The Heir in Disguise

Chapter Five Isla Met Her Dad!

 

Mr. David Quinn stood at the glass wall in his expansive office, towering over the bustling city below. The morning sun glinted off the glass towers, casting golden streaks across his pristine brown pecky suit. His shoes, Italian, polished, and perfectly matched, clicked lightly on the marble floor when he shifted his stance. Even his inner shirt and tie were brown, completing a look of disciplined elegance. 

With a cigarillo of rich tobacco wedged between two fingers, he adjusted his brown cowboy hat with his free hand and stared out at the skyline. It was a rare moment of stillness for the man who built his name from dust and grit.

Before the suits, before the fame, David had been a cowboy. A real one. Rode horses, herded cattle, and wore his hat like a badge of honor. He still clung to those roots. He still kept his mustache. To him, tradition wasn’t outdated—it was sacred.

He was mid-exhale, releasing a slow stream of smoke into the air, when a gentle knock echoed through the room. The office door opened softly.

“Sir, your daughter is on her way up,” said his personal assistant, Levis March, bowing slightly as he spoke.

David didn’t reply with words. Instead, he released another puff of smoke into the air and gave a single nod—a signal that Levis had come to understand as both dismissal and acknowledgment.

He was a man of boundaries. David Quinn didn’t mingle with employees. He believed friendliness blurred lines, bred laziness, and invited disrespect. That wasn’t the Quinn way. When he entered a room, he expected the air to change—tension, fear, respect. That was leadership.

Levis, recognizing the nod for what it was, bowed once more and walked backward out of the room. Not turning his back on David was a habit he had picked up—earned, not taught.

No more than two minutes passed before Isla entered.

She looked out of place, out of sorts. Her hair was slightly undone, her makeup smudged, and she wore the same gown she had left her hotel room in hours ago. No pit stops. No distractions. She came here directly—and it showed.

“Dad!” she called out, her voice brittle with urgency and emotion.

David’s eyes narrowed. For two years now, Isla had been the embodiment of composure. She didn’t shout. She didn’t falter. She was the polished CEO of a successful fashion brand, always calm, always in control. But today, her voice cracked. She sounded nothing like the woman he had grown so proud of.

His instincts kicked in. David turned to face her fully. But instead of interrogating her immediately, he chose warmth. Whatever was wrong, he’d give her comfort first, then demand answers.

Smiling with a rare softness, he approached Isla and pulled her into a tight hug. It was the kind of embrace that defied his reputation. For her, he could be gentle. Always.

He led her to his desk and gestured for her to sit in his custom leather chair. He perched on the edge of the desk, cigarillo still smoldering between his fingers.

Isla was his second daughter. A force of nature, like her sister, but with her own path. David had wanted both daughters in the family business. His eldest obliged, but Isla—Isla was determined to build her own empire. And she had, to an extent. He didn’t agree with her methods, but he had grown to admire her results.

Whenever she appeared on television or in magazines, David never missed the chance to boast:

“That’s my daughter,” he’d say, grinning like a boy who just won the lottery.

But today… today she looked broken.

“Dad, there’s a problem,” Isla said, her voice quieter this time, sadness bleeding into every syllable.

David’s brow furrowed. “Problem?” he echoed, confused. “What kind of problem? Trouble doesn't find Quinns. We don’t allow it.” His voice rang with pride, maybe even arrogance.

After all, he was the CEO of Quinns & Co., a multi-million dollar business specializing in luxury interior design, curated homeware collections, and bespoke concierge services. Their monthly revenue never dipped below a hundred thousand dollars. To him, problems were for people without resources—not for a Quinn.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he said, his voice softening slightly.

Isla hesitated. Then, like a dam finally cracking, her eyes welled with tears. Slowly, she began to speak.

She confessed how for the past two years, an anonymous donor had been secretly supporting her financially. That silent partner had allowed her business to grow rapidly—but now, the support had suddenly stopped. No warning. No explanation. Just... silence.

David’s eyes widened in disbelief.

An anonymous donor?

This was the first he was hearing of it. He’d believed she built everything from the ground up. That her empire was self-made. That her success had come from sheer willpower and brilliance.

He shook his head, disappointed, not in her struggle, but in the secrets.

If she had a sponsor, then why not acknowledge it? Perhaps if she had given credit, the donor wouldn’t have disappeared. Perhaps that was the price of pride.

Still, he placed a hand on her shoulder, firm but kind.

“You don’t need to worry about anything, daughter,” he said, voice strong again. “Come back to the family business. Your position is still open. Let’s build something greater—together. With your skill and my experience, we’ll crush the Virelli. We’ll become the wealthiest family on the planet.”

But Isla shook her head.

Even as her father's words painted a tempting picture, she knew the cost. Joining the Quinn empire meant giving up her dream. It meant stepping out of her vision and into his.

And Isla? She was stubborn, yes. But also ambitious. She didn’t want safety—she wanted purpose. Her dream was hers alone, and she wasn’t ready to bury it just to feel secure again.

David watched her carefully, his mind racing. In the background of all his ambitions, one name echoed like a war drum: Virelli. His lifelong rivals. Even when the Virelli themselves do not know it. Everything he built was a step toward surpassing them. And for that final step, he needed both daughters by his side.

So when Isla resisted, it wasn’t just rejection—it was betrayal of a dream he had for all of them.

“Well then,” he said at last, voice more tired than proud, “if you cannot return to the family business, then get the money you need for your brand alone.”

He swallowed hard, watching her face. Hoping—maybe praying—that she'd reconsider.

But Isla said nothing.

And in that silence, two dreams stood at war.