Welcome to the Mansion

Thaddeus drove with one hand on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the winding road ahead as the city lights faded behind them. 

He glanced at Sabrina. She hadn't said much since they left the boutique. She just sat there in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, the emerald one she had finally tried on after enough sarcasm and side-eyes to kill a lesser man. She looked good in it. Too good. And she didn't even realize.

He knew Sabrina didn't do well with surprises—or rather, not knowing. Her constant side glances said everything her mouth didn't.

He had told her earlier—plain and simple—that they were going to his mansion. She hadn't asked why, not directly. Just muttered something about him being cryptic and overdramatic. Which, fine. Maybe he was. But it wasn't like he was going to spill the whole plan in the middle of Valmont Atelier while she was busy threatening to walk out in her cartoon pajamas.

This was better. Let her see it for herself.

He'd already mapped this out hours ago. Skipped dinner on purpose. Told the Rodgers he'd be late. Let them sit at that long, polished table with the best china and perfectly poured wine, waiting. He wanted them to wait.

They thought they had a place here. But tonight, things were going to change.

Sabrina sat in the passenger seat, still a little stiff in her new gown, trying not to mess up her hair or smear her lip gloss on the window. She glanced at Thaddeus a few times, catching how relaxed he looked, one hand casually resting at the wheel, the other drumming against his leg.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the car turned into a private driveway, flanked by stone walls and neatly trimmed hedges. As they moved deeper, the mansion slowly appeared from behind the trees—lit up like a golden fortress. It looked bigger than she imagined.

Thaddeus drove up the circular driveway and pulled to a slow stop right in front of the main entrance. The towering doors loomed, glowing with golden light from its expansive windows, and the familiar tall doors ahead. The iron gates had already opened smoothly as the sensors picked up the car. Everything was ready. 

As they drove up the long private entryway, he saw her shift in her seat and peer through the windshield.

Her voice broke the silence. "That's it?"

He glanced at her, then back to the road. "Yeah."

Sabrina leaned forward slightly, her eyes wide. "You live here?"

He gave a brief nod. "Used to. When I was a kid, this was the family estate. Growing up, I got my own place. But this one's still… home base."

She gave a low whistle, the kind you try to hide when you don't want to look impressed. "Looks like a Bond villain's vacation house."

He didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

He pulled the car around the circular driveway and stopped right in front of the main entrance. The fountain in the center of the loop sprayed calmly in the background, the lights hitting the water just right to make the place look like something out of a luxury magazine. Expensive, cold, and untouchable.

He turned off the engine and looked over at her. She hadn't moved. Just stared up at the place like it was some test she didn't study for.

"You coming?"

Sabrina blinked, like she just realized they'd stopped. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I just... it looks bigger than I expected it."

She stepped out slowly, adjusting her dress like she wasn't sure if she should be walking or floating—or possibly just collapsing.

Her heels wobbled the moment they touched the driveway, and she instantly regretted every life choice that led her to this moment. She didn't do stilettos. Sneakers were her ride-or-die. Stilettos were those judgmental plastic torture devices invented by people who clearly hated ankles.

She took one step and felt like a toddler in their mom's heels—unsteady, confused, and one bad angle away from a twisted ankle.

Another step—wobble.

By the third, she looked like someone trying to walk a tightrope while pretending everything was fine.

"Great," she muttered to herself. "Elegant on top, chaos from the knees down."

Thaddeus, of course, said nothing. Just walked a few paces ahead like he didn't hear the soft, uneven click-clack of her impending ankle doom.

But he heard it.

He paused, turning slightly just in time to catch her wobbling again like she was walking across a moving train. Her arms flailed a bit before she straightened and cleared her throat like she hadn't just almost faceplanted into the decorative fountain.

He watched her quietly. She looked out of place—but not in a bad way. More like the kind of chaos this house needed. Color in a place that had too much gold and not enough warmth. She didn't belong here—and maybe that was exactly the point.

Still, she was struggling. The heels clearly weren't made for people with functioning survival instincts.

He let out a breath, one of those quiet sighs that sounded more like defeat than annoyance, and walked back toward her.

Before she could take another unsteady step, he reached her side and offered his arm without a word.

She looked up, blinking. "What's this? A truce?"

"Damage control," he replied flatly.

She hesitated, then looped her arm through his. "Well, look at that. Mr. Iceberg has manners after all."

"Let's just get you inside before you fall into a hedge."

"Not the worst way to go."

He didn't answer that—just kept walking with her at his side, making sure she didn't break herself before they even made it to the front door.

"What exactly are we walking into?" she asked under her breath.

Thaddeus didn't answer. Just looked ahead and said calmly, "Wait and see."

And with that, he led her toward the entrance, knowing exactly who was waiting inside.

And knowing exactly what he was about to do.

As they stepped closer to the entrance, the massive double doors opened with a quiet hiss. A butler in a crisp black suit stood just inside, giving a small nod as if it were perfectly normal for a billionaire and his newlywed wife to waltz in unannounced past dinner hours.

Sabrina's heels tapped nervously on the marble floor. The mansion was grander than she expected. Vaulted ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and walls dressed in paintings that probably cost more than her student loans.

She slowed down, eyes darting from the curved staircase to the endless hallway that stretched to the left.

"This place is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath. "Does the Wi-Fi even reach all corners, or do you need a GPS to find the kitchen?"

Thaddeus didn't laugh. His expression was unreadable—stoic, composed, but his pace never slowed.

And then, just ahead, soft murmurs floated through the air. Voices. 

Sabrina squinted toward the dining room.

Wait. Were there people here?

She tugged lightly on his sleeve. "Hey. What's going on? I thought this was a quick house visit, not a… guest list situation."

Thaddeus didn't break stride. "It is my house."

"That's not an answer."

He didn't give one. Just kept walking until they turned the corner—and there they were.

At the far end of the polished dining room—and spilling out around the long, gleaming table—sat more than just two people. There were at least a dozen guests, dressed in elegant evening wear, all mid-conversation and mid-sip when Thaddeus and Sabrina stepped through the archway.

The chatter quieted almost instantly.

Heads turned. Eyes locked on them.

It was the kind of silence that came with curiosity, judgment, and just the right amount of gossip waiting to happen.

Among the crowd, a woman in a sleek red gown slowly lowered her crystal wine glass, studying Sabrina with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Beside her, a sharply dressed man leaned back in his chair, watching with quiet interest.

Sabrina froze for a beat, her heels awkwardly clicking to a stop on the marble floor. Her brain scrambled to catch up. This wasn't just a dinner. This was a full-on event.

She leaned toward Thaddeus, whispering under her breath, "You said we were just coming to your house. You didn't mention we were crashing an afterparty."

Thaddeus's face stayed neutral. "I didn't think it mattered."

Every pair of eyes in the room seemed to scan Sabrina from head to toe—slow, deliberate, and laced with quiet judgment—the kind of look that said she didn't belong here, no matter how expensive her dress was. Disdain flashed behind polite smiles, skepticism hidden just beneath the surface, like they were all silently wondering how someone like her ended up in a place like this.

The woman in red looked up, eyes locking instantly with Sabrina's. A faint, cynical smirk curled on her lips.

Sabrina blinked.

No. No way.

Her stomach dropped.

Whatever this night was, it had just taken a sharp left turn into enemy territory.