Folding For You

Chapter 30: Killian

We pulled up to the grand luxurious mansion—because of course, it wasn't just a house, it was a full-blown estate, complete with its perfectly manicured lawns, towering windows, and enough marble to put a palace to shame.

Dad always had a flair for the dramatic. Why have a regular front door when you can have one that's heavy enough to withstand a siege? And naturally, the place had all the subtlety of a five-star hotel, because heaven forbid anyone thought we lived like normal people.

I glanced at Sabrina—calm, collected, like she had no idea what walking through those doors meant. Of course, she didn't. She didn't carry the same weight I did when it came to this house—or to Dad.

The front door swung open before I turned off the engine, and Gilbert was standing there like always, with the same calm expression. It was almost eerie how he never seemed to age or even flinch.

Sharp black suit, eyes that missed nothing. He'd been with the family for as long as I could remember, blending into the background of this house like he was part of it.

"Mr. Kincaid," he greeted with a slight bow, his tone formal and measured. "Miss Norwood. Welcome."

I nodded, stepping out and helping Sabrina out of the car. She smiled politely at Gilbert, who returned the gesture with the same calm professionalism he always had. Gilbert was as much a fixture here as the stone steps or the immaculate lawns—someone who'd seen everything and never said anything about it.

"Your father is expecting you," Gilbert said, stepping aside to let us in. As soon as we crossed the threshold, the cool air of the house wrapped around us. It was like stepping into a different world where everything was controlled and maintained.

The marble floors gleamed, the glass walls offered flawless views of the grounds, and nothing was out of place. Of course, it wasn't. Nothing ever was in Dad's world.

Gilbert followed, silent and unobtrusive but always present. He was like the invisible hand that ensured everything ran as Dad wanted it to—quietly, efficiently, without a hitch.

"Shall I have refreshments prepared in the sunroom?" he asked, his voice as smooth as ever. He made it sound so simple, but nothing here was ever simple. Not with Dad.

I gave a brief nod, though my mind was already elsewhere. The house was beautiful—too beautiful, really. Every detail was intentional, and every corner screamed the control Dad held over his world.

Even in the warmth of a summer afternoon, with the breeze drifting in and the sunlight pouring through those giant windows, it felt cold. It always did. This place wasn't a home; it was Dad's empire. And Gilbert—well, he was just one more part of it, like everything else here.

I took Sabrina's hand, slightly squeezing it as I led her toward the sunroom. Her fingers were warm in mine, contrasting the cool, polished floors beneath our feet.

We walked past the expansive glass walls that lined the corridor, offering glimpses of the perfectly manicured grounds bathed in the late afternoon sun. As we reached the entrance to the sunroom, I glanced at her, knowing the view would stop her in her tracks.

Sure enough, Sabrina half-screamed in awe when we stepped inside, her voice echoing slightly off the sleek glass. I couldn't blame her. Even after all these years, the sunroom had that effect.

The room was a masterpiece of modern design—floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, flooding it with natural light. The glass walls opened up to an uninterrupted view of the sprawling garden and the distant ocean shimmer, making it feel like the room was part of the landscape.

The ceiling was vaulted but minimalist, with subtle, recessed lighting that would softly glow in the evening hours, though it wasn't needed now with the sun streaming in.

A pair of low, modern sofas were arranged in the centre, their clean lines softened by luxurious, textured cushions in neutral tones. Between them sat a sleek, glass-topped coffee table, its surface reflecting the light, while delicate white orchids in a simple vase added a touch of life and elegance to the scene.

The floor was pale stone, warm underfoot from the heat of the day, while a large abstract painting—one of Dad's quieter indulgences—hung on the far wall. Its colours complimented the room without overwhelming it.

Every detail was calculated to feel open and serene but undeniably sophisticated. The kind of room designed to impress without shouting for attention. Even the air seemed lighter here, filled with the scent of the nearby gardens and the faintest hint of the sea.

Sabrina's eyes darted around, taking it all in, and I couldn't help but smile at her reaction. It was beautiful, sure. But like everything else in this house, the beauty was a mask—an illusion of peace in a place built on control.

What captivated me wasn't the pristine beauty of the sunroom or the perfectly manicured gardens outside—it was her. Sabrina, twirling like she hadn't a care in the world, her hand still gripping mine, tugging me along like I belonged here. Like we belonged here.

The sun caught in her hair, making it shine like dark silk, and her skin glowed in the golden light. She was the most breathtaking thing in the room, not the designer furniture or the stunning views.

Her smile—the one that could melt away my worst thoughts—was vast and carefree. And those dimples, damn. Those dimples got me every time. I'd fallen in love with her because of that smile, and every day since, it just pulled me in deeper.

Sabrina looked at me with her eyes filled with wonder and excitement. "Baby, you grew up in this house? You're like a prince," she said, her voice soft but playful, as if she'd wandered into some enchanted palace.

A part of me wanted to smile back, to lean into the fantasy she was painting. But I couldn't. The weight of it all pressed too hard against my chest. The truth of this house, of what it represented, ran too deep.

And as much as I wanted to hold on to the lightness she brought, something darker kept pulling me under. My father, this place, this damn meeting—it was all coming down on me like a storm I'd seen brewing for years.

What did Dad want this time? To lay down some ultimatum? Break up with Sabrina or get cut off from the family fund? It would be typical of him, and honestly, if that's where this was heading, I was ready.

I've been ready.

I've spent my entire life preparing for the moment he'd try to rip everything away, try to prove that without him, I'd be nothing. That's why I've worked harder than anyone else and built something from the ground up, so I'd never depend on the Kincaid name or legacy. I didn't need Dad's money or his approval. I never had.

But then, why drag me all the way out here? Why put on this show when a phone call could've done the job? He didn't need the pageantry if he wanted to cut me off.

No, something else was at play.

And the unease building inside me, the tension pulling tight in my gut—it told me that whatever was coming wouldn't be as simple as a threat. Something was going on behind Dad's usual cold facade, and I had a sinking feeling I was about to be dragged deeper into his world, whether I liked it or not.

I looked at Sabrina again, her face still lit with curiosity and excitement, completely unaware of the storm building inside me. She was my anchor, the one good thing I'd held on to. And no matter what Dad had to say or what he tried to pull, I wouldn't lose her, not for him or anyone.

I just had to get through this. And then, maybe, we'd finally be free. But the shadow of Dad's world wouldn't let go quickly. And I wasn't sure what it would take to fight it off this time.