The world didn't just tilt; it inverted. Leo hung suspended in the crushing vise of Alexander Thorne's grip, the CEO's face a mask of thunderous disbelief inches from his own. The icy blue eyes, moments ago filled with sharp assessment and a flicker of unwanted concern, were now storm-dark with fury and betrayal. The grainy ultrasound image lay between them on the carpet, a silent, devastating accusation.
'What. Have. You. Done?'
The words weren't a question. They were a condemnation, ripped from Thorne's throat with a raw, guttural force that vibrated through Leo's bones. The grip on his arm tightened, less like support now, more like a restraint, an anchor preventing escape from the terrifying reality crashing down.
Leo couldn't breathe. The dizziness wasn't feigned now; it was a roaring void threatening to swallow him whole. He stared into the tempest of Thorne's eyes, seeing his own terror reflected back, magnified a thousand times by the power and fury of the man holding him. The carefully rehearsed explanations, the planned mediation with Aris – it all evaporated like smoke. All that remained was the primal terror of being caught, exposed, and utterly at the mercy of Alexander Thorne's wrath.
"I….." Leo choked, the word a ragged gasp. His vision swam, the harsh lines of Thorne's face blurring. "Alexander…. I..…"
The use of his first name, desperate and unthinking, seemed to momentarily fracture Thorne's rage. A flicker of something else – shock? confusion? – crossed his features, but it was instantly consumed by the returning inferno.
"Don't," Thorne snarled, his voice low and lethal. He gave Leo a slight, almost involuntary shake. "Don't you dare." His gaze flickered back to the image on the floor, then raked over Leo's body again, lingering with horrifying intensity on his abdomen beneath the loose sweater. The dawning realization solidified into terrifying certainty. "This….. this is impossible. A trick? Some kind of... manipulation?" His voice dripped with disgust, his grip tightening further, making Leo whimper involuntarily.
The sound seemed to jolt Thorne slightly. His gaze snapped back to Leo's face, taking in the stark pallor, the sheen of cold sweat, the genuine terror and utter lack of guile. The analytical part of him, buried deep beneath the shock and fury, registered the physical collapse that had preceded this revelation. It hadn't been staged.
"You fainted," Thorne stated, the words clipped, harsh. His eyes narrowed, scanning Leo's features with renewed, brutal scrutiny. "Why? Because of this?" He jerked his chin towards the image. "Or something else?"
Before Leo could muster a syllable, Thorne's free hand shot out, not to strike, but to press two fingers firmly against the pulse point in Leo's neck again. The touch was cold, impersonal, yet profoundly violating. Leo could feel the frantic, rabbit-quick flutter of his own heartbeat under that pressure. Thorne's expression darkened further.
"Your pulse is still erratic. You're shaking." His voice was lower now, less a roar, more a dangerous rumble. "Is this real, Leo?" He used the name again, not as intimacy, but as a weapon. "Is that my child?"
The directness, the sheer impossibility of the question hanging in the charged air, stole what little breath Leo had left. He couldn't lie. Not anymore. Not with the proof lying on the floor. He managed a tiny, jerky nod, tears welling and spilling over, tracing hot paths down his icy cheeks. A sob tore free, raw and broken.
Thorne recoiled as if physically struck. He released Leo's arm abruptly, stepping back half a pace. Leo swayed, bracing himself against the conference table to stay upright, his legs like water. Thorne stared at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the fury momentarily eclipsed by sheer, staggering disbelief. He looked from Leo's tear-streaked, terrified face to the damning image on the carpet, and back again. The storm raged silently within him now, visible only in the tightening of his jaw, the white-knuckled clench of his fists at his sides.
"How?" The word was a whisper, laden with a confusion that bordered on agony. "They told you... you said...…" He trailed off, the memory of Leo's whispered confession in Silk & Steel – 'highly unlikely, almost impossible' – crashing over him with horrifying irony. "You knew?"
"I thought...…." Leo gasped, forcing the words past the constriction in his throat. "The doctors... they said...., I believed them! I swear, Alexander, I never thought..... I didn't plan this! It was one night….… just one….…" His voice cracked, dissolving into helpless sobs. He slid down the edge of the table, his strength gone, collapsing onto his knees on the carpet, just inches from the ultrasound image. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with the force of his tears. The weight of the secret, the fear, the sheer impossibility of it all, poured out in a flood of despair. "I'm sorry.... I'm so sorry.... I was going to tell you…..… Aris..... she was going to help me tell you…..…"
The name 'Aris' landed like another detonation. Thorne's head snapped up. "Aris?" His voice was dangerously quiet. "My sister knows? Before me?"
The betrayal in that single question was profound. It wasn't just the pregnancy; it was the perceived conspiracy, the secrecy involving his own family. Thorne took another step back, putting physical distance between them, his expression hardening into something colder, more impenetrable than fury. The CEO mask slammed back into place, but fractured, radiating a chilling, controlled rage.
"Get up," he commanded, his voice devoid of all inflection now, glacial. "Get up off the floor."
Leo flinched at the tone. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt leaden, useless. The emotional and physical toll was too great. He remained kneeling, a picture of utter devastation, tears dripping onto the blue carpet.
Thorne watched him struggle for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sharp, frustrated exhale, he bent down. But not to help Leo. He snatched the ultrasound image off the floor. He held it up, staring at the grainy evidence with a look of intense, bewildered scrutiny, as if trying to decipher an alien code. His thumb brushed over the tiny, labeled flicker. 'Heartbeat.' A muscle jumped in his clenched jaw.
The door to the conference room clicked open.
Eleanor Vance stood framed in the doorway, her tablet held ready, her expression its usual mask of professional efficiency. "Mr. Thorne, the Singapore delegation is waiting in the boardroom for their...." Her voice trailed off as she took in the scene: Leo collapsed on the floor, weeping, Thorne looming over him, pale and rigid, clutching a small, folded piece of paper like it was a live wire.
Eleanor's sharp eyes missed nothing. She saw Leo's state, Thorne's unnatural stillness, the palpable tension thick enough to choke on. Her gaze flickered to the paper in Thorne's hand, her professional mask slipping for a fraction of a second, revealing pure, unadulterated shock.
Thorne didn't look at her. He slowly lowered the ultrasound image, folding it with deliberate, precise movements, his knuckles white. He slipped it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, the action final, possessive.
"Cancel the delegation, Eleanor," he said, his voice flat, eerily calm. "Reschedule. Indefinitely."
Eleanor recovered swiftly, her mask snapping back into place, though her eyes remained wide. "Yes, sir. Of course." She hesitated for a split second, her gaze darting to Leo, still kneeling on the floor. "Shall I... call Medical? Or Security?"
The implication hung in the air. 'Security.' To remove the problem. Leo shuddered, fresh terror spiking through him. He braced himself for the order.
Thorne finally looked at Eleanor. His icy gaze held hers for a long, charged moment. Then, he turned his attention back to Leo, his expression unreadable, a terrifying void where fury and disbelief had raged moments before.
"No," Thorne said, the single word dropping like a stone. He took a step towards Leo, not offering a hand, but his presence demanding attention. "Get up, Leo," he repeated, his voice low but leaving no room for disobedience. "We are going to my office. 'Now'."
The storm hadn't passed. It had merely changed direction, moving to a more private arena. The gilded cage had a new cell: Alexander Thorne's office, and the shattered silence between them now held the deafening echo of an impossible heartbeat and the chilling weight of a future irrevocably altered. The reckoning had only just begun.