Chapter 91
2187words
Lucian Sinclair’s Estate | North Courtyard Garden
Mid Morning
The garden carried the brightness of early summer, sunlight threading through the pergola and scattering across the table below. A low spread had been set out — coffee for Lucian, tea for Kristina, and Eli’s glass of fresh orange juice already half-empty beside him. Between them lay papers, a laptop open to a draft guest list, and pens that had been passed around more than once.
Kristina leaned forward, crossing out a name with careful strokes. “No. He’s too close to Kessler. It would look like politics, not a celebration.”
Lucian gave a slight approving nod, setting his cup back down on its saucer. “Agreed. We keep it clean. Family, allies, and those who understand this isn’t a stage for leverage.”
Eli tapped the list with his fingertip. “Then we should balance it. If it’s only executives and security heads, it’ll feel like a shareholders’ dinner. A few friends — the kind that remind us this is life, not just business.”
Kristina looked up at him, smiling faintly. “You’re right. It has to feel like us.”
Her gaze drifted across the table, taking in the scattered names. Each choice felt heavier than ink — not just a guest, but someone invited into their circle, into a moment that belonged to all three of them. For years, secrecy had been her shelter. Now, the idea of being seen still pressed against old instincts, but in this light it felt less like exposure — and more like stepping forward.
Lucian shifted the papers neatly into order. “Which brings us to the question we’ve avoided long enough — media.”
Eli let out a slow breath. “Not tabloids. If it leaks to them first, the whole thing becomes spectacle.”
“Exactly,” Lucian said. Calm, but firm. “We choose the coverage, or it gets chosen for us.”
Kristina was quiet. She traced the rim of her teacup, her reflection rippling in the pale surface. Cameras, headlines, voices — all the things she had spent her life avoiding. For a moment, the weight of it pressed close.
Eli noticed, his voice softening. “We don’t have to, Kristina. If it feels wrong—”
She shook her head before he could finish, lifting her eyes to meet theirs. Her voice was gentle but sure. “If we’re building a future, it shouldn’t be hidden.”
The words settled across the table like sunlight — clear, specific, and warm. Lucian’s expression softened, the faintest lift at the corner of his mouth. Eli leaned back, smile quiet but proud.
For a breath, none of them spoke. The garden held its own stillness: bees moving lazily through lavender, the faint breeze carrying the scent of roses across the lawn. Kristina let the silence linger, not heavy but full, like a decision already taking root.
Lucian finally set his pen down. “Then it’s decided.”
Eli stretched, draping his arm along the back of the bench behind Kristina. Not touching, not crowding — simply close enough that she could feel his warmth there, steady and present. “Feels good to have it written down. Almost like the rest is only waiting.”
Kristina tilted her head slightly toward him, her smile small but true. “Almost.”
And with that, mid-morning sunlight on their faces and the guest list resting between them, the choice no longer felt daunting — only real.
Los Altos | Briarcrest Estates
Early Afternoon
The convoy turned past stone walls trimmed with ivy, rolling to a stop beneath an iron gate that parted in silence. A discreet sign stood at the entrance, its lettering carved clean into granite: Briarcrest. Manicured hedges framed the road, and beyond them, winding drives led to houses set deep into the hillside, each tucked far enough apart to feel private but still threaded by the same quiet street.
Kristina leaned forward slightly in her seat, eyes moving from house to house. The air felt still here, shaded by tall oaks, with long stretches of green rising into the hills. “It feels… open, but safe,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Lucian’s gaze swept the properties, his voice low, practical. “Distance between homes is adequate. Enough space for perimeter measures without intruding on the neighbors.”
Eli, seated across from her, glanced out the window. “Close enough to the city,” he added, “but it doesn’t feel crowded. You’d still hear yourself think here.”
Up ahead, Sebastian stepped out first, scanning with the practiced calm of someone who never left anything to chance. His hand brushed his comm as the others followed.
“Perimeter clean,” Ash’s dry voice crackled in. “Unless you count the gardener giving us the stink-eye from behind the roses.”
Vex cut in before Kristina could stop her smile. “Honestly, I’d give us the stink-eye too. Two black SUVs rolling up like a diplomatic motorcade? We’re not exactly subtle.”
Kristina covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking with a laugh she couldn’t contain. Eli smirked openly. Lucian’s expression didn’t shift, but the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest twitch.
The group moved together, following a winding drive until it opened onto a wide, unoccupied lot. The grass sloped down into a sea of treetops, rooftops scattered like pebbles far below. The air here felt thinner, lighter, as though the hills had carved out a pocket just for them.
Kristina stepped ahead without thinking, her shoes brushing against the grass as she took it in. “It doesn’t feel like California,” she said softly. “It feels like… breathing space.”
Lucian came to stand beside her, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the view. “Enough land for security. Enough distance for privacy. Enough walls for peace.”
Eli crouched nearby, pulling a blade of grass between his fingers, his voice gentler. “And enough room for us to build something of our own.”
Kristina’s eyes moved between them, her chest tightening with something softer than certainty. She whispered, “Here, I could imagine hearing silence without it feeling lonely.”
Lucian brushed his hand against hers—just the faintest touch, deliberate and fleeting. Eli caught the gesture and, without hesitation, laid his own hand over both of theirs, completing the link.
The warmth held for a moment before Sebastian’s voice cut quietly across it, professional but not unkind. “Property secure for now. Decision’s yours.”
Kristina turned back toward the rise of the hill, the way the road curved out of sight, leaving a sense of enclosure without confinement. Then she looked at Lucian, then at Eli. Her voice was soft, but firm. “It’s not just about walls and gates. It’s about whether it feels like home.”
Eli studied her, the faintest smile pulling at his mouth. “And does it?”
Kristina drew in a long, steadying breath. The breeze shifted, carrying the faintest trace of earth and pine. She nodded once. “Yes.”
Stanford Shopping Center
The drive back from Briarcrest should have felt heavy with decisions, but instead it carried a quiet hum of excitement. The SUVs pulled into Stanford Shopping Center, discreet enough that their little convoy didn’t draw more than a few curious looks.
Kristina stepped out first, sunglasses shielding her expression, but the way her hand lingered on the strap of her bag gave her away — nervous, but eager. Lucian followed, already scanning the storefronts with measured efficiency, while Eli gave a crooked grin as if this was all a little surreal: boardrooms one week, furniture hunting the next.
Ash’s voice murmured over the comms: “All clear. No threats spotted, unless you count the espresso line at Starbucks.”
Vex cut in a second later, deadpan: “Correction. Threat level: caramel macchiato shortage.”
Kristina bit back a laugh, while Lucian merely adjusted his cufflinks. Sebastian, walking a few paces ahead, didn’t dignify either remark with an answer.
Inside the bright, air-conditioned mall, they drifted toward a home design store — all clean lines, pale wood, and impossibly expensive displays that looked like they belonged in glossy magazines. Kristina slowed in front of a long dining table, fingertips grazing the polished surface.
“It’s too modern,” she murmured. “Too… staged. A house shouldn’t look like no one lives there.”
Eli crouched beside one of the chairs, tilting it slightly. “Yeah, this feels like the kind of place where you’d be afraid to spill water. Not us.”
Lucian gave the table a long, assessing look. “It’s solid oak. Durable. Practical. Nothing frivolous about it.”
Kristina’s lips curved. “Of course you’d say that.” She glanced at Eli. “And of course you’d worry about water stains.”
“Practicality has merit,” Lucian replied evenly, though there was a faint tug at his mouth, almost a smile.
They moved on, past lamps and rugs, until Kristina stopped at a display of bookshelves. The arrangement was symmetrical, perfectly balanced — the kind that would have driven her mad if one side were off. She lingered, silently measuring the spacing with her eyes.
The older woman’s voice still echoed faintly in her memory: I made the right gown for her.
Lucian noticed the way Kristina lingered. He stepped closer, speaking quietly so only she and Eli could hear. “This feels right to you, doesn’t it?”
She nodded once. “Symmetry calms me. It makes the space breathe.”
Eli slid in between them, his smile gentler now. “Then we’ll have shelves. A whole wall of them. And you can line them up however you want — books, pictures, even the throw pillows if it helps.”
She laughed, startled, covering her mouth. “Pillows don’t go on shelves.”
“They will if you say they do,” Eli teased.
Lucian exhaled slowly, amused despite himself. “God help us if he’s the one in charge of arranging the furniture.”
They wandered deeper into the store until Kristina’s steps slowed again — this time in front of a baby crib tucked away in a corner display. White, simple, elegant. Her hand lifted toward it, then hovered in midair before retreating quickly.
Eli caught the motion but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he touched the rail lightly, his voice quiet but steady. “Not yet. But soon.”
Lucian’s gaze lingered a moment, unreadable, before he reached past them both to adjust a dangling mobile above the crib. The soft paper stars spun lazily, catching the light. “When the time comes, it will be ready.”
Kristina drew a breath, steadied by the certainty in their voices. She turned away before her throat could tighten too much, motioning toward the register instead. “All right. Shelves first. The rest can wait.”
As they moved on, Ash’s voice drifted through the comm again, smug and light: “Status update — targets have acquired furniture. Likelihood of domestic bliss: increasing.”
Vex added without missing a beat, “Recommend we secure a futon for Sebastian. He looks like he’ll need it when they start arguing about curtain colors.”
This time, even Sebastian cracked the faintest smirk — and for once, Kristina didn’t bother hiding her laugh.
They turned a corner and nearly stopped in unison.
The display wasn’t subtle — a massive bed dominated the center of the showroom, draped in pale linen and layered with pillows. It wasn’t ornate, just impossibly wide, the kind of bed that seemed less like furniture and more like a promise — a centerpiece, not an afterthought.
Kristina blinked at it, her breath catching in her throat. She’d never given much thought to beds beyond necessity, yet this one felt different. Not staged, not for show — but like something waiting to be lived in.
Eli stepped forward first, running a hand over the carved post. “Now this…” he said softly, “this looks like it belongs to more than one person.”
Lucian’s gaze swept over it, calm but deliberate. “It’s practical. Strong frame. Enough space.” He paused, his tone lowering just slightly. “Space enough to never feel crowded.”
Kristina’s fingers curled at her side. For a moment, the image came unbidden — mornings here, laughter pressed against pillows, silence that wasn’t lonely but full. She swallowed and whispered, “It feels… like home, just standing here.”
Eli looked back at her, then at Lucian, and his grin softened into something more certain. “Then maybe we’ve found the first thing worth buying.”
Lucian inclined his head, almost imperceptibly, but enough for Kristina to catch the weight of his agreement. She stepped closer, brushing her hand across the linen, and for the first time in days, the future didn’t feel abstract — it felt tangible, right here in front of her.
“Then it’s decided,” Lucian said quietly.
Kristina let herself smile, a steady and sure expression. “Our first home deserves it.”
Eli leaned against the frame with a small laugh, softer than usual. “Funny, isn’t it? Out of everything we’ve seen today, it’s just a bed that makes it real.”
Lucian’s lips curved faintly. “Not just a bed.”
Kristina’s throat tightened, but she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “No… it’s where everything begins.”
The three of them stood there a moment longer, in the hush of the showroom, as if the space itself understood what had been chosen.
Home isn’t built in a day. It begins with foundations — choices, small and certain.
—To be continued.
