The Sinclair Protocol – My Delivery Girl is a Private Military Queen
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 2: Shattered Masks
Part 1: Drowning Dreams
The Black Swan Pub, London
The crystal tumbler caught the bar’s dim light, expensive whiskey untouched as Liv’s tears finally fell freely. Her delivery uniform felt like a mockery now, each thread a reminder of her five-year performance.
“Another one, love?” the bartender asked gently.
“The bottle,” Liv’s voice cracked. “Leave it.”
“Rough day?” A woman two seats down tried to engage.
“You could say that,” Liv laughed bitterly, twisting the cheap watch on her wrist. “Ever had your entire world exposed as a lie?”
“Men,” the woman nodded sympathetically. “They’re all-“
“Don’t,” Liv cut her off. “Please… just don’t.”
The pub’s dark wood panels seemed to close in around her. Five years of playing the simple girlfriend, of building his empire from shadows, of loving someone who saw her as nothing but a servant.
“You know what hurts most?” Liv spoke to her glass, not caring who heard. “I actually loved him. God help me, beneath all the pretense, I actually…”
Her phone buzzed again – probably James or Emma or Papa. She ignored it. Tonight wasn’t about being CEO of Sinclair Global. Tonight was about mourning the death of a dream.
“Five years,” she whispered to her reflection in the whiskey. “Five years of bringing him coffee…”
“Sir, your credit card was declined,” the bartender’s voice drifted from the corner. “Perhaps another one?”
“That’s impossible,” Sebastian Blackwood’s aristocratic tone carried a hint of embarrassment. “Try it again.”
Through her tears, Liv couldn’t help but listen. The CEO of Blackwood Securities, having credit card troubles? Her financial mind stirred despite her emotional turmoil.
“I’ve tried three times, sir,” the bartender persisted. “The system shows your accounts are… restricted.”
“Restricted?” Sebastian’s voice sharpened. “That’s absurd. I’m the CEO of-“
“Perhaps you could call someone?” the bartender suggested.
“Father,” Sebastian’s voice was tight with controlled anger. “Care to explain why my cards are frozen?”
Liv watched through her tears as he paced the dark corner, his Savile Row suit a stark contrast to her delivery uniform.
“This is childish,” he continued. “I’m the CEO of Blackwood Securities, for God’s sake.”
The response was loud enough for Liv to hear. “And as head of the family, I’m telling you – either you marry Elena Rothschild as arranged, or you can forget accessing any family assets.”
“I’m thirty-four years old-“
“And still bound by family tradition,” Lord William Blackwood’s voice crackled through the speaker. “The Rothschild alliance is non-negotiable. Your mother is beside herself.”
“Because I refused to marry a woman I’ve met twice?”
“Because you’re risking generations of careful planning! Elena is perfect – Harvard MBA, proper breeding…”
Liv flinched at the familiar words, too similar to what Sophia had thrown in her face this morning.
“As it should be,” Lord Blackwood declared. “People should know their place. And you should know yours.”
Liv’s hand tightened around her glass, fresh tears threatening.
“Their place?” Sebastian’s voice turned ice-cold. “The board meeting’s in an hour,” Sebastian muttered, checking his phone. “If I can’t even pay a bar tab…”
Liv wiped her tears, years of strategic thinking warring with her current emotional state. Here was Sebastian Blackwood – the man her father had suggested as a potential ally just last week – looking as lost as she felt.
“The gentleman’s bill,” she called out, her voice still rough from crying. “Add it to mine.”
“A delivery girl picking up my tab?” Sebastian turned, incredulous. “That’s hardly-“
“Consider it…” Liv met his eyes, “an investment in an interesting conversation.”
Sebastian pocketed his phone, his perfectly tailored suit rustling as he approached Liv’s table. The dim pub lights caught the subtle Blackwood crest on his cufflinks – a reminder of the legacy he was defying.
“Mind if I join the pity party?” he asked, eyeing her expensive whiskey. “Seems we’re both having a spectacular Monday.”
“Pull up a chair,” Liv’s voice was raw from crying. “Nothing like family expectations to drive one to drink, is there?”
“Speaking of drinks,” he settled across from her, “that’s Macallan 1926 you’re crying into. Interesting choice for…”
“A delivery girl?” Liv laughed bitterly, wiping fresh tears. “Let me guess – people should know their place?”
“Family can be cruel,” she took a sip, not bothering to hide her perfect whiskey etiquette. “Though I suppose being forced to marry Elena Rothschild isn’t quite as bad as being humiliated at your own wedding.”
“You know about Elena?” His eyes sharpened.
“I know many things,” Liv’s tears slowed as familiar strategic ground steadied her. “Like how Blackwood Securities’ stocks dropped twelve points this morning.”
“Twelve points,” Sebastian swirled his own whiskey. “And that’s exactly why they’re forcing this marriage. Blackwood Securities needs the Rothschild connection to stabilize our market position.”
“The great dynasty merger,” Liv’s voice carried unexpected bitterness. “Because love is for little people, right?”
“God, you sound like my father,” he ran a hand through his dark hair. “All about strategic alliances and proper breeding. Elena Rothschild – the perfect match. Harvard MBA, old money, flawless reputation…”
Liv stared into her glass. “Maybe some people are just… better at staying invisible.”
“Until they’re not,” Sebastian leaned forward. “You know, there’s something familiar about the way you analyze market movements…”
“You want to know something truly pathetic?” Liv’s voice cracked, the expensive whiskey burning her throat. “Tomorrow was supposed to be my wedding. Five years of… everything, ending with him choosing Sophia Montgomery.”
Sebastian’s expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. “You’re Marcus Thorne’s fiancée?”
“Ex-fiancée,” she corrected, fresh tears falling. “The delivery girl who dared to dream above her station. God, I was so careful… so perfect in my role.”
“The delivery girl who built his empire,” Sebastian said softly, making Liv’s head snap up. “Oh, come on. I’ve studied Thorne’s rise. No one goes from bankruptcy to billions in three years without…”
“Without what?” Liv wiped her tears with her uniform sleeve.
“Without someone brilliant behind them. Someone who understands markets at a level most can’t comprehend. Someone who…” he paused, studying her.
“You know what he said?” Liv’s laugh was hollow. “That love is for little people. People like me. If he only knew…” she stopped herself.
“Knew what?” Sebastian leaned forward, his own family drama momentarily forgotten.
“Nothing,” Liv stared into her glass. “I’m just a delivery girl who made the mistake of loving someone who saw me as… nothing.”
Part 2: An Immoral Offer
“You know what’s ironic?” Sebastian swirled his whiskey, moonlight from the pub’s window catching his Blackwood signet ring. “While Marcus Thorne is trading up for ‘proper breeding’, my father’s trying to force the same kind of match on me.”
“Elena Rothschild,” Liv’s voice was hoarse from crying. “The perfect choice.”
“Perfect,” he scoffed. “Like Sophia Montgomery is perfect. Tell me, what would you do if you had my resources? If you controlled Blackwood Securities?”
“Besides not crying in a pub?” Liv attempted a weak smile. “The Asian markets are vulnerable. I’d… I mean, someone could…”
“Could what?” Sebastian leaned forward, something dangerous flickering in his eyes.
“Nothing. Just the ramblings of a delivery girl who’s had too much expensive whiskey.”
“No,” he studied her tear-stained face. “You see it too, don’t you? The weakness in the current market structure. The possibility of…”
“Of?” Liv met his gaze.
“A different kind of merger,” Sebastian’s voice dropped. “One that would make both our problems… disappear.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Marriage,” he said simply. “Not to Elena. Not to preserve old money traditions. But to someone who understands markets like you do. Someone who could help me take control of my own destiny.”
“You’re drunk,” Liv whispered.
“I’m strategic,” he countered. “And you’re not just a delivery girl. Are you?”
“Would you believe me if I’d tell you that I am Olivia Sinclair?” Liv’s voice was barely a whisper, tears still staining her cheeks.
Sebastian actually laughed, the sound echoing in the dark pub. “Olivia Sinclair? The Sinclair Global heiress? Right, and I’m the Queen.”
“I thought not,” Liv smiled sadly into her whiskey.
“Look,” Sebastian’s tone softened, “I appreciate you picking up my tab, but Olivia Sinclair is currently in Tokyo, closing the merger that’s making Marcus Thorne a billionaire. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone knows what they’re meant to know,” she murmured.
“Besides,” he continued, “Olivia Sinclair is legendary in financial circles. A Harvard and Oxford graduate who revolutionized Asian markets. She wouldn’t be…” he gestured at her tear-stained delivery uniform.
“Crying in a pub?” Liv finished for him. “Getting dumped by Marcus Thorne? Wearing a £5 uniform while drinking whiskey?”
“Exactly. Though I have to admit, your market knowledge is… intriguing for a delivery girl.”
“Sometimes,” Liv stood unsteadily, “the best place to hide is in plain sight. Good luck with Elena Rothschild, Mr. Blackwood.”
“Wait,” he caught her arm. “About my offer…”
“A marriage of convenience?” Her laugh was hollow. “Trust me, Mr. Blackwood. You don’t want to marry someone like me. After all… I’m just a delivery girl.”
Sebastian pulled out his Mont Blanc pen and a folded document from his inner suit pocket. His hands steady despite the whiskey, he began writing on the pub’s dark wooden table.
“One year,” his voice turned businesslike, masking his desperation. “Marriage in name only. You’ll have your own suite in the Blackwood estate, complete privacy, and…”
Liv watched through tear-stained eyes as he wrote numbers that would have made any real delivery girl faint.
“Fifty thousand pounds monthly allowance,” he continued, pen scratching against paper. “Plus five million upon completion of the contract. After the year, we part ways amicably. You’ll never have to work another delivery job.”
“Mr. Blackwood…”
“Think about it,” he pushed the hastily drafted contract across the table. “You have the market knowledge I need. Together, we could stabilize Blackwood Securities, prevent the Rothschild takeover, and…” he paused, “show Marcus Thorne what he lost.”
Liv stood slowly, her delivery uniform creasing. For a moment, she stared at the contract – at the millions offered to a supposed delivery girl – then raised her eyes to meet his.
“No,” she said simply, her voice steady for the first time that evening.
“But-“
“Mr. Blackwood,” Liv’s tears had finally stopped. “I may be nothing but a delivery girl in your eyes, but I won’t be bought. Not for fifty thousand a month, not for five million. Not even to spite Marcus Thorne.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Sebastian called as she turned to leave.
“No,” she looked back one last time. “I made my mistake when I let someone else define my worth. I won’t make that mistake twice.”
Sebastian stared at the contract, his elegant handwriting spelling out millions that now seemed suddenly small. When he looked up, Liv’s entire demeanor had changed. The tears were gone, replaced by something… dangerous.
“Forget about the money,” her lips curved into a naughty grin that seemed startlingly out of place on a delivery girl. “I’ll marry you for free.”
“Free?” Sebastian’s aristocratic composure slipped. “Why would you-“
“Because, Mr. Blackwood,” she leaned forward, her delivery uniform suddenly carrying the authority of a power suit, “sometimes revenge is worth more than money. And sometimes…” she picked up his contract, studying it with unexpectedly professional eyes, “the best deals are the ones where both parties have something to lose.”
“What could you possibly have to lose?”
“Oh, darling,” her grin turned predatory, reminding him unnervingly of someone he’d seen in board meetings, “you’d be surprised. Shall we discuss terms? Or would you prefer to keep offering millions to a simple delivery girl?”
Sebastian felt the ground shift beneath his feet. The crying woman from moments ago had vanished, replaced by someone who made his strategic mind tingle with warning.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“Someone who knows exactly how to save Blackwood Securities,” she stood, suddenly regal despite her uniform. “The question is, Sebastian… are you brave enough to find out?”
Part 3: Dangerous Games
“Well… if it goes wrong,” Sebastian’s aristocratic features settled into amused concern, “remember that I wanted to pay you.”
“How generous,” Liv’s grin turned sharp as cut crystal. “The noble Sebastian Blackwood, trying to protect a simple delivery girl from herself.”
The pub’s shadows seemed to shift with her changing demeanor. Gone was the crying woman from moments ago, replaced by something that made Sebastian’s strategic instincts fire warning signals.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he observed, studying her with new interest.
“Oh darling,” she picked up her whiskey, her movements suddenly refined, practiced. “You have no idea what game we’re playing yet. But you will.”
“And what game is that?”
“The one where a delivery girl helps you save your empire,” her eyes glittered. “The one where we both get exactly what we want. You escape Elena Rothschild, I get…” she paused deliberately.
“Revenge on Marcus?”
“Among other things,” she set down her glass with perfect precision. “Tell me, Sebastian, what do you know about algorithm ST-47?”
His face paled slightly. “The one that’s about to make Marcus Thorne a billionaire?”
“Mmm,” she smiled. “Interesting thing about that algorithm. The ‘ST’ doesn’t stand for what everyone thinks.”
“What does it stand for?”
“Marry me,” she challenged, “and find out.”
The pub’s ancient radio crackled to life with the hourly news, cutting through their charged conversation.
“Breaking news,” the BBC announcer’s crisp voice filled the dark space. “London’s business world was shocked today by the announcement of Marcus Thorne’s engagement to Sophia Montgomery, mere hours after breaking off his previous engagement. The Thorne-Montgomery union, scheduled for tomorrow at St. Paul’s Cathedral, represents a merger of old and new money, with estimated combined assets of…”
Liv’s hand tightened around her whiskey glass, her newfound confidence wavering for just a moment.
“In related news,” the announcer continued, “Thorne Enterprises’ Tokyo merger is set to close tomorrow, making Marcus Thorne one of Britain’s youngest billionaires. Sources close to the couple suggest the timing is not coincidental…”
“Turn it off,” Sebastian called to the bartender, watching Liv’s face carefully.
“No,” she held up her hand, her voice steady. “Let it play.”
“The former fiancée, a delivery service employee, could not be reached for comment. Meanwhile, the Montgomery family expressed their delight at the union, with Victoria Montgomery stating, ‘Some people simply belong in certain circles…'”
Liv’s laugh was cold enough to freeze hell. “Oh, Sebastian darling?”
“Yes?”
“About that marriage proposal,” she met his eyes, something dangerous dancing in their depths. “I accept. And I promise you one thing – tomorrow’s headlines will be… significantly different.”
“Let’s go and get married,” Sebastian stood, straightening his Savile Row suit. “Though I have to admit, this isn’t quite how I imagined my wedding night would start.”
“What, you didn’t picture proposing to a crying delivery girl in a pub?” Liv’s smile held secrets. “While your father freezes your accounts and your ex-fiancé makes headlines?”
“About as much as you pictured accepting while wearing that uniform,” he offered his hand. “Speaking of which…”
“Oh, this old thing?” Liv stood with unexpected grace. “Don’t worry about my wardrobe, darling. I have… resources.”
“The same resources that let you order expensive whiskey? Just accept my invitation to go shopping for your wedding dress.”
“Among others,” she checked her cheap watch. “Now, about timing. The Tokyo markets open in ten hours. Marcus’s merger closes at noon.”
“You seem remarkably well-informed about Marcus’s business dealings for a delivery girl,” Sebastian’s eyes narrowed.
“Let’s just say,” Liv’s smile turned predatory, “tomorrow will be full of surprises. For everyone.”
“Including me?”
“Especially you,” she gathered her delivery bag. “Now, shall we go crash the London Registry Office? I believe they’re open late on Mondays.”
“You’re either mad or brilliant,” Sebastian offered his arm.
“Why not both?” Liv took it, her delivery uniform contrasting sharply with his bespoke suit. “After all, the best revenge stories always need a touch of both.”
“Ok Sebastian. I accept your invitation to go shopping… what card do you want to use?”
“Actually,” Sebastian’s aristocratic smile turned sly, “I do have one card Father doesn’t know about.”
“Oh?” Liv arched an eyebrow, her tears long forgotten.
“Personal account,” he pulled out a platinum card, “set up when I was still at Oxford. Before I took over as CEO. Father’s so focused on the corporate accounts, he’s forgotten about my private ventures.”
“How delightfully rebellious of you,” Liv’s smile held new respect. “The perfect son has a secret card?”
“The perfect son has many secrets,” he tucked the card into his jacket. “Just like certain delivery girls seem to have rather expensive taste in whiskey.”
“Touché,” she stood, her movements betraying an elegance that no delivery uniform could hide. “Shall we go shock some sales assistants at Harrods?”
“Nothing like a delivery girl with a CEO escort to cause a stir,” he offered his arm. “Though something tells me you’re quite used to causing stirs.”
“Sebastian, darling,” she took his arm, her smile promising chaos, “you have no idea. Now, about that wedding…”
“After you,” he gestured to the door. “My rebellious card against your mysterious resources. Let’s see who shocks Harrods more.”
“Is everything a competition with you?”
“Says the woman who just agreed to marry a stranger for revenge.”
“Touché, again,” her laugh held steel. “This could be fun after all.”
