lady is calling for you," Chloe said, standing up and walking toward the window. The movement made the silk of her nightgown ripple. "Which is perfect, because I have to get going myself. Julian said he has a... private game planned for me. I wouldn't want to be late."

"Private game." The words were loaded with insinuation, a direct hit to Andrew's possessive, overprotective core.

"Chloe Sterling, I am ordering you to stay in that apartment!" he roared again.

"An order? Brother, I'm not a little girl you can command anymore," Chloe said. She blew a kiss at the camera.

Then, before he could say another word, she ended the call.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening. Chloe's playful smile vanished, replaced by an expression of icy calm.

Eva, who had witnessed the entire exchange, stared at her, speechless. "You... you're really going to see Mr. Kensington?"

"Of course not," Chloe said, unclasping the body chain from her wrist and tossing it back into its velvet box. "I just need my brother to believe that I am."

Eva's eyes widened in dawning comprehension. It was all an act. A brilliant, terrifying act to stop the proposal.

"I know him," Chloe said, her gaze fixed on the city below. "He can't tolerate the idea of a Sterling daughter being involved with a Kensington heir. It's more offensive to him than any staged proposal is important."

She turned to Eva, her eyes sharp and focused. "Now, for the second thing. Find the best private investigator in New York. I want someone on Sloane Ashford, 24/7."

Her voice was cold. "I want to know every person she meets, every word she says. Especially what she's really doing this afternoon, when she thinks my brother is about to put a ring on her finger."

Backstage at the event, Sloane Ashford watched Andrew's face contort with fury, a knot of unease tightening in her stomach.

Andrew gripped his phone, his mind at war. The stage was set. The reporters were waiting.

But Chloe's words, "private game," echoed in his head like a curse. He couldn't bear the image it conjured.

Chloe's plan had worked. She had forced him into a corner, forcing him to choose.

Andrew slammed the tablet onto the seat, his knuckles white from the grip. His chest heaved, breath ragged.

He stared at the image of the shirt on Chloe's bed, at the griffin crest on the body chain around her wrist. Over and over.

Julian Kensington.

The name burned a hole in his mind.

He grabbed his phone. His thumb hovered over his contacts for a second-then he found the name. The one he never wanted to reach out to.

Julian Kensington.

He didn't call. He opened the messages. He took a screenshot from the video call-a clear image of the Kensington crest on Chloe's wrist, and the unfamiliar shirt draped at the foot of her bed.

Then he typed a line.

He deleted it. Rewrote it. Deleted it again. In the end, he left only this:

"Touch my sister and I'll destroy your entire family."

He stared at it for a moment. Then he hit send.

The moment it was gone, regret flooded in. This wasn't what he should have done-giving that bastard leverage, exposing his weakness. But the damage was done. The screenshot was out.

His phone buzzed.

Three words lit up the screen:

"Terrible taste."

Andrew stared at the reply. No denial. No explanation. Just a taunt.

His composure shattered completely. He hurled the phone against the seat, where it landed with a dull thud.

Now he had to go home more than ever. He had to see for himself that Chloe wasn't in that apartment. He had to make sure she hadn't been taken by that man.