The Ruthless Billionaire Claims His Rival's Sister

"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.