Reborn To Disown My Son Chapter 2

Parker looked as if he had just won the lottery. He lunged forward to embrace me. "Mom! You’re the best! You’re the most open-minded mother in the world!"

A wave of revulsion swept over me. I stepped back smoothly, pretending to adjust my cardigan, avoiding his touch. "You’re a grown man, Parker. Stop throwing yourself around like a toddler."

Blinded by his triumph, he noticed nothing amiss.

Dinner was an exercise in pure performance art. Corinne sat at my mahogany table, poking at the herb-crusted lamb chops with delicate disdain. *Is the beef grass-fed? Oh, garlic upsets my delicate stomach. Truffle oil always gives me a migraine.*

Parker waited on her hand and foot, cutting her meat, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

I chewed slowly, keeping my expression serene. Corinne had grown up in an impoverished coal town where her deadbeat parents ran up gambling debts and couldn't keep the power on. If her palate were truly this fragile, natural selection would have claimed her before she turned ten. Yet here she was, playing the fragile heiress before an audience of one idiot.

I excused myself before dessert was served.

A few minutes later, my longtime housekeeper, Martha, brought a pot of chamomile tea to my upstairs study. Her face was lined with worry. "Ma'am... are you truly going to let Parker marry that girl? She doesn't seem... well, she doesn't seem like the right fit for this house."

Even the staff could see through the cheap facade. Only my brilliant son remained blind.

"Don't worry about it, Martha," I said, setting my teacup down. "Let him have his fun. By the way, do you remember that boy from the youth scholarship foundation? Simon Ellis?"

Martha blinked. "The boy from the south side you sponsored through college?"

"Yes. Call him. Tell him I’d like to see him tomorrow morning."

In my previous life, after Parker had drowned me and made it look like a tragic accident, Simon had been the only one who didn't buy the narrative. He was the one who tracked down my remains, fought for an inquiry, and when Parker froze my estate, Simon used his own modest savings to buy me a plot of land and a proper headstone.

A boy with that kind of integrity deserved everything I had to give.

The next morning, my assistant ushered Simon into the study.

He wore a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans, but his posture was straight as a pine. He had sharp, clean features and a quiet, watchful grace. Perhaps because of the summer heat or simple nerves, the tips of his ears and the column of his neck were flushed a faint pink.

"Sit down, Simon," I said warmly, gesturing to the leather chair across from me. "I looked over your resume. You graduated top of your class in finance, and you’re looking for a firm to start your career. Sinclair Holdings has an opening on the executive management track. I want you on my team."

He looked up, his dark, earnest eyes wide with disbelief. "Mrs. Sinclair... are you serious?"

"I don't waste my breath on jokes," I said, noticing the light sheen of sweat at his temple. I handed him a linen handkerchief. "I believe in your potential. Show me what you can do."

When our meeting concluded, I walked him down to the foyer, only to run directly into Parker and Corinne returning from a shopping spree.

Parker’s brow furrowed as he scanned Simon's worn sneakers. "Who is this, Mom?"

"Simon Ellis," I said evenly. "A young man I sponsored through school."

Corinne let out a breathy, performative giggle, covering her mouth with manicured fingers. "Oh, I've always heard about how wealthy older women spend their free time... but Mrs. Sinclair, I really didn't think you were the type..."

She left the sentence hanging, but the insinuation was vile enough to coat the room in grease.

Parker’s expression twisted into immediate disgust. "Mom, don't lose your mind at your age. Keep this up and people will start talking about how you're dishonoring Dad’s memory."

A dry laugh nearly escaped my throat.

His father was a violent narcissist who spent his nights in hotel rooms with other women and his days terrorizing his family. I was the one who gathered the evidence, took Parker under my arm, and built Sinclair Holdings from the ashes of a bitter divorce. I spent thirty years protecting Parker, and now he was demanding I play the grieving, chaste widow for the monster I escaped.

Before I could speak, Simon stepped forward, placing his broad frame squarely between me and my son.

"Mrs. Sinclair is an independent, formidable executive," Simon said, his voice low, steady, and sharp as a scalpel. "You have no right to project your vulgar fantasies onto her, nor do you have the standing to police her personal life. As her juniors, what gives either of you the authority to lecture her?"

Corinne gasped, stepping back. Parker opened his mouth, turning bright red, but Simon didn't wait for a rebuttal. He turned, gave me a crisp, respectful nod, and walked out the front door.

A good boy. Truly a good boy.

My resolve hardened: Sinclair Holdings would never fall into the hands of a traitor.