Silas Thorne watched her, his face an unreadable mask. The air between them crackled, thick with unspoken tension. "How do you want your revenge, Elara?" His voice was a low rumble, intimate in the quiet room, sending an unwanted shiver down her spine. "Shall I make him kneel at your feet every sunrise? Force him to choke on apologies until they turn to ash on his tongue?" He paused, his dark eyes tracing every micro-expression on her face. "Or..." His voice dropped, turning lethally soft, "...should I break his legs and cast him out of the Thornes forever?"
Elara's breath hitched. That tentative spark of curiosity? Snuffed out. Instantly. She'd been pushing him, yeah, fuelled by white-hot anger and a reckless urge to see just how far this powerful, terrifying man would go. But this? He talked about his own son like Julian was garbage waiting for the curb. Cold. Detached. The absolute certainty that Silas Thorne would do it – break bones, exile his heir, whatever she asked – that certainty stole the air right from her lungs.
A faint sigh ghosted across his features before his gaze softened, a stark contrast to the cold steel beneath. "Little Wildcat," he murmured, the endearment thrumming with a possessiveness that felt new, dangerous. "do you know the most ruthless form of revenge?" His eyes held hers, trapping her not just with power, but with an unnerving intensity that felt personal. "The one that cuts deepest?" He leaned closer, the scent of him – sandalwood and cold night air – enveloping her.
Elara could only shake her head, her pulse a frantic drum against her ribs.
Silas leaned in abruptly, his proximity sending a different kind of shockwave through her system. "Ignore him," he breathed, the words velvet-wrapped steel, but his eyes held hers with a captivating intensity that promised more than strategy. "Ascend higher than he can ever dream. Take everything he cherishes..." His gaze, dark and intent, lingered on her lips for a heartbeat, searing her before snapping back to her eyes. "...everything he is... with effortless grace." His voice dropped, low and hypnotic. "Leave him choking on dust and regret. Let him spend his days raging silently, yearning for what he can never touch." The emphasis on 'never' vibrated between them, less a word than a primal claim, "...forever imprisoned in his own bitterness."
A dangerous, mesmerising light burned in his eyes – a siren call to vengeance. Elara felt the treacherous pull deep in her gut, dark understanding flickering like a forbidden flame only to be doused by confusion. Why? Why would this man, Julian's own father, offer her this weapon? The question tore free, barely a whisper. "Why?" Its raw vulnerability hung between them, demanding an answer.
His answer wasn't words. It was a touch. Warm fingers brushed her temple, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered—a heartbeat too long. That fleeting contact sent an electric jolt straight through her core, igniting a blush that flooded her face and seared the tips of her ears. She felt scalded.
"You know, Little Wildcat," Silas murmured softly, dark satisfaction—and something hotter, far more primal—glinting in his eyes as he drank in the crimson staining her skin. He looked utterly captivated by her reaction.
Her mind short-circuited. Pure shock warred with a traitorous wave of heat. Before she could claw back a coherent thought, his voice cut through the haze, cold and absolute:
"Marry me."
The words hung like a lightning strike.
"Become Julian's stepmother." His voice deepened, weaving a hypnotic spell. "Share my name. My power. My place at the very top." He leaned infinitesimally closer, the intensity crushing. "Make him call you Mother."
This wasn't just revenge. It was a crown. And he offered himself as her king.
"You're out of your damn mind!" The cry tore from her throat. Elara stumbled back, collapsing onto the plush sofa like her legs had given out. All colour drained from her face, her eyes wide pools of pure terror. Her knuckles turned bone-white, fists clenched in the fabric.
Silas watched her recoil, head tilting thoughtfully. "Too direct?" he mused, his voice deceptively mild. But his gaze never wavered, tracking her frantic energy with dark fascination – her terror, her fire, everything.
Direct? Elara gaped at him. Insane. Monstrous. Unthinkable. Marry her ex-boyfriend's father? Force Julian to call her Mother? The sheer, audacious cruelty of it stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her speechless.
"Can you imagine a more perfect revenge?" Silas pressed, leaning over her again, his imposing frame swallowing the light. Elara flinched, bracing herself, but his touch was startlingly gentle – just the rough pad of his thumb tracing the delicate, bruised skin beneath her eye. "Julian swore he loved you," he murmured, his voice dropping, losing its icy edge, becoming disturbingly soft. Almost... understanding? "Promised you forever. And for months, while he whispered those vows..." His thumb stilled. "He was betraying you with your best friend. You saw it. Felt it tear you apart." His gaze locked onto hers, intense, intimate. "Does that memory still scorch you, Elara Hayes?" Her name on his lips felt like a dark secret, something precious he'd stolen and claimed.
She squeezed her eyes shut, a choked sound escaping her. Hate? It was a wildfire consuming her from the inside. She'd given Julian and Vivian everything – her love, her trust, her whole damn heart. And they'd repaid her with lies, sneaking behind her back for months. The image exploded behind her eyelids: tangled limbs in her sheets, on his birthday. A knife twisting in an open wound.
Silas tracked the tremor in her lashes, the frantic flutter of her pulse at her throat. His voice dropped, low and intimate, almost conspiratorial. "I warned him that night, Elara," he confessed, his gaze locked onto hers, watching the shock register. "Before you... found them. I truly believed he would end it." A flicker of disgust crossed his features, mixed with a dark satisfaction. Julian's failure had left her... unclaimed. "He heard me. He simply lacked the spine. Or the desire."
Elara's eyes snapped open. Stunned disbelief warred with a fresh wave of bitter agony. He knew? He warned Julian? And Julian still chose Vivian?
The unspoken truth hung like a blade: Julian had actively chosen Vivian. Over her. Over his own father's command. The betrayal cut deeper. Unless... A desperate thought sparked. Vivian, clawing for security, could have orchestrated their exposure. The pregnancy! The realisation slammed into her. Her gaze whipped back to Silas, sharp with new, cutting insight.
"Did you know," she demanded, the words a sharp challenge flung between them, "you're about to be a grandfather?"
Silas froze. Utter surprise flashed across his face, vanishing instantly beneath an intense, predatory focus. His gaze dropped – dark, unnerving – zeroing in on her stomach. A raw, possessive heat flared in his eyes, so potent it stole her breath. This wasn't about heirs; this was primal. Her. Him.
Elara instinctively slapped both hands over her abdomen, scrambling backward across the sofa cushions until her shoulders hit the armrest. "Eyes up here!" she snapped, jabbing two furious fingers at her own face. "I'm talking about Vivian! She's pregnant with Julian's spawn!"
The tension in Silas's shoulders eased, almost imperceptibly. Old fool, he chided himself silently, the thought dry and self-mocking. But the possessive heat simmering in his veins didn't dissipate. Her first time was mine. The timing... impossible. Any child would be mine. He refocused, his expression hardening into its usual stern mask, though his eyes retained a lingering intensity when they met hers. "I will verify this," he stated, his voice regaining its icy control.
He hadn't known. Relief was a brief, cold flicker, instantly drowned by the suffocating silence and the dangerous proposition still hanging in the air. Panic surged, sharp and urgent. She had to get out. Now. Pushing herself up, she avoided his piercing gaze. "I think we're done here. I'm leaving."
"Wait." His hand closed around her wrist—firm, warm, an anchor. He turned her gently but inexorably towards the massive window. "Look." His voice was a low murmur near her ear, his proximity deliberate, testing the boundaries of her space.
Elara followed his gaze. Her breath hitched. While they'd been locked in their battle, the world outside had transformed. Thick, silent flakes spiralled down, already cloaking the manicured gardens and ancient oaks in a deep, pristine white. Beyond the glass, everything was hushed, muffled, utterly isolated.
"The forecast warned of this," Silas murmured, the words ghosting against her ear. "A blizzard. Settling in for days. The mountain roads..." He let the implication hang, heavy and cold. "Treacherous even by daylight. Now? Impassable."
Elara's heart plummeted. She turned within his loose grip, meeting his gaze. The dim light softened the harsh planes of his face, making the intensity in his eyes seem almost… concerned? She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. "Could… could Ethan drive me?" The plea crept out, thin with desperation.
"Ethan is off duty and resting," Silas replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering.
Heat flared across her cheeks. Embarrassment warred with rising panic. "Then send someone else! Anyone! If you hadn't practically hauled me up here at midnight—"
"There is no one else," he stated, finality ringing in the quiet room like a closing vault door. "Only me. And," he added, the lie delivered with chilling calm, "I suffer from night blindness, Elara." Those impossibly observant eyes held hers without a flicker. "Driving that pass now, in near-zero visibility, on sheer ice..." He paused, letting the lethal image solidify. "But if you insist... I will attempt it." The unspoken 'and likely kill us both' vibrated in the silence.
Her last hope guttered out. Night blindness? The sheer, audacious lie was almost impressive. But the undeniable truth crashed down: she was trapped. Years of navigating impossible situations had taught her when resistance was futility. The fight drained from her posture, her shoulders slumping in weary defeat.
"Stay." The command was softer now, laced with something dangerously close to invitation. "The house has many rooms. Choose any. When the storm breaks, you'll be taken down safely." He watched the reluctant surrender settle over her, the stubborn set of her jaw finally easing. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched his lips. Perfect. The storm raged outside, a mirror to the chaos he'd ignited within her – and the deep, possessive satisfaction of having her exactly where he wanted her.
With a subtle gesture, Silas summoned the housekeeper. "Martha," he commanded, his voice cool and precise. "Escort Miss Hayes to the third-floor guest suite. Ensure she lacks for nothing."
Martha appeared almost instantly, her polite smile deepening into warm recognition – and perhaps a flicker of understanding – at the mention of the third floor. "Of course, Mr. Thorne," she replied smoothly. "This way, Miss Hayes."
"Thank you," Elara murmured, the words tasting like ash. She forced herself to follow the older woman towards the sweeping staircase, the weight of Silas's gaze burning into her retreating back like a brand.
Only when the soft sounds of their footsteps faded completely did Silas move. He returned to the imposing sofa, the mantle of absolute authority settling over him like a second skin. His phone was in his hand, the call connecting before the first ring finished.
"Julian's location?" His voice was Arctic ice.
From the shadows beneath Elara's dilapidated apartment building, a voice crackled low. "He's here, sir. Parked outside Miss Hayes's place. Been over an hour. Chain-smoking. Looks... wrecked."
A dismissive grunt. Silas's next words sliced through the line. "Let him rot there. New priority: Vivian. Verify the pregnancy. Immediately." He didn't wait for confirmation, ending the call with a decisive snap.
Silence descended, thick and heavy as the snow piling against the windows. The grand mansion felt like a gilded cage, echoing with unspoken schemes and the dangerous proposition that hung in the air – as potent and inescapable as the blizzard raging outside, promising a revenge far more devastating than Elara could imagine.