The sting of the online gossip was a dull ache, but Elara was not one to
sit and weep. She was a strategist. And a strategist needed the right
ammunition.
A slow, cunning smile touched her lips as she turned to the formidable
man beside her. "Where is our marriage certificate?"
It had been in his possession since the ink dried, a transaction he had
tightly controlled from the start.
Silas's dark eyes narrowed with intrigue. "What are you plotting,
little fox?"
"Hand it over first," she insisted, shooting him a glance that
was both reproachful and sparkling with unspoken mischief. He was brilliant in
a boardroom, but sometimes painfully obtuse in the art of social warfare.
Two minutes later, he returned, the two official marriage certificates
looking like mere slips of paper in his large, capable hand. Elara snatched
them with a determined gleam, pulling him down onto the plush sofa beside her.
She arranged the two documents side-by-side on the coffee table, the
formal script declaring their union. She snapped a picture. Then, her left hand
sought his right. "Give me your hand."
His large, powerful hand, with its prominent knuckles and the faint
scent of his sandalwood cologne, enveloped her slender, pale one. The ten-carat
pink diamond on her ring finger caught the light, blazing like a defiant star.
The camera shutter clicked, freezing the image: their intertwined hands against
the backdrop of their vows.
"Perfect," she murmured, pulling her hand back as if burned by
the intimacy of the pose. She waved him away, a queen dismissing her servant.
"You can put them back now."
She curled back into the sofa, completely absorbed in her phone—editing
the photos, filtering the light, crafting her narrative.
Silas watched her, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips. He
stretched his long legs out, draping an arm lazily along the back of the sofa
as he leaned in, his gaze fixed on her screen.
He watched as she uploaded the photos: the carefully cropped covers of
the marriage certificates and the intimate shot of their clasped hands. She
nibbled on her thumbnail for a second, then her fingers flew across the screen,
typing out a caption that made his smile widen:
[A new year,
a new last name. Officially introducing myself: Mrs. Elara Thorne. Marrying Mr.
Thorne was the smartest decision I've ever made. So grateful my path led to
him.]
The moment her finger hit 'post,' she felt the weight of his chin on her
shoulder, his warm breath fanning against her neck and sending a cascade of
shivers down her spine.
"Mrs. Thorne," his voice was a husky, magnetic whisper, laced
with undisguised pleasure, "the feeling is entirely mutual."
She squirmed, her ears burning. "Don't get any ideas. You're still
on probation, remember?"
"That post was just for damage control," she added, trying to
sound business-like. "I can't have people thinking I'm the CEO's secret
mistress."
Silas straightened up, his expression turning mock-serious. "I
don't mind you using my photos. It lends credibility, don't you think?" He
pointed at the screen. "Though I notice you've cropped me out rather
thoroughly. My details are blurred, my face is gone. Am I that
embarrassing?"
"But I mind," Elara retorted, meeting his gaze. "Firstly,
I don't want a single other woman getting ideas about my husband's face.
Secondly..." She paused, seeing the crinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"If this gets screenshotted and shared, someone might recognise you. The
last thing we need is the rumour mill churning out stories about you and Julian
again. It's better to keep you as my secret weapon for now."
A flicker of admiration shone in Silas's dark eyes. His wife was not
just beautiful; she was brilliantly shrewd. "Fine. We'll do it your
way."
"Good," she said, her smile turning sharp. "Now, find me
a solicitor. The moment Aeternum's IT team traces the source of that post,
we're sending a cease-and-desist letter."
Whether it was Vivian or not, the message would be clear: mess with her,
and you face the full legal might of the Thorne family. And if it was Vivian...
a cold glint flashed in Elara's eyes. The game was far from over.
The effect was instantaneous.
Within two minutes of Elara's post, her phone began to buzz incessantly.
Colleagues flooded her comments with congratulations and shares, turning her
feed into a celebration.
Colleague 1: So the gossip was all LIES! Congratulations, Elara! Mrs.
Thorne has a lovely ring to it!
Colleague 2: That ring is stunning! So happy for you. Forget the haters,
you've clearly upgraded!
A private message popped up from a friendly face in the BA department:
Sarah: Elara, you're really married! I'm so shocked but so happy for
you! And to think Vivian and Julian had the audacity to cheat on you,
especially when she was your best friend. Everyone in the office is absolutely
roasting her for it. We're all on your side.
Sarah: Don't be a stranger, okay? The whole BA department misses you
already. Stay safe and be happy!
A genuine warmth spread through Elara's chest as she typed her reply.
Elara: Thank you, Sarah. That means a lot. I'm perfectly fine, truly. I
won't forget any of you.
The ripple effect did not stop with her colleagues. Among the many
contacts who saw the post was Alex, Julian's best friend, who had somehow
escaped Elara's post-breakup purge.
Julian, firmly blocked, was oblivious. But Alex, the ever-dramatic
messenger, couldn't resist.
He immediately screenshotted the post and called Julian, who was in his
apartment, trying to focus on the Winslow shipping documents.
"Julian! You are not going to believe this!" Alex blurted out,
not even waiting for a greeting. "Elara just posted she's married! To some
guy named Thorne. And the rock on her finger is insane. Who in the Thorne
family, besides yours, could afford that? I mean, in this city..."
Julian's body went rigid, the pen in his hand stilling. His eyes
darkened into stormy pools. "My father," he interrupted, his voice
flat and cold.
There was a stunned silence on the other end. "...What? Who? Your
father? She married your father?!" Alex's voice shot up an octave.
"Bloody hell, Julian! Elara's your stepmother now? Why didn't you tell me
something this monumental?"
Julian's face was a thundercloud. "..."
What man would willingly announce that his ex-lover was now his
stepmother?
Alex, finally grasping the gravity of the situation, let out an awkward
chuckle. "Damn. That's... that's a power move. She's really trying to
destroy you, isn't she?"
A long, heavy silence filled the line. "You think... she's doing
this to get back at me?" A fragile, desperate hope sparked in Julian's
chest. If Alex saw it too, then maybe...
"What other reason could there be? That she genuinely fell for a
man old enough to be her father?" Alex scoffed, launching into his
analysis. "Look, your dad is rich and powerful, sure. But he's sixteen
years older than her! And let's be real, Elara was never the gold-digging type.
If she were, she would've let you spoil her rotten from the start."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "And forgive me for being
crude, but she's been with you, a young, virile man. What could your father
possibly offer her that you couldn't? She's doing this to twist the knife,
mate. It's the ultimate revenge."
"Shut up, Alex!" Julian snapped, his temper flaring.
"Watch your mouth. Don't ever let me hear you speak about my father or
Elara that way again."
"Right, sorry, mate! My bad," Alex backtracked quickly, the
warning in Julian's tone unmistakable.
"And keep this to yourself," Julian commanded, his voice icy.
"If this gets out because of you, there will be consequences."
"Of course, my lips are sealed," Alex promised, the gravity of
the situation settling on him.
The moment the call ended, Julian opened the screenshot. He zoomed in on
the photo of their intertwined hands, on the radiant smile on Elara's marriage
certificate photo. Each pixel felt like a shard of glass digging into his
heart, the pain so acute it made his eyes burn. He squeezed them shut, and when
they opened again, they were cold and resolved.
He dialled a number, his jaw clenched tight.
Vivian answered on the first ring, her voice sweet. "Julian,
darling—"
"Civil Affairs Bureau. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't be
late," he bit out, not letting her finish.
"But Ju—"
The line went dead.
Vivian's excited smile melted into a mask of fury. She stared at her
phone, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms.
Fine, Julian, she seethed internally. Marry me out of
obligation. But one day, you'll look at me the way you used to look at her.
I'll make you say you love me, and you'll mean it.