A sense of profound safety settled
over Elara, so unfamiliar it made her eyes prickle with threatened tears. His
touch was impossibly gentle, and the low, resonant promise in his voice—to
personally ensure her happiness—wrapped around her like a shield. It had been
years, since the accident that stole her parents, since she'd felt anyone was
truly, fiercely in her corner.
"Silas Thorne."
She met his dark, unwavering gaze,
sniffing softly to compose herself.
"That night I called you… on
New Year's Eve…" she began, her voice softer than she intended. "I
was going to ask if your offer of marriage was still open. And I swear, I
didn't know I was pregnant then."
Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed,
her almond-shaped gaze shimmering with a film of moisture. The earnest, serious
way she looked at him was both heartbreaking and utterly captivating.
Silas made a low sound of
acknowledgement. "So, even without a child, you had already decided you
wanted to marry me?"
"Yes," she whispered, her
voice firm. "I'm telling you because I don't want there to be any lies
between us." Her long eyelashes fluttered like the wings of a trapped
butterfly. She paused, gathering her courage. "The truth is, it's because
of my grandfather's will…"
She told him everything. About
Reginald Hayes leaving her the company shares, about Bianca holding her
parents' cherished belongings hostage, about the gilded cage she was trapped in
and her desperate need for a key—a key that just so happened to be him.
Silas listened, his expression
unreadable, his deepening eyes fixed on her. A faint, almost imperceptible
smile touched his lips when he realised her initial motive had been to leverage
his influence. When she finished, he reached out, his fingers gently brushing a
stray strand of hair from her forehead.
"You've been brave," he
said, his voice a soft caress. "But you don't have to be brave alone
anymore. I'm here now. What's rightfully yours will be returned. No one will
take what belongs to you. And your parents' relics… I will get them back for
you."
His words, simple and direct,
landed squarely in the vulnerable core of her heart. He'd investigated her; he
knew the cautious, precarious existence she led under her uncle's roof, the
animosity from her cousin, even the drugged drink that had led them to this
very moment. He could easily imagine the quiet struggles of a girl with no one
to shield her.
"Thank you," she mumbled,
dropping her gaze to her lap, her voice thick with emotion she couldn't fully
voice.
His gentleness was underscored by a
latent, formidable strength, the natural authority of someone used to command.
And yet, instead of being intimidated, she felt an immense wave of relief. With
him here, the weight on her shoulders felt lighter.
For a long moment, Silas simply
watched her. Then he leaned in, the scent of sandalwood and clean, masculine
spice enveloping her as he deftly buckled her seatbelt. "Let's go see my
place," he murmured. "We'll find you somewhere else if it's not to
your liking."
She expected the formidable manor
on Rosewood Mountain. Instead, the car glided into The Oculus, an exclusive,
serene enclave in the heart of the city known for its unparalleled security and
eye-watering price tags—a place where money alone wasn't enough for entry.
The apartment was a sprawling,
single-level penthouse. It was effortlessly luxurious, decorated in a
minimalist, cool-toned palette, with breathtaking 360-degree floor-to-ceiling
windows that offered a panoramic vista of Ashbourne Lake glittering in the distance.
"I'm rarely here. It's been
cleaned for us." Silas handed her a cup of warm black tea by the window.
After she took a small sip, he continued, "We'll stay here for now. It's
closer to the city, more convenient. As for Rosewood Mountain… we'll move there
after my aunt takes Annabelle back to Oakhaven. I'll have it redecorated. It's
larger, more suitable for when the baby comes."
Elara cradled the warm cup, looking
into his deep eyes. "This is perfect, really. I have no objections."
This was better, she thought. His
family, probably including Julian, would be at the manor. It was clear he
didn't want to plunge her into the deep end of the Thorne family dynamics
before they were even officially married.
A low, quiet laugh rumbled in his
chest. "Is that so? Do you have no opinion on anything I suggest?"
Elara blinked, about to explain
that she just happened to agree, but he moved faster. His fingers, warm and
firm, gently lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to lock with his.
His dark pupils held her captive,
their intensity burning away all other thoughts. The air crackled between them.
His voice dropped to a husky,
compelling whisper. "What if I said I want to kiss you? Would you have no
objection to that, either?"
Elara's heart slammed against her
ribs. A hot blush exploded across her cheeks, and her fingers tightened around
the teacup. Her face was tilted up, her eyes wide, her lips slightly parted in
surprise. The shy, flustered picture she made was utterly disarming.
Silas's gaze dropped to her lips,
pink and soft. The memory of their taste, that hazy, passionate night, flooded
back with startling clarity. His throat went dry.
As he leaned in, the heat of his
breath fanning her face, Elara's senses jolted back to life. She planted a hand
firmly against his solid chest, pushing him back.
"Of course I have an
opinion!" she protested, her voice a little breathless, a pout forming on
her lips. "Without my permission, you are not allowed to kiss me."
What happened before was an
accident, a blur of chemicals and poor decisions. This… this was different.
They were negotiating a marriage, a partnership. It wasn't supposed to include
this dizzying, unpredictable attraction that left her feeling off-balance.
Silas, pushed back, looked
momentarily surprised before a slow, devastating smile spread across his face.
The sight of it made her stomach flip.
"Okay," he acquiesced,
his voice laced with a dark promise that did nothing to calm her nerves.
"I understand."
Next time, his unspoken words hung
in the air, I'll make sure I have your permission.
The penthouse had four rooms, but
only one was a proper bedroom—the master. The others were a study, an
entertainment room, and a private gym. After Silas wheeled her suitcase into
the master closet, he stepped out onto the balcony to take a call.
Alone, Elara took a steadying
breath and called her uncle.
Robert Hayes's voice was a mix of
strained patience and paternal concern. "Elara? Where have you been? It's
the New Year's holiday and you didn't come home? You need to come back
now."
When he finished, Elara's voice was
calm and devoid of its usual deference. "Uncle Rob, about the man I told
you I'm seeing. We would like to meet with you, Aunt Claire, and Bianca
tomorrow night to finalise our marriage plans."
The silence on the other end was
heavy, almost suffocating. She could practically feel his displeasure radiating
through the phone.
"I'll text you the
address," she continued, unwavering. "Seven o'clock tomorrow. Don't
be late."
She ended the call before he could
respond.
Across the city, Robert Hayes
stared at his phone, his face a thunderous mask of suppressed fury. His grip
tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Why couldn't she just be obedient?
Why couldn't she just stay in her place? If she behaved, he would have let her
keep what was left to her father. But she just had to push.
Fine. He would see for himself what
kind of man had fooled his naïve little niece.
The following evening at six, the
Hayes family—Robert, Claire, and Bianca—were dressed to impress, heading to
their own car, when a maid hurried over.
"Sir! There's a car outside.
The driver says Miss Elara sent them to escort you to your appointment."
Robert's face was stony. "Send
it in."
A moment later, a sleek, imposing
stretch Maybach, polished to a mirror shine, rolled to a stop before the villa.
A driver, who looked more like a formidable bodyguard in his black suit,
stepped out and opened the doors with a detached, professional courtesy.
Bianca and Claire exchanged a
loaded glance. So it's a show, Bianca thought, a sneer twisting her perfectly
painted lips. Let's see what sugar daddy Elara has managed to snag.
Robert was assisted into the
luxurious interior of the car with efficient ease.
The drive was silent, each occupant
lost in their own calculations.
Forty minutes later, the car slid
to a silent halt not at a restaurant, but at the gates of a legendary
establishment. Le Château d'Ashbourne.
Robert turned his head to look out
the window at the classic, elegant building, a sanctuary of old money and
immense power hidden away from the common world. Everyone in Ashbourne's elite
knew of it; few had ever stepped inside. Its exclusivity was a legend in
itself.
His blood ran cold. Here? He wasn't
even on the list to get in. And yet, his niece, the one he thought he had under
his thumb, was summoning him here.
The shock was a cold knife in his
gut, but his expression remained impassive. Only the white-knuckled grip of his
hand in his lap betrayed his turmoil.
As they alighted, two impeccable
rows of attendants in white shirts and black trousers bowed in unison.
A man in a tailored suit, exuding
an air of quiet authority, stepped forward with a polite smile. "Good
evening, Mr. Hayes. I am the manager of Le Château d'Ashbourne. Please, right
this way. Mr. Thorne and Miss Hayes are awaiting your arrival."
Mr. Thorne?
The name hit the three of them like
a physical blow. They froze mid-step, staring.
The Thornes? But it couldn't be…
Julian? A sickening sense of foreboding washed over them. What had Elara done?