The dossier on Lillian Burns was a masterpiece of banality. Flawless,
unremarkable, and utterly unconvincing.
"Her story was a little too perfect," Elara murmured, leaning
against Silas's solid frame in the quiet of their study. "She approached
me outside the cemetery. Insisted her relationship with Julian is purely
platonic—that she sees him as a lost little brother."
Silas set his tablet aside, his focus entirely on her. He reached out,
tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch a silent promise of
protection. "The surveillance on Julian confirms minimal contact. Twice
since he left Sterling Hospital. Once upon his discharge, and yesterday to
discuss her departure. Their conversations were… unremarkable."
His dark eyes held hers. "But your instincts are worth more than
any surveillance report. If she makes you uneasy, I'll have Carpo John assign a
shadow. She'll never know she's being watched."
Elara hesitated for only a second. The memory of Lillian's serpentine
smile and lingering gaze was enough. "Do it," she said, her voice
firm. "Have someone watch her."
A flicker of pride shone in Silas's eyes. He valued her intuition as
much as his own intelligence networks.
The following day, Ashbourne Airport was a cavern of echoing
announcements and hurried goodbyes. Julian stood like a statue, his expression
a carefully constructed mask of indifference as he watched Lillian Burns
disappear through the security checkpoint.
The memory of their brief, formal embrace was seared into his mind. The
subtle pressure of her hand in his, the crinkle of paper being passed from her
palm to his. His fingers closed around the note now, the edges digging into his
skin.
The jarring ring of his phone shattered the moment. He answered, not
needing to check the ID.
"I'm waiting outside the Civil Affairs Bureau. Don't keep me
waiting." Vivian's voice was a familiar, grating whine.
He ended the call without a word. Alex's black Range Rover was idling at
the curb. Julian slid into the passenger seat, the scent of cheap air freshener
assaulting his senses.
"So, you saw the beauty off?" Alex quipped, a teasing grin on
his face. Even as a fallen prince, Julian's ability to attract female attention
was a source of both envy and amusement for him.
Julian merely grunted in response, fastening his seatbelt. "Take me
to the Civil Affairs Bureau."
"The Bureau?" Alex's grin vanished. "What for?"
"Divorce."
Alex's jaw went slack. He took in Julian's stormy expression and let out
a low whistle. "Bloody hell! That bitch Vivian sees you're down and out
and is kicking you to the curb?"
"I'm the one filing," Julian corrected, his voice dangerously
low.
Alex promptly shut up and focused on the road. Right, he thought. What
else is there to say? The woman was barren. For a man needing an heir, it was a
clean break.
Julian's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. A dark sedan, a sleek
SUV—he'd long lost track of which tail belonged to Silas. His self-claimed
uncle, Steven Cohen, had warned him: "He owns the very air you breathe,
son. Never forget it."
He looked down at the crumpled note in his sweaty palm. With painstaking
slowness, he unfolded it.
His blood ran cold.
[Walls have
ears! Mind your words and actions!]
Aether Media Group
555-019-8724
He committed the number and the company name to memory in an instant,
every sense on high alert. Then, he crumpled the note back into a tight ball,
his knuckles white. He exhaled a shaky breath, leaning his head back against
the seat and closing his eyes as if wearied by the world.
Alex drove like a man possessed, screeching to a halt outside the Civil
Affairs Bureau in just over twenty minutes.
Vivian was there, draped in an outfit that screamed expensive
desperation. She watched Julian approach, her pointed chin tilting in disdain.
"Did you bring it?"
Wordlessly, Julian pulled a bank card from his pocket. "Two
million. The PIN is still Elara's birthday."
Vivian snatched the card, her lips twisting into a cruel sneer.
"Still playing the devoted lover, Julian? Elara isn't here to see your
performance. Who are you trying to impress?"
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "If
you loved her so much, you wouldn't have ended up in my bed so easily."
Julian's eyes flashed with a violence he barely contained, his hands
curling into fists inside his pockets.
"We had more than one night," she purred, reaching out to
smooth his crumpled collar in a grotesque parody of intimacy. "You took my
womb, but you were my first. This paltry two million is a pathetic payoff. But
since you have a... patron... helping you now, consider it my final act of
generosity. Just remember who let you go so cheaply when you make your grand
comeback."
The word 'patron' sent a jolt through him, but he dismissed it as her
typical poisonous sarcasm. He jerked away from her touch as if burned.
Ten minutes later, they emerged from the building, two strangers bound
by a dissolved contract. Julian strode ahead, not a single backward glance.
A sharp, painful ache seized Vivian's heart. "Julian, stop!"
she shrieked, rushing forward and grabbing his arm with surprising force.
Her eyes, filled with a toxic brew of hurt and hatred, locked with his
icy gaze. "Just answer me! Was it all a lie? Did you ever feel anything
for me? Even for a second?"
She knew better than to hope for 'love,' but she needed to know that the
heat, the passion, had been real.
Julian pried her fingers from his arm, his touch cold and final.
"No."
The last shred of hope in her eyes shattered. Her face contorted, and
with a sharp crack, her palm connected with his cheek.
"This is for me! And for the child!" she spat, her voice
trembling with rage. "I curse you, Julian! I hope you rot in obscurity for
the rest of your miserable life!"
Without another word, she spun on her heel, hailed a taxi, and was gone.
Julian touched his stinging cheek, the heat a brand of his humiliation.
He climbed back into Alex's car, his future a darker, more uncertain void than
ever.
Back at the Thorne ancestral home, the quiet after the storm was
deceptive. The younger collateral members had departed, leaving the elders—the
old guard who saw themselves as the keepers of the dynasty.
On the morning of the third day, Silas and Elara sat like monarchs on
their thrones in the grand reception hall. The air was thick with the scent of
old money and older resentment.
Several elders were arranged in seats of honour below them, their faces
stern, their postures rigid. Once the servants had served tea and been
dismissed, the heavy oak doors were closed, sealing them in.
The silence was broken by Third Uncle Thorne, who slammed his porcelain
teacup onto the mahogany table with a force that made the saucer rattle.
"Silas! You may be the head of this family, but we are not yet in
our graves!" he thundered, his voice echoing in the vast room. "You
will give us an account of this Julian business and the old matriarch's death!
The Thorne legacy is not your personal plaything to manage as you see fit! We
rise and fall together!"
A chorus of grim nods and disapproving glares seconded his statement,
all aimed at Silas.
Unfazed, Silas took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea. He placed the cup
down with a soft, definitive click. His gaze, when it swept across the room,
was not that of a nephew facing his uncles, but of a king confronting
discontented vassals.
"Shared prosperity, shared adversity," Silas repeated, his
voice low but cutting through the tension like a blade. "I am glad you
remember the family precepts. See that you abide by them."
He leaned forward slightly, the movement exuding pure, unchecked
authority. "And understand this clearly: I, Silas Thorne, do not explain
my actions to you. What you are about to hear is not a justification. It is an
announcement from your Family Head. You will listen, and you will fulfil your
duty to assist me in dealing with the consequences."
Third Uncle's face flushed a deep, mottled red, humiliated by the sheer
dominance in Silas's tone.
Another elder, Madam Thorne, intervened with a placating tone that
didn't reach her eyes. "Silas, your Third Uncle speaks from a place of
concern for the family's welfare. We are all on the same side. Just tell us
what is happening. We must be prepared."
Silas let the heavy silence stretch, building the pressure in the room
until it was almost unbearable. Every elder leaned in, unconsciously awaiting
his decree.
Finally, he spoke, his words dropping like stones into a still pond,
destined to create ripples that would shake the family to its core.
"The truth you are so desperate for is this: The deception that
Julian was my heir was an elaborate scheme orchestrated entirely by the old
matriarch."