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His Tattoo, My Secret / Chapter 5: Live on Air—The Truth Teeters
His Tattoo, My Secret

His Tattoo, My Secret

Author: Morgan Cooke


Chapter 5: Live on Air—The Truth Teeters

The phone rang three times. No answer from Carter Sinclair.

My brows knitted together.

I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, cheeks burning with embarrassment. My hands went clammy, gripping the counter like it was a lifeline. Not that I’d give Natalie the satisfaction.

It rang three more times, then he hung up.

I couldn’t help but twitch my lips. Suddenly, I remembered what his assistant had said earlier: “Mr. Sinclair is in a meeting.”

Of course. Of all days, he had to be busy when the world was watching.

Carter Sinclair isn’t just some rich playboy with a figurehead job—he’s a real top executive, serious and responsible at work. Hanging up on me during meetings isn’t new, but he always explains afterward.

Still, being left hanging at a moment like this stung.

I took a deep breath, focusing on the pattern of my phone case, pretending like I hadn’t just been humiliated in front of a hundred thousand strangers.

Meanwhile, the comments were ruthless:

[Comment: Hilarious—she really thinks she can chase clout like this?]

[Comment: Does she really believe the young heir would notice a nobody like her?]

They circled like sharks, sensing blood in the water. I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter a little tighter.

Natalie looked at me with a half-smile: “Aubrey, you were just joking for the show, right?”

She made sure to show off her red-nailed hand to the camera: “But you don’t seem to have a sense of humor. This joke isn’t funny at all.”

She angled her hand just so, letting the ring catch the light. It was all about the image.

Her words chilled the whole livestream.

The air in the studio dropped ten degrees. Even the host looked nervous.

The host forced a smile and tried to move on: “Natalie, have you decided who you’ll invite?”

She steered the ship back on course, but the tension was palpable.

Natalie nodded and looked at the camera. “I’m inviting a designer with a family legacy. He said he’ll be right over.”

The comments cheered her on.

[Comment: Our superstar’s connections are incredible!]

[Comment: I wonder which luxury designer it is?]

The hype machine roared back to life. Natalie preened, basking in the glow.

The host followed up, asking Natalie about the designer’s identity.

Just then, my phone buzzed. Carter Sinclair messaged me.

Carter Sinclair: [Babe, I’m in a meeting. My dad’s here for the year-end review—I have to show the old man some respect.]

I could hear his voice in my head, a mix of apology and frustration. His dad is the type who still wears cufflinks and thinks tattoos are for rock stars.

Carter Sinclair’s father is a strict, old-school type. He once scolded him for the tattoo on his waist.

Just last night, Carter was complaining in the bathtub, saying his dad had chewed him out: the begonia tattoo was for me, but he couldn’t even make our relationship public—how humiliating.

He was holding my waist, both him and the water burning hot, making it impossible for me to escape.

I remember the way his fingers slid along my hip, tracing the tattoo, his voice muffled by steam and bubbles. He’d pulled me closer until there was no space left.

He kept whining until I finally gave in and agreed to go public.

He grinned so wide I thought he might splash half the tub on the floor. “You’re the best thing I’ve ever had,” he’d whispered, and for once, I almost believed it.

And now, I’d stumbled into the perfect opportunity.

Still annoyed from being hung up on, I didn’t want to give him the time of day.

I briefly explained the livestream task, then dangled the carrot: [If you miss this chance to go public, you’ll just have to wait for fate to give you another shot~ Whether you come or not is up to you~]

I added a winky emoji, just to twist the knife. A little payback never hurt.

This time, he replied instantly: [I’ll be there right away.]

I could almost hear the scramble as he excused himself from the boardroom, probably making up an urgent business call.

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