Page 14 of Daddy's Christmas Obsession
"Unusual choice," Hiroshi commented, his experienced hands moving with practiced precision across my right hand. "Mostmen your age want something more... aggressive. Tribal designs. Skulls. This is almost romantic."
I watched the blood and ink blend together, forming petals that would become part of me forever. "It's not romantic. It's a reminder."
"Of what?"
"That beauty requires patience." I flexed my fingers slightly, feeling the burn intensify. "And that every rose has thorns for a reason."
Hiroshi nodded, adding another line to the delicate design. "Protection?"
"Possession," I corrected. "The thorns aren't to keep others out. They're to keep what's mine from escaping."
***
I pour the coffee into the delicate china cups I've selected specifically for her—the pattern she'd admired during her first visit to the cabin two years ago. Memory is a powerful tool, and I've collected thousands of details about Kyra Sinclair.
"I chose the Arabica beans from a small farm in Colombia," I explain as I hand her the cup. "They have notes of chocolate and cherry."
She accepts the coffee with a small smile. "You really do pay attention to details."
"Always." I lead her to the great room, where a fire crackles in the massive stone fireplace. Outside, snow falls in thick flakes, accumulating rapidly. Perfect. By morning, we'll be completely isolated.
She settles on the edge of the leather sofa, cup balanced carefully in her hands. I take the armchair across from her, creating the illusion of respectful distance while positioning myself to observe every micro-expression that crosses her face.
"Tell me about yourself, Kyra," I say, leaning forward slightly. "Beyond what Aaron has shared, I mean. I'd like to know who you really are."
"I'm not sure there's much to tell," she says, but her voice has that breathless quality I've come to recognize. "I'm just a student. My life isn't very exciting."
"I doubt that." I note how her pupils dilate when I move closer. "A woman who maintains a 3.9 GPA while working two jobs and conducting independent research? That takes drive. Passion."
"How do you know about my GPA?" she asks, wariness creeping into her tone.
"Aaron mentioned it," I lie smoothly. "He's proud of you, even if he doesn't always show it."
There’s a hint of skepticism in her voice. "That's surprising. Aaron doesn't usually pay attention to my academic achievements."
"Perhaps he discusses them more with me than with you." I keep my expression neutral, watching her process this information. "He worries about living up to your intelligence, I think."
She tilts her head slightly, studying me. "That doesn't sound like Aaron. He's never seemed insecure about his intelligence."
Interesting. She's not accepting my narrative as readily as I expected. I adjust my approach.
"Tell me about your research," I say, redirecting the conversation. "The last time we spoke about it, you were just starting the cardiac regeneration project."
Her eyes light up, and for the next twenty minutes, I let her talk about her progress and recent breakthroughs, asking targeted questions that show my genuine interest in her work.
"The challenge with your approach," I observe when she pauses, "is that you're essentially trying to reverse millions ofyears of evolutionary adaptation. Mammalian hearts evolved to prioritize scar formation over regeneration."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Most people don't understand that nuance. The scar tissue isn't a failure of healing—it's actually a successful evolutionary response to cardiac injury."
"But you're working on overriding that response," I continue, noting how she leans forward as our conversation deepens. "Have you made progress with the fibroblast activation pathway?"
"How do you keep up with this field?" she asks. "Even Aaron zones out after thirty seconds when I talk about my work."
"I've invested in several biotech companies over the years." I pause, letting my eyes meet hers. "Though I've never had someone explain it with such... clarity."
The compliment hits its mark. Her cheeks flush pink, and she ducks her head. "Aaron's eyes glaze over when I try to explain any of this."
"What a shame," I murmur. "A mind like yours deserves to be appreciated."
