Folding For You

Chapter 1: Killian

The smoke from my cigarette curled lazily into the cold night air as I took the last drag. I let it burn down to the filter before flicking it into a puddle with a sharp snap of my wrist. My life, the labyrinth, felt more complicated with each passing day.

The Kincaid name carried weight—too much of it if you asked me. It was a double-edged sword, a source of pride but also pressure that gnawed at my gut, never really letting go.

I'd sidestepped the path my father wanted for me, refusing to take over the family empire, and instead carved out my own space in finance. That responsibility had fallen to Karlton, my older brother, and Kaleb, the youngest, who had thrown himself into running the RebelKinc Media Group, thriving in the rush of running an advertising giant.

Me? I found solace in the stock market. I needed the chaos—the thrill of making deals, the adrenaline of high-risk trades, the satisfaction of seeing clients' portfolios soar. It consumed me. And I liked it that way. It kept me from overthinking about the emptiness of everything else, like my personal life—or lack thereof.

I pushed the door open to a bar I'd never entered. It wasn't my usual spot, but I needed something substantial, close to my client's office. The whiskey would do the trick.

I ordered my drink, my gaze drifting across the room, barely paying attention to the bartender as he slid the glass toward me. But then I noticed her—sitting at the far end of the bar, still in her work clothes, meticulously folding pieces of paper. Origami. In a bar.

I couldn't help but stare momentarily, intrigued by its sheer contrast. Who comes to a bar to do paper crafting?

As the whiskey burned down my throat, curiosity tugged at me. I had been so focused on the grind, so consumed by the pursuit of control, success, and dominance in my world, that I'd forgotten what it felt like to be drawn toward someone. Not just out of boredom or the need for distraction—but because something about her broke through all the noise in my head.

I walked over, letting that natural swagger I'd perfected over the years lead the way. I was used to playing the game.

"So, origami, huh?" I asked, leaning casually on the bar next to her. "Not exactly the typical bar activity."

She looked up at me, her eyes bright with an amused glint. There was something sharp and playful in her gaze. "It helps me relax," she said. "Been having a pretty stressful week."

"I can relate." I took another sip of my whiskey, letting it settle in my chest. "Work's been a grind."

She nodded, and for a moment, we were just two people who understood the same pressure. But there was something more in how her fingers moved over the paper—deft, precise, yet relaxed. She had control, but it wasn't forced. It was natural.

"Do you have a slot for in-team origami?" I smirked, letting the corner of my mouth lift in that way that always got me what I wanted.

She laughed, her cheeks dimpling in the most distracting way. "Scoot right in," she said, patting the seat beside her.

As I sat down, I couldn't help but notice how magnetic she was. There was something about how she carried herself—self-assured but playful, a spark of mischief in her eyes. It wasn't forced, and it wasn't fake. She was honest in a way I hadn't felt in a long time.

I picked up one of the folded paper animals on the table, turned it over in my hand, and felt the smooth creases. It was delicate but steady—much like her.

"So," I said, feeling that familiar excitement building, "does this come with a membership fee?"

She put down the paper in her hand and extended hers toward me. "Nope, but you need to complete at least one origami with me," she replied, her smile daring, almost teasing.

I took her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine, and something electric passed between us. "Killian," I said, my voice low.

"Sabrina," she replied, shaking my hand, her grip firm but gentle. "Welcome to my origami club."

She slid a sheet of paper toward me, covered in different shapes, animals, and folds. "Choose your path, young Origa-wan," she said, her voice full of playful challenge.

I raised an eyebrow, smirking at her audacity. "Origa-wan? You just used a Star Wars reference?" It was and unexpected, like everything else about her.

She grinned, slightly embarrassed but proud of herself. "I know, right? I made it up."

And just like that, I was hooked. Here she was, folding paper in a bar, making Star Wars jokes, and ultimately turning my world upside down. I wasn't used to this. I wasn't used to her.

I picked up the paper, feeling the smooth surface between my fingers. This wasn't just a game to her—it was her space. She was inviting me in, showing me a world that had nothing to do with the Kincaid name, with responsibility, or with the kind of shit that weighed me down every day.