Elara was utterly speechless. The silence stretched between them, thick
and heavy.
Silas watched her, his intense gaze cataloging every micro-expression
that flickered across her face—the slight furrow of her brow, the way her long
lashes swept down to veil her thoughts. He had a sudden, almost primal urge to
crack open that calm exterior and see the storm of unexpected reasoning he knew
was swirling inside.
"All of them," she finally confessed, the words soft but
deliberate. She met his eyes, her own clear and resolved. "I just
graduated. I haven't even passed my probation. Showing up pregnant at my
internship is already going to draw enough stares. But a wedding? A public
spectacle? That would make us—you, me, this baby—the main topic of every coffee
break and gossip chain. I don't want that. I don't want anyone whispering that
I got my foot in the door—or that I'm keeping it there—because I'm carrying the
CEO's child."
Her voice dropped, laced with a steel will he was only beginning to
understand. "I can't control what people say behind my back, but I can
choose not to give them a front-row seat."
Whether at the towering headquarters of Aeternum Corp or within the
glittering, cutthroat social scene of Ashbourne, all she craved was a sliver of
normalcy, a quiet life. But with a man like him—a man whose very name commanded
power and attention—staying under the radar felt like a naive fantasy.
And then there was the deeper, more vulnerable reason, the one she
locked tight in the most secret chamber of her heart. She had grown up watching
her parents' love story, a tale woven with devotion and mutual respect. She'd
always believed marriage and children were the beautiful, natural culmination
of a deep, abiding love—a wedding, a sacred promise celebrated amidst the
joyful tears of friends and family.
But them? They were a transaction sealed by a surprise pregnancy. Even
though he was the one persistently moving them toward this future, their
foundation was built on obligation, not love. And that, more than any office
gossip, was the real reason her heart recoiled at the thought of a wedding.
Silas studied her, his dark eyes seeing far more than she probably
intended to reveal. "So what you're saying is… you want to keep this
between us? A secret marriage?" The concept was foreign to him, but her
logic, from her perspective, was sound.
He had to concede he'd overlooked the complications of her being a new
graduate and an intern at his company. But it was a solvable problem. He could
have her transferred, put on paid leave, or fast-tracked into a permanent
position with a single word. If she wanted secrecy, he could orchestrate it. No
one would know a thing until she was ready.
Elara nodded slowly under his penetrating gaze. "A secret marriage
would be… ideal."
Silas was silent for a long moment, weighing her words against his own
desires. "Alright," he conceded, his voice a low rumble. "I
respect your decision. We can wait until after your probation period to make
any public announcements. We'll hold the wedding then."
In a year, the baby would be born, and she would have settled into her
role. To him, it was a mere delay. It didn't change the fundamental truth: she
would be his wife. If she needed this secret for now, he would grant it.
"..." Elara's breath hitched. That wasn't what she'd meant at
all. She didn't want a delayed wedding; she wanted… nothing. But the finality
in his tone told her this was the compromise she was getting.
"Then it's settled," Silas declared, the matter closed.
"As soon as the Civil Affairs Bureau opens, we'll get the license. For
now, we'll only inform our immediate families." His eyes held hers, a
silent challenge. "Any other objections?"
He's already decided. What else is there to say? Elara gave
a small, defeated shake of her head.
"Good." Almost the instant she acquiesced, Silas bent down and
swept her up into his arms in one fluid, powerful motion.
Elara let out a startled yelp as the world tilted, her feet leaving the
ground. Instinctively, her arms flew up to wrap around his neck for stability.
A hot blush instantly crept up her cheeks. "Put me down! I can walk on my
own!"
She kicked her slender legs slightly in a weak protest, but he held her
firmly against his solid chest, unmovable.
"Stop moving. You'll jostle the baby," he murmured, his voice
a deep, intimate vibration against her ear.
The words were a magic spell. She immediately stilled, every muscle
going soft and pliant in his embrace. A satisfied, inward smile curved Silas's
lips as he carried his surrendered prize into the softly lit bedroom, his hold
both possessive and reverent.
7:00 AM.
Dawn's pale light filtered through the curtains of the small, warmly
decorated bedroom. Silas awoke, his senses immediately alert. It took his
sleep-fogged brain a moment to place the unfamiliar surroundings before his
gaze dropped to the girl nestled against him.
Elara was still deep in sleep, her features softened in slumber. His
eyes traced the delicate line of her nose, lingering on her lips—they were
parted just slightly, pink and impossibly soft, like blooming cherry blossoms.
A familiar, heated ache stirred low in his abdomen—the natural morning reaction
intensified a hundredfold by her unconscious proximity. His eyes darkened with
a wave of pure, undiluted desire.
He swallowed hard, the sound loud in the quiet room, and forcefully
dragged his gaze upward. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead,
inhaling her sweet scent, before carefully untangling his limbs from hers and
slipping out of bed.
Rosewood Mountain Peak.
The vintage green Rolls-Royce glided to a silent halt on the immaculate
gravel driveway. Silas emerged, his sharp suit impeccable despite the early
hour.
"Welcome home, Mr. Thorne," the head housekeeper, Martha,
greeted him with a warm, familiar smile, smoothly taking the black overcoat he
shrugged off.
Silas gave a curt nod, his long strides already carrying him inside.
"Where's Annabelle?" he asked, his tone deceptively casual yet
layered with purpose.
Martha chuckled. "Miss Annabelle has found a new passion. She's
decided to take up boxing. Woke up at the crack of dawn, full of fire. She's in
the basement boxing room right now."
"Thank you, Martha. I'll see her myself." He changed course,
heading for the basement stairs.
Pushing open the soundproofed door to the boxing room, he was met with
the rhythmic thwack-thwack-thwack of small, gloved fists making solid
contact with a heavy bag. The little girl—dressed in a tiny black athletic tank
top and shorts—was a whirlwind of focused energy, her multitude of long, curly
pigtails flying with each powerful jab and cross.
"Annabelle," he called out, his voice cutting through her
concentration.
She halted mid-punch, spinning around at the sound of his voice. Her
face, flushed with exertion, broke into a brilliant, gap-toothed grin.
"Cousin Silas!"
Before he could utter another word, she launched herself across the room
like a small, enthusiastic missile, jumping into his arms and wrapping her
limbs around him in a vice-like grip. "You're back! I missed you
tons!"
"Hmm," he grunted, effortlessly catching her and adjusting his
balance. "Have you been behaving? Caused any international incidents I
should know about?"
"Of course not! I've been an angel. Listened to Mom and Dad and
everything," Annabelle declared, tilting her head back with an impish
gleam in her eyes that belied her words.
Silas raised a single, skeptical brow. "Is that so? No trouble at
all? Not even for me?"
Annabelle's eyes darted sideways. "Well... getting into a
slap-fight with your son doesn't really count, does it? He started it."
Silas almost smiled. The legendary feud between his little cousin and
his even-tempered son, Julian, was the stuff of family legend. She loved to
poke the bear, and Julian, for the most part, endured it with saintly patience.
"Anything else?" That wasn't why he was here.
Annabelle nibbled on her lip, then remembered she was still wearing her
bright red boxing gloves. She shook her head, the pigtails whipping around.
"Nope! Clear conscience."
Silas laughed softly, a low, rich sound, and finally set her down on the
mat. He then crouched on one knee, bringing himself to her eye level, his
expression turning uncharacteristically serious.
"Listen to me, Annabelle. From now on, Cousin Silas won't be able
to carry you around like this anymore."
Her face fell instantly, the joy draining away to be replaced by
confusion and a hint of hurt. "Why? Did I do something wrong? Was it the
time I put glitter in your briefcase?"
"No," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "But when a man
has a wife, he can't go around holding other girls. Not even his favourite,
most troublesome cousin."
Annabelle's jaw went slack. Her eyes widened into comically large
circles. "But... but you're an old bachelor!" she exclaimed, her
voice ringing with pure, unadulterated disbelief. "Since when do you have
a wife?!"
Silas's expression darkened instantly. "What did you just call
me?"
"It's true!" she insisted, poking his chest with a padded
glove. "Mom said you're a confirmed bachelor! A diamond-tier,
set-in-your-ways old bachelor! She said you'd probably marry your desk!"
"Well, not anymore," Silas said coolly, catching her gloved
hand. "I have a wife now. And you, little demon, almost scared her off for
good yesterday."
Annabelle's clever mind, always racing a mile a minute, connected the
dots with lightning speed. Her eyes widened even further as she remembered the
stunningly beautiful woman she'd accosted in the lobby—the one she'd tried to
warn off with tales of her cousin's grumpy, workaholic ways.
That was her? Oh no.
She quickly placed her hands on her hips, trying to muster all the
indignation a seven-year-old could manage. "I was just... doing a quality
check! For you! You're so ancient—what if she was only after your massive piles
of money? Someone had to vet her!"
Silas simply looked at her, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across his
face. "Is that so? Well, your 'vetting' nearly cost me my future. We're
going to have a very long talk about appropriate greetings, Miss
Annabelle."