Page 1 of Midnight Pleasure

Chapter 1: The Will

Ares Sinclair stood at the open window of the mahogany-panelled study, his thoughts drifting through an ocean of memories. The garden below stretched out, vivid with colours and scents so soft, smelt the sweet fragrance of roses that had burst into bloom, their petals dancing to the slightest of wind caresses. Chirping birds and buzzing bees completed a symphony of nature to the scene. Ares had known these gardens to be the pride and joy of Leonards, given the amount of work and care that went into making this beautiful oasis.

Memories of his father's last breath, while clutching his hand, flashed; pancreatic cancer had been brutal on both of them, his father refusing to accept his own death. Leonard Sinclair had forever cast a shadow over his life, always menacing, impossible to brush aside. Now, his dad was reduced to cold, legal language in some will.

An icy chill crawled up his spine, as if some ghostly presence from beyond the grave was reaching out to him, trying to curl his lifeless fingers around Ares once again—around him.

"Ares, are you ready?" Mr. Hargrove asked, his voice soft but firm, the tone used when being led through a hard task.

He dragged his gaze from the gardens and settled deep into the high-backed leather chair, taking a deep breath. He glanced up at the picture of his father: Leonard Sinclair, a movie star, handsome, viper-charming. Sharp features could draw you in, but lying beneath that seductive exterior was a cold, calculating predator waiting for the right moment to strike. The only thing he got from him physically were his sharp and expressive eyes, except his held a mixture of vulnerability and strength, reflecting the inner conflicts he’s battled. His jawline was strong and defined, hinting at a past marked by determination and resilience.

Mr. Hargrove, his father's lawyer of nearly forty years coughed and opened a large, bound portfolio of leather. "We are gathered here to read Leonard Sinclair's Last Will and Testament," Mr. Hargrove announced, coughing lightly and opening a bulky, leather-wrapped folder. You know, Mr. Sinclair was a man of considerable means, and his death had much consequence regarding the dispensation of his estate and family.

A lump formed in his windpipe. The word ‘family’ sounded hollow. Leo distanced Ares from his mother and other extended relatives when growing up, leaving him isolated and restrained. Private nannies and tutors had filled his life. Leo had to schedule parent time in advance. Expectations and disappointments were an ongoing theme in their strained relationship. Leo had expectations that Ares continually failed at. Mr. Hargrove looked toward him and picked up his reading from the will again.

"To my son, Ares Sinclair, I leave the whole of my estate, valued at approximately two and half billion, under the following conditions."

He leaned forward, his heart pulsing like a war drum in his ears, like the undercurrent of a power struggle, where every beat brought the storm closer.

"What does he mean, conditions?"

Mr. Hargrove turned to face him then, displeased, his voice shaking.

"The appointed authorities of the Testator will subject Ares to conversion therapy, and they will determine the time frame. Upon successful completion of said conversion therapy program, Ares may receive half of the two and a half billion dollars from the estate of the Testator."

His mind was a tornado, whipping any sense into a swirling storm of confusion and chaos. Ares could feel his heart race to pound against his chest as if to break free. His forehead was sweating, his palms clammy with the intensity of his emotions. The room seemed to spin around him, blurring into a blind whirling haze as his mind tried to keep pace with this whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. It was like being a leaf in the most violent hurricane that ever swept the face of the earth, quite disorienting and unsteady.

The ultimate betrayal was a demand from beyond the grave. There had been some deep-seated resentment toward Ares's sexual orientation, but the stipulations against him showed how much Leonard actually detested his homosexuality. Every word his father had spoken cut like a knife, reminiscent of their complicated relationship. Though he could do nothing, he could only laugh quietly, left in awe by Leonard poetic yet chilling nature, as this was to be the last act of domination.

Despite knowing the consequences, he couldn't resist baiting him by openly showcasing his relationships with other men. Leonard would only jerk up his blond eyebrow and set him with a scornful stare, never voicing his disapproval. Ares struggled to decide which had cut deeper: his father’s icy indifference in public or the burning criticism privately.

Memories flared up in his mind like a burning flame, rekindling anger and sorrow for himself, reminding him of how much hate and rejection he had from people for being true to himself. A weight settled onto his chest as Ares sat within the bounds of a throne to the rule of his sperm donor. His hands clutched into fists tightly, with the white skin at his knuckles standing against the backdrop of the deep leather on the chair. Simmering anger and deep sorrow swelled from the very atmosphere of the space, weighed by his father's overbearing presence.

Mr. Hargrove paused long enough for the shock to set in on Ares.

"After completing the conversion therapy program, Ares shall enter a marriage contract with a female partner chosen by the Testator. Ares shall, within a time frame dictated by the wishes of the Testator, fulfill the obligation of providing a biological heir to the Testator's bloodline. After Ares has relieved this obligation from him. The Testator's estate shall endow him with the other half of the seven hundred million dollars. Furthermore, Ares shall sign an employment agreement as specified by the instructions of the Testator."

Ares sprang to his feet, scraping the chair backward along the floor. "This is fucking insane! Leo was crazy! He can't do this to me! He's fucking dead! "

Mr. Hargrove regarded him with near-pity and professionalism. "Ares, please sit down. I understand this is very hard, but your father's will is iron-tight. You stand to be disinherited if you don't follow through on all the conditions. And at this moment, as per your father's wishes, we are to freeze all your bank accounts, cards, and assets."

Nausea hit him as his eyes crashed shut, locking out the nightmare unfolding before him.

His father's—iron grip—control. Yet this. This was a betrayal beyond anything Ares could ever have imagined. Anger and desperation churned within him, gasping for breath, entrapped within the tightening noose of his father's last command. The money would be his ticket to freedom, how he would finally step out from under Leonard Sinclair's, his father’s smothering shadow. Money that now seemed more like a chain, binding him into the life he could never want or need.

"I can't believe he'd do this to me," Ares groaned, dropping back onto the chair. A deep, aching sadness replaced his anger.

Closing the folder and setting it aside, Hargrove met his gaze. He exhaled, adjusting his rimmed wired glasses, "Ares, I am here to help you get through this. We can pursue other means, but they will be very time-consuming and involve a lot of legal red tape. Decide now which way to go. These directives are immediate in their effect."

Ares sat in smothering, heavy silence, his mind racing fast with incredulity and fear. Both requirements repulsed him: conversion therapy or that hollow shell of marriage. Every thought found its way deep into his consciousness, like ice daggers burrowing into the flesh of his mind. The suggestion alone made him feel ill, the alternative of losing his inheritance aimless. His father's fortune had always given him a sense of security.

"I need some air," Ares growled.

The tight, drowning study walls closed rapidly, pressing against him like a vice. The stale essence of old books filled the air while the muted sound of pages turned rung in his ears. He desperately needed to break free from what had become extremely claustrophobic and take some time to clear his mind.

Mr. Hargrove nodded gravely, his eyes leaden with subdued sympathy. "Take your time, Ares. We shall wait until you can go on. But, if you please, don't leave the study."

The tsunami of blood in his ears doused out Hargrove's words as he quickened his pace. His father's ways of caring were not merely verbal and behavioural but had tangible, physical effects on him. Every time Ares interacted with Leonard, it was as though he was being ensnared in a complex emotional web, deliberately woven with threads of manipulation and control.

---