26 The Matriarch’s Familiar Face
My heart raced as Cherry and I stepped out of the Hongqi L5. The air on the Sinclair estate felt different–crisper, cleaner, as if even the oxygen here was exclusive.
“This isn’t just wealth,” Cherry whispered beside me. “This is… power.”
She wasn’t wrong. As Walter Reed led us forward, I noticed discreet security personnel positioned throughout the grounds. Their carpieces and watchful eyes reminded me more of Secret Service than private security.
“The main residence is quite extensive,” Walter explained, gesturing toward what could only be described as a palace. “We’ll take a cart for the remainder of the journey.”
A cart? Just to cross the front lawn?
An electric vehicle pulled up silently. As we settled in, I clutched my portfolio tighter, suddenly feeling woefully unprepared. What did I know about designing for people who lived like this?
“The Sinclair family has occupied this estate for seven generations,” Walter continued as we glided past sculptured gardens and water features. “Though the current residence was rebuilt forty years ago to incorporate both traditional Chinese architectural elements and modern security features.”
Cherry nudged me. “Security features? Like what, a moat with sharks?”
Walter’s lips twitched slightly. “Nothing quite so theatrical, Ms. Chen.“/
The cart rounded a bend, revealing the true scale of the main building. It was massive–at least three stories high with elegant wings extending in both directions. Stone dragons guarded the entrance, their carved eyes seeming to track our approach.
“How many people live here?” I asked, unable to hide my awe.
“The family is quite small but values its privacy immensely, Walter replied. “The estate houses approximately fifty staff members who maintain the property and ensure the family’s comfort and security.”
As we approached the entrance, I suddenly remembered something. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the handkerchief Sebastian Sinclair had given me at the hospital.
“I should return this to Mr. Sinclair,” I said, showing it to Walter.
He glanced at it, his expression unreadable. “Indeed. I’m certain he’ll appreciate the gesture.”
The cart stopped at the base of wide marble steps. Walter helped us out and led us up toward enormous double doors that looked like they belonged in a museum,
“Mrs. Sinclair is hosting a small gathering of family friends today,” he explained. “She insisted on
16:28
1/6
<
26 The Matriarch’s Familiar Face
meeting you immediately upon your arrival”
My stomach tightened with nerves. “I wasn’t prepared for a social event.”
“Not to worry, Ms. Shaw. Mrs. Sinclair simply wished to greet you personally before your meeting with Mr. Sebastian.”
The doors swung open, revealing a grand foyer with a ceiling so high it made me dizzy. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbows across marble floors. Ancient scrolls and priceless artwork adorned
the walls.
“This way, please,” Walter directed, leading us through a series of elegant rooms.
As we walked, Cherry leaned in close. “I feel like we’re in a museum where we might accidentally break something worth more than our lives.”
I nodded, afraid to speak too loudly in such a sacred space.
We approached another set of doors. Beyond them, I could hear the gentle murmur of conversation and occasional laughter.
Walter paused before entering. “Mrs. Sinclair is the matriarch of the family. She prefers to be addressed as Mrs. Sinclair upon first meeting.”
With that strange piece of advice, he pushed open the doors and announced in a clear voice:
“Ms. Hazel Shaw and her assistant, Ms. Cherry Chen.”
The room fell silent instantly. It was a stunning sunroom with floor–to–ceiling windows overlooking manicured gardens. About a dozen people in expensive clothing turned to stare at
us like we were exotic animals at the zoo.
I froze, fighting the urge to turn and run.
That’s when I saw her.
An elegant woman in her sixties rose from her seat at the center of the room. She wore a simple but exquisitely tailored navy dress, her silver–streaked black hair swept into a classic chignon. Her posture was perfect, her movements graceful as she stepped toward us.
“Ms. Shaw,” she said, her voice warm but commanding. “How delightful to finally meet you.”
As she drew closer, something strange happened. A sense of familiarity washed over me so strongly it made me dizzy. I knew her face. I was certain of it, though I couldn’t place how or why.
“Mrs. Sinclair, I managed to say, extending my hand. “Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful
home.”
She took my hand in both of hers, holding it a moment longer than the social norm would dictate. Her eyes–dark and intelligent–studied my face with an intensity that made me
16:20
<
26 The Matriarch’s Familiar Face
uncomfortable.
“The pleasure is entirely mine,” she said. “We’ve waited a very long time for this meeting.”
We have? I wanted to ask, but couldn’t find the words.
She turned slightly, addressing the room. “Everyone, this is Hazel Shaw, the talented designer I’ve been telling you about.”
The others nodded politely, their curious gazes making me feel like a specimen under a microscope.
Mrs. Sinclair returned her attention to me. “You look puzzled, dear.”
I blinked, embarrassed at being so transparent. “I’m sorry, it’s just… have we met before? You seem very familiar to me.”
A strange silence fell over the room. Mrs. Sinclair’s expression flickered–surprise? Pleasure?
Pain? I couldn’t tell.
“Perhaps I simply have one of those faces,” she replied smoothly. But her eyes told a different
story.
Cherry shifted awkwardly beside me, clearly sensing the strange tension.
“Walter, perhaps you could show Ms. Chen to the refreshment room while I speak privately with Ms. Shaw?” Mrs. Sinclair suggested.
Cherry shot me a panicked look. I gave her a small nod, signaling it was okay.
“This way, Ms. Chen,” Walter said, guiding my assistant toward a side door.
Mrs. Sinclair linked her arm through mine, steering me toward the windows overlooking the garden. “You must forgive the formality of this household. Old traditions die hard in families like
ours.”
“Your home is extraordinary,” I said, searching for something safe to say while my mind raced. Why did she seem so familiar?
“Thank you. It has sheltered many generations of Sinclairs.” She paused, studying the gardens. “Do you believe in fate, Ms. Shaw?”
The question caught me off guard. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Some meetings are destined, written in the stars long before we’re born.” Her voice had softened. “I’ve followed your career with great interest.”
“That’s very flattering,” I said carefully. “Though I’m surprised someone like you would know of my work.”
She smiled–a genuine smile that transformed her face. “Someone like me? You mean an old
16:28
<
26 The Matriarch’s Familiar Face
woman?”
“No! I meant-”
“I understand. You meant someone of my position and… remoteness from the fashion world.” Her eyes twinkled with amusement. “You might be surprised at how closely I’ve followed your journey.”
Before I could respond, the doors opened again. I turned, expecting to see Walter and Cherry returning.
Instead, a tall man with commanding presence entered the room. His dark suit was perfectly tailored, his posture impeccable. Even across the room, his intense gaze found mine immediately.
Sebastian Sinclair.
Mrs. Sinclair’s hand tightened slightly on my arm. “Ah, perfect timing. Here’s my son now.”
Sebastian approached us with measured steps. As he drew closer, I noticed Mrs. Sinclair watching my face carefully, as if looking for something specific in my reaction.
I stared at her, then back at Sebastian. The same dark eyes. The same proud bearing. And suddenly, with startling clarity, I realized why Mrs. Sinclair’s face seemed so familiar.
She looked exactly like an older, female version of Sebastian.
But that wasn’t all. There was something else–something just beyond the reach of my memory –that made my heart race and my head spin with confused recognition.
Who was this woman? And why did I feel like I had known her face all my life?
Comment °
16.28
