The hospital's sterile air, reeking of antiseptic and false
hope, was a poor shield against the ghosts that haunted Silas Thorne. He braced
himself against the cool wall, the memory of screeching metal and shattering
glass a permanent scar on his psyche. Two years. Two years stolen, spent in a
wheelchair, a king dethroned and rendered a spectator in his own life.
The doctors had been brutally clinical. Physically
functional, but sterile. A complete loss of fertility. The words had been a
life sentence. Acceptance hadn't been a moment; it had been a war, fought in
the dark, silent hours of the night, a war he'd barely won.
When he finally rose from that chair, a man forged in pain
and fury, the needs of the flesh had been a distant echo. The thought of a
woman's touch—whether pitying or predatory, drawn to his wealth, not his
wreckage—repulsed him. So, he'd channeled that volatile energy into the only
thing that made him feel alive: expanding the Winslow empire's darkest veins.
The adrenaline rush of a hostile takeover, the palpable danger of an arms deal
gone wrong, the primal satisfaction of watching an enemy break—these were his
mistresses. They were far more honest and far less complicated.
A dry, humourless chuckle sliced through his thoughts.
Nathaniel Sterling leaned against the opposite wall, an unlit cigarette
twirling between his fingers like a tiny, anxious baton.
"Right. Silas Thorne. The man famous for his…
impeccable control." Nathaniel's voice was laced with sarcastic disbelief.
"Never impulsive. Never casual."
He pushed off the wall, his gaze sharpening. "You got
your son's ex-girlfriend pregnant, and you're standing there telling me you
weren't being reckless? Hell, man, that's not a lapse in judgment, that's a
full-scale demolition!"
The reaction was instantaneous, violent, and precise. A
burning cigarette butt flew like a scarlet tracer, aimed directly for
Nathaniel's face. "Jesus, Silas!" he yelped, ducking just as the
ember seared past his temple, leaving the acrid smell of burnt hair in its
wake.
"Choose your next words like your life depends on
it," Silas's voice was a low, venomous growl, his eyes glacial shards.
"She ended it with Julian. She is mine. She will be my wife. She is
carrying my child. That is the only reality that matters."
Nathaniel stared, the jest draining from his face, replaced
by dawning, serious comprehension. "You're not just… protecting her.
You're serious. You're going to marry her?" He stepped closer, his voice
dropping to an urgent whisper. "Think, Silas! Think about the hell you're
bringing down on her. How does she look your son in the eye at family dinners?
How does your family ever respect her? The world will see her as a social
climber who couldn't get the heir, so she settled for the king. The gossip will
be a weapon they use to flay her alive."
Silas closed the distance between them in one predatory
stride, his presence sucking the air from the hallway. "Let the world
talk," he said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, quiet intensity.
"Her world is me. Her safety is me. Her respect comes from me. Her world
revolves around me. She will not need to seek approval from my family, from
Julian, or from anyone in our gilded cage. Her only concern will be me and the
children we create. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Nathaniel felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach. This was
no passing infatuation. The impregnable fortress of Silas Thorne's heart had
not just been cracked; it had been stormed and claimed by a woman his son's
age. He was utterly, irrevocably conquered.
After a long, heavy silence, Nathaniel exhaled in surrender.
"Alright. I see you." He ran a hand over his face. "Come
tomorrow. A full panel. I want to check everything myself."
"Thank you," Silas said, the lethal tension easing
from his shoulders. He gripped Nathaniel's arm, a gesture of old friendship.
"And Nathaniel… not a word of the pregnancy to anyone. This stays between
us."
As Silas turned to leave, Nathaniel watched his friend's
retreating back, a slow, incredulous smile spreading across his face. "You
old cradle-robbing bastard," he muttered under his breath, shaking his
head in awe. "You finally went and found the one thing worth burning the
world down for."
Elara felt like she was walking on a cloud, her feet barely
touching the linoleum floor. The ultrasound printout in her hand wasn't just
paper; it was a map to a future she'd never dared to dream of. The initial,
heart-stopping shock had melted into a profound, serene wonder, which then
ignited into a joy so fierce and bright it brought tears to her eyes.
She found Silas waiting for her, his expression an
unreadable mask of controlled intensity. Wordlessly, she offered him the grainy
image, her heart thundering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
"All done?" he asked, his voice
uncharacteristically soft. He took the paper, his dark, focused eyes scanning
the lines and shades, deciphering the medical miracle held within.
She held her breath, searching his face for a clue.
"Silas," she whispered, the suspense unbearable. "Do you see it?
Look. Right there."
For a heartbeat, two, he was perfectly still. Then, his eyes
snapped up to meet hers, and the mask shattered. Awe, raw and undisguised,
flooded his features. In one fluid motion, he pulled her into his arms,
crushing her against the solid wall of his chest so tightly she could feel the
wild, pounding rhythm of his heart echoing her own.
"Elly," his voice was a ragged, emotional rasp, a
tremor wracking his powerful frame. "My God… thank you. Thank you."
One child would have been the miracle of a lifetime. Two… it
was an abundance of grace he felt utterly unworthy of. The thought of her, so
delicate and strong, carrying not one but two pieces of their combined souls,
filled him with a ferocious, all-consuming need to protect them.
Elara wrapped her arms around him, feeling the depth of his
emotion as if it were her own. She pressed her face into the warmth of his
jacket. "You don't have to thank me," she murmured, her own voice
thick with tears of joy. "They're ours. We made them."
From the doorway, Nathaniel watched the powerful, solitary
man dissolve into a embrace of pure, unguarded love. A lump formed in his own
throat. "The old bastard's finally bloomed," he whispered to the
empty hall, a genuine smile breaking through. "Fell headfirst and didn't
even try to catch himself."
Inside the sunlit office, the obstetrician smiled at the
couple before him. Their focused intensity was palpable.
"Miss Hayes is in excellent health," he began,
tapping the ultrasound image. "Just some minor anaemia we can easily
manage. Now, see here? Two gestational sacs, two placentas. What you have here
are dizygotic twins—fraternal. It's the best-case scenario for a twin
pregnancy. And given their positioning," he added with a knowing smile,
"there's a very good chance you're looking at one of each. A boy and a
girl."
Elara's gasp of pure delight was met with Silas's hand
tightening around hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles in a steady, soothing
rhythm.
"The most important thing now is meticulous care,"
the doctor continued, his tone turning serious. "Nutrition, rest, and no
stress. The first trimester is critical. That means absolute rest. No heavy
lifting, no strenuous exercise of any kind." He looked pointedly at Silas,
who met his gaze with unwavering intensity. "And that means no sexual
activity. Your job," he said directly to Silas, "is to be her rock.
Her peace. Her happiness is your primary objective now. It's just as important
as any vitamin."
Silas nodded, his expression one of solemn vow. "She
will have everything. Nothing will touch her. Thank you, Doctor. I will take
good care of my wife." He accepted the detailed prenatal guide as if it
were a strategic battle plan.
As they rose to leave, Silas's voice, low and resonant,
filled the room. "Come, Elly. Let's go home."
The word—wife—spoken not as a question or a future promise,
but as a simple, undeniable fact, sent a shiver of pure belonging through
Elara. In that moment, the title felt more real than anything ever had.
Settled into the plush leather seat of the car, the world
outside blurring into a stream of lights, Silas turned to her. The ruthless
businessman was gone, replaced by a man whose gaze was soft with concern and
unwavering devotion.
"Elly," he began, his voice gentle. "For
their protection, I want to keep this our secret. Just for a little while.
Until we're safely through the first trimester. Is that alright with you?"
Elara didn't need to think. She would guard this secret with
her life. "Of course," she said without hesitation. "Anything
for them."
A satisfied, almost predatory smile touched his lips. He
didn't just tuck her hair behind her ear; his fingers traced the line of her
jaw, tilting her face up to his. His thumb brushed her lower lip, a whisper of
a touch that promised far more than safety.
"Good," he murmured, his voice a low vibration
that seeped into her bones. "Now call your uncle. Tell him dinner is
tomorrow night." His dark eyes glinted with a chilling finality.
"It's time they learned who you belong to now. Their games are over."
His thumb stroked her cheek, his gaze burning into hers with a possessiveness
that stole her breath. "Your happiness is now my sole
responsibility."