Felix's POV
The Thorne family Sunday dinner was a ritual, as precise and unyielding as the grandfather clock in the hall. It was less a meal and more a performance, a silent reaffirmation of the Thorne Legacy. The polished mahogany table gleamed under the chandeliers, reflecting not warmth, but rigid order. My mother, elegant and composed, sat opposite my father, whose presence dominated the room even in silence. Conversations were rarely light, always purposeful, always circling back to expectations and reputation.
"Felix," my father began, his voice a low rumble, after the soup course. "The Q3 reports for the Foundation are satisfactory, but as always, there is room for optimization. I've scheduled a new series of networking events for you next month. Key benefactors. No distractions."
He didn't specify what those "distractions" might be, but I knew. It was everything outside the meticulously crafted path they laid out for me: the recent scandal, my unscheduled presence at campus events, and, undoubtedly, Elisa. They didn't stoop to gossip about a minor inconvenience like Jake Evans; he simply wouldn't register on their radar. Their concerns were always grander, colder.
"Indeed, darling," my mother added, her tone smooth as silk. "And your studies? We expect nothing less than excellence, as always. We trust you've put the... journalistic inconvenience fully behind you? Focus is paramount."
My jaw tightened imperceptibly. The "journalistic inconvenience" was their elegant euphemism for the entire Foundation scandal, the very thing that had brought Elisa into my orbit. They saw it as a temporary blight on the Thorne name, something to be efficiently managed and then forgotten. They hadn't seen the human cost, the genuine fear in Elisa's eyes, or the unsettling truth Daniel Vance had unearthed. They only saw the damage to the brand.
"Everything is under control, Father," I replied, my voice as neutral as theirs. The words tasted like ash. My world was about control. Their "love" was a carefully calibrated system of expectations and provisions. There were no spontaneous acts of kindness, no unburdened laughter, no simple gratitude like the warmth I felt from Elisa and her family. My mind drifted to the chaotic, vibrant energy of Elisa's family dinner, the easy affection of her friends. It was a stark, almost painful contrast to the quiet, dignified consumption of venison before me.
"That scholarship recipient, Miss Reyes," my mother interjected, her gaze sweeping over me with a calculated assessment. "Is she performing adequately in her role? No further... incidents?"
My hand, resting on my lap beneath the table, clenched into a fist. Incidents. That's all they saw. A problem to be contained, a variable in their grand equation. She wasn't a person with a vibrant spirit, unique talents, or a genuine smile. She was a "scholarship recipient," an extension of the Foundation's public image, a potential source of "incidents." The disdain in their voices, however subtle, fueled a quiet rebellion within me. They couldn't see past the carefully constructed facade of their own world. But I was beginning to. And the realization felt both daunting and strangely liberating. This was their legacy. And increasingly, it felt like a cage.
Felix's POV
The Thorne Foundation faced another crisis. This time, it wasn't a journalist exposing past misdeeds, but a widespread public backlash against a newly launched, supposedly "charitable" housing initiative. It was well-intentioned on paper, but its implementation was tone-deaf, displacing a small, tight-knit community for what was perceived as a gentrifying, corporate-driven project. Social media was ablaze, protesters were gathering, and the usual PR machinery of the Thorne Foundation was utterly failing to stem the tide of negative publicity.
I sat in my father's study, the tension in the room thick enough to cut. My parents were furious, their faces grim. Mr. Davison, the Foundation's PR head, looked pale.
"The numbers are abysmal, Felix," my father stated, gesturing at a projection of plummeting approval ratings. "Our usual messaging isn't cutting through. They see us as heartless, corporate giants."
"We've issued apologies, offered compensation packages, highlighted the long-term benefits," Mr. Davison rattled off, sounding defeated. "But the narrative has already been set: Thorne Foundation versus the common people."
My mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "This is a serious blow to our image. We need a new approach. Something that truly resonates, not just financially."
I looked at the data, then at their strained, calculating faces. Their every solution was a cold, logical transaction. This crisis, however, demanded something they lacked: empathy. A genuine connection. It needed Elisa.
"I believe I have a solution," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy silence. All eyes turned to me. "But it's unconventional. It involves someone who truly understands the human element, not just the numbers."
My father's brows furrowed. "Unconventional? Felix, this is a crisis, not a time for untested theories."
"It involves Elisa Reyes," I stated, directly. "Her photography, her ability to connect with people, her integrity... she could bridge this gap. She understands the perception, having experienced something similar. We need to show genuine care, not just corporate apologies. A visual campaign, led by her, showing the true human side of our work, the people we do help, and perhaps even acknowledging the missteps with true humility. Not just spin."
My mother scoffed. "Miss Reyes? A scholarship recipient? What could she possibly contribute to a crisis of this magnitude? Her 'integrity' is hardly a strategic asset."
"Her integrity is precisely what's needed, Mother," I countered, my voice firm. "The public doesn't trust us. They might trust someone like her. Someone who genuinely cares, someone whose art speaks truth." I met my father's gaze. "Her approach would be transparent, authentic. Unlike what Mr. Davison has been ordered to do."
Davison flinched. My father's eyes narrowed on me, then on my parents' bewildered expressions. There was a long, tense silence. They were weighing the risk, the unprecedented nature of my suggestion, against the catastrophic failure of their current tactics.
Finally, my father gave a curt nod. "Explain your proposal, Felix. And be thorough, Miss Reyes."
Elisa's POV
Felix called me, his voice tight. "We need your help. My family, the Foundation. There's a crisis. Public perception. I told them you were the only one who could handle it."
I felt a surge of apprehension mixed with a strange determination. This was the Thornes. The people who saw me as an "incident." But Felix trusted me. And this was a chance to prove that genuine connection could be more powerful than corporate maneuvering.
The meeting was terrifyingly formal. Mr. and Mrs. Thorne sat across the vast mahogany table like imposing statues. Felix sat beside me, his presence a quiet anchor. I presented my plan: not a defensive PR statement, but a series of intimate, honest photographic essays and video testimonials. We would go into communities they had helped, showcase the real impact, and, crucially, film Felix himself engaging genuinely with people, admitting where mistakes might have been made, showing his commitment to making things right. It was a strategy of radical transparency and authentic humanity.
"It's about rebuilding trust, not just image," I explained, my voice steady despite my hammering heart. "People don't want polished statements; they want to see real faces, real sincerity. They want to see you, Felix, connect with them on a human level."
My mother-in-law's face was a mask of skepticism. "Felix engaging with... the common people? This is hardly a suitable use of his time, Miss Reyes. And admitting mistakes? That suggests weakness."
"It suggests strength, Mother," Felix countered, his voice firm. "It suggests accountability. Something the Foundation has been accused of lacking." His gaze met mine, a silent affirmation of our shared belief.
Over the next two weeks, it was a whirlwind. I worked tirelessly, capturing candid shots, interviewing beneficiaries of the Foundation, not just the grand projects but the small, personal impacts. Felix, to his credit, threw himself into it. He visited community centers, sat with families, listened without judgment, and for the camera, offered honest, heartfelt acknowledgments of the Foundation's missteps and genuine promises to do better. He wasn't acting; he was simply being the Felix I knew, the one who genuinely cared, despite his upbringing. The raw honesty of the campaign was unsettling for the Thornes, but they reluctantly allowed it, desperate for a solution.
When the campaign launched—a combination of a dedicated website, social media blitz, and even a documentary short I edited—the response was unprecedented. The public narrative began to shift. Comments online moved from vitriol to cautious optimism, then to genuine appreciation. The approval ratings, initially plummeting, began a slow, steady climb. The "heartless corporate giants" narrative was beginning to crumble, replaced by a story of genuine commitment, led by a surprisingly relatable Felix Thorne.
Mr. and Mrs. Thorne's POV (Implied Shift)
The results were undeniable. The numbers were not just recovering; they were soaring beyond anything their traditional methods had achieved. The public, usually so cynical, was actually responding.
Mr. Thorne sat in his study, staring at the latest analytics. He'd resisted Elisa's "unconventional" approach, considering it naive, even reckless. Public confession? Felix mingling with ordinary citizens? Absurd. Yet, it had worked. It had worked better.
He looked at the projected image of Felix, captured by Elisa's lens. His son, not stiff and formal, but genuinely engaging, a flicker of warmth in his eyes as he listened to an elderly woman in a community garden. It was a side of Felix he rarely saw, one he hadn't known how to cultivate.
Mrs. Thorne entered, a rare vulnerability in her usually composed demeanor. "The board is... impressed," she admitted, her voice low. "Mr. Davison is already drawing up plans to incorporate more 'authentic' engagement in future projects." Her eyes fell on the image of Felix. "He truly connects, doesn't he?"
Mr. Thorne grunted, a sound of grudging acknowledgment. "It seems... Miss Reyes has a knack for perception. And Felix... he handled himself well. Unconventional, yes. But effective." He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – not love, not warmth, but perhaps a grudging respect, a dawning realization that their son, and the choices he was making, might not be so detrimental to their legacy after all. Perhaps, even, beneficial in ways they hadn't foreseen. The "scholarship recipient" wasn't just a problem to be managed; she was an asset, a catalyst for a more... human approach to their empire. And watching Felix, truly shine in this unexpected arena, for the first time, they saw a glimpse of a different kind of strength in him, one that wasn't solely forged in their image. The façade, for a fleeting moment, had cracked.