Chapter 10: The Walker's
The kitchen was a warm haven of fragrant steam, a stark contrast to the cold opulence of the main house. Mrs. Luna was at the central island, her hands dusted with flour as she kneaded a soft, elastic dough. She looked up as they entered, her eyes crinkling in a friendly, questioning smile.
"Oh, Jane, who's your friend?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.
Both young women smiled. "Mom," Jane said, stepping aside slightly.
Mrs. Luna looked again, her gaze sharpening. Her expression shifted from curiosity to warm surprise. "Oh, dear! Miss Isadora! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize you there. You look so… so pretty!"
A shy, genuine smile touched Isadora's lips. The compliment, coming from the motherly chef, felt different. It was warm and real. "Thank you, Mrs. Luna."
"You're welcome, dear."
Isadora glanced uncertainly at Jane, who gave her an encouraging nod. "You should go, Isa. I'll stay and help my mom in the kitchen. Good luck."
With a deep breath, Isadora turned and walked toward the living room. The air seemed to grow colder with each step. Sebastian was there, a king holding court in his silent domain. He stood by the vast window, a phone pressed to his ear, his back to her. His posture was rigid with command. The moment he saw her reflection in the glass, he ended his call and turned, his eyes sweeping over her from head to toe in a single, assessing glance. He didn't comment on her transformed appearance. He simply stood and walked toward the foyer, a clear signal to follow.
Mr. Charles was already there, holding the door open. Outside, the black Rolls-Royce sat gleaming under the portico, a uniformed driver standing ready by the rear door.
"Just don't let them know our next move," Sebastian said into his phone, his voice a low, stern command before finally ending the call.
"Good evening, Mr. Walker," the driver said, moving to open the rear passenger door.
Sebastian stopped him with a raised hand. "It's fine, Samuel." He himself walked to the front passenger door and opened it. He looked at Isadora. "Get in."
Her face heated with a fresh wave of confusion and self-consciousness. She slid into the leather seat, her mind racing. Why the front? Was this some kind of test? She sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, afraid that even the rustle of her dress would be a transgression.
Sebastian took the keys from the driver. "I'll drive tonight. Thank you."
Samuel handed them over with a respectful nod and stepped back. Sebastian got in on the driver's side, and the powerful car purred to life, gliding away from the mansion.
The silence in the car was a physical presence, thick and heavy. Isadora stared straight ahead, watching the city lights blur past, her breathing shallow. Sebastian offered no conversation, his focus entirely on the road, his profile sharp and unreadable. They drove like that for twenty minutes, a bubble of tense quiet moving through the bustling city, until they turned onto a private road guarded by a discrete, manned gate.
The road wound its way up a hill, lined with ancient, towering trees. After a five-minute ascent, the Walker Old Estate came into view. It wasn't a modern mansion; it was a castle, a fortress of old money and tradition. Lit by soft, golden spotlights, its stone facade loomed against the darkening sky, with multiple chimneys and ivy climbing the walls. As they passed through the opened wrought-iron gates, a security guard in a crisp uniform bowed his head.
Sebastian drove down a crushed-stone driveway that split a sea of manicured lawns and formal gardens. The grounds were so vast their edges were lost to the night. He brought the car to a smooth stop before a grand entrance with double oak doors, now swung open to reveal the warm, glowing interior.
Sebastian unclipped his seatbelt. "Stay," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument as Isadora made a move to get out.
He exited, came around the car, and opened her door for her. The gesture, so at odds with his earlier coldness, sent another flush to her cheeks. She got out, the cool night air a shock on her skin.
"Stay close," he murmured, and led her inside.
The entrance hall was magnificent, a statement of generational wealth. The floor was a checkerboard of polished black and white marble. A double staircase with a wrought-iron balustrade swept upwards in a graceful curve. The walls were paneled in dark, richly stained wood, adorned with oil paintings in heavy gilt frames. A collection of exquisite Chinese vases stood on pedestals, silent sentinels in the cavernous space.
He guided her into the main living room. It was even more imposing, furnished with antique pieces and plush velvet couches in deep burgundy and navy. A massive marble fireplace dominated one wall, a low fire crackling within.
A sophisticated woman with perfectly coiffed hair Elizabeth Walker was seated on one of the couches, chatting with another well-dressed woman. She looked up as they entered, her face lighting up at the sight of her son. The smile froze, then tightened, as her eyes landed on Isadora.
"Saba!" Elizabeth stood and embraced her son. "You're here! How are you, my son? You hardly come home to see your mother these days." Her voice was a practiced blend of affection and reproach.
"I'm fine, Mother. How are you? And Dad?"
"He's busy, out of town, but fine. Your Aunt April is early." Sebastian turned to the other woman. "Aunt April."
"Nephew," she replied with a polished smile. "How have you been?"
"I've been well." He then turned slightly, his gesture forcing the attention onto the figure hovering nervously behind him, her hands clenched tightly in the fabric of her dress. "Mother, Aunt April, this is Isadora."
Aunt April gave a slow, appraising look and a faint, non-committal wave. "Come, sit."
Elizabeth's gaze was a different thing entirely. It was a swift, cold assessment that ended in deliberate dismissal. She looked through Isadora as if she were a pane of glass, then turned her attention back to her son, effectively erasing the girl from the conversation.
Isadora moved to the farthest end of an empty couch, perching on the edge, feeling smaller and more out of place than ever.
The sound of measured, heavy footsteps on the grand staircase drew everyone's attention. Descending slowly was an old man, his posture still proud despite the walking stick in his right hand. He was dressed simply in a white shirt and black trousers, but his presence filled the room. Silas Walker.
Everyone stood. Sebastian moved forward. "Grandfather, let me help you."
He reached for the old man's arm, but Silas raised his walking stick high and brought it down with a sharp, resounding thwack across Sebastian's back. The sound echoed in the elegant room.
"You ungrateful brat!" Silas boomed, his voice shaking with a fury that silenced the very air. "You dare keep my new granddaughter from me for a full day?"