The glass walls of Blackthorne Tower gleamed in the morning sun, stretching high into the clouds like a monument to power. Below, the city bustled and bowed to it. But inside, the air was still and cold. Like the man who ruled it.
Billionaire CEO Elias Blackthorne stepped into the boardroom, white suit tailored to perfection, jaw tight, eyes colder than the steel beams that held the building together. Every executive stood as he entered. No one spoke until he sat.
"Why is the numbers report late?" he asked without looking up from his tablet.
A junior manager flinched. "We had a delay with the East Asian team…"
"Unacceptable." Elias dropped the tablet with a thud. "If you can't run your department on time, I will find someone who can."
Silence.
He stood, slow and deliberate, walking to the glass wall. The city sprawled below him.
"This launch needs to be perfect. We're not just selling software. We're setting a new global standard. Do you understand what that means?"
Heads nodded. Fear thickened the room.
Elias turned, face unreadable. "Dismissed. Everyone but Thomas."
As the room emptied, Thomas, the Chief Financial Officer, CFO, remained seated. Elias walked to the bar in the corner and poured himself a neat whiskey, despite the early hour.
"We're moving too slow. Cut another 10% of staff from R&D and move those resources to AI security," Elias said.
"That will trigger more walkouts," Thomas warned.
Elias sipped, unmoved. "Let them walk. Weak minds can't build a future."
Thomas hesitated, then nodded.
Elias gave a faint, mirthless smile. "Good. Now get out."
The door shut. Alone, Elias walked back to the window. He stared for a long moment, fingers tightening around the glass.
In the reflection, a ghost. Amara.
Her laugh. Her wild, untamed eyes. The way she'd sing off key and sway barefoot on the marble floor of his old penthouse. Her scent, vanilla and smoke, hit him out of nowhere.
He blinked, and it was gone.
"You've been dead ten years," he muttered.
But some memories didn't fade. Some ghosts stayed.
Later that night, the gates of the Blackthorne estate opened with a soft hiss. The mansion sat on a hill, modern yet cold, a palace of glass, stone, and silence. The estate manager, Pedro greeted Elias with a stiff nod as he entered.
"Your sons are upstairs, sir. Dinner has been served."
"I'll eat in my study," Elias said.
He didn't look at her.
The study was large, lined with books he no longer read. He dropped his briefcase, loosened his tie, and stared at the wall screen flashing news of the upcoming tech summit. Awards, praise, envy, it was all meaningless.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through messages. One was from Lydia, the estate assistant who often kept tabs on the twins
Ethan had a fever this morning. It went down, but he was quiet all day. Jose asked if you'd come read to them.
Elias stared at the message.
He typed: Tomorrow.
Then deleted it.
He locked the phone and poured another drink.
Upstairs, two small voices laughed. Then quiet.
The boys sat in their shared room, building a fort of pillows. Ethan, quieter than Jose, held a book in his lap.
"Dad's home," Jose said.
Ethan nodded, hugging a stuffed wolf.
"Do you think he'll come up?"
Jose looked at the door, then shook his head.
"He's too busy," he whispered.
"Maybe tomorrow."
Jose's voice was barely audible. "He always says that."
They sat in silence. Outside, the wind howled. The house creaked. The light from the hallway spilled under their door.
Elias sat in his dim study, staring at a photo tucked inside his desk. Amara, in sunlight, laughing. It was the only picture he never deleted. He rubbed his thumb over it like a man trying to remember the feeling of warmth.
Her death had gutted him. Publicly, he denied the connection. She had died in a lab fire. Sabotage, they said. She had been unstable, they claimed. But the truth, the truth was buried in blood and fire.
Magnus had called it necessary.
Elias had called it monstrous.
But he had accepted the power. Inherited the empire innocently.
He hadn't asked questions.
Until now.
At dawn, Elias stood at the balcony, shirtless, scars from a long life of hidden battles across his back. Below, the grounds spread wide and beautiful. He sipped black coffee, jaw firmed.
The tech launch would cement Blackthorne Corporation as the leader in biometric AI. Every headline would sing his name.
But in the quiet, something gnawed at him.
An ache. A warning.
Like smoke rising from a grave.
He turned to go inside.
Behind him, the sun rose blood-red.
He stepped back into the house, the chill following him like a shadow. His shoes echoed across the marble floor as he passed the quiet hallway. The twins would be awake by now. He hadn't seen them properly in days, just glimpses through doors, updates in messages, nods across the dinner table.
He paused at the entrance to their room.
Inside, the soft murmur of cartoons hummed from a screen. Jose sat cross-legged on the floor, fiddling with a robot toy. Ethan lay curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, eyes half-open but heavy with sleep.
"Dad?" Jose looked up, startled.
Elias gave a short nod. "Morning."
Ethan stirred at the sound of his voice, blinking up at him. "You came," he whispered.
"I had a few minutes," Elias said, clearing his throat.
Jose rose quickly, book in hand. "Ethan was sick yesterday. Lydia told you, right?"
"I got the message."
"You didn't answer," Ethan said softly.
Elias looked down at him, his jaw tightening. Then something in his chest cracked.
Ethan's eyes, wide, soft, amber-gold, were exactly like Amara's.
He felt the air leave his lungs.
Elias crouched beside the couch, brushing the boy's hair back gently. "How do you feel?"
"Better. Just tired." Ethan hesitated. "You used to read to us."
"I remember," Elias said. His voice was low.
"Will you read to us now?" Jose asked, stepping closer.
He should've said no. He had ten missed calls. A press team waiting. A launch hours away.
But for once, he didn't move.
"Alright," he murmured, settling beside them.
He picked up a book, and as he read, both boys leaned in, the warmth between them slow and unfamiliar.
And for the first time in weeks, Elias stayed.
As Elias turned the page, Ethan leaned quietly against his shoulder. The hallway lights flickered, just once. Faint, easy to ignore. But something about it made Elias pause. He looked up, a strange feeling creeping into his chest.
The twins had been brought to him ten years ago, just after Amara's death. His father had said they were survivors, abandoned and in need of a home. Elias never asked questions. He had trusted his father completely back then.
He raised them as his own, answered to "Daddy" without knowing why the word always tugged at something deep inside him. Now, as both boys sat close, warm and trusting, that same feeling stirred again, like a door in his mind, slowly creaking open.