A heavy silence fell over the lawyer's office, broken only
by the soft hum of the air conditioner. Robert Hayes's gaze was distant, lost
in a memory that painted a shadow of pain across his features. His eyes,
clouded with nostalgia, lifted and settled on Elara's slightly nervous face.
For a heart-wrenching second, he didn't see his niece. He
saw her. Evelyn. Her same anxious eyes, the same hesitant hope, begging him to
let her go, to let her follow her beloved Conrad to the ends of the earth.
"Mr. Hayes? Is everything alright?"
Lawyer Johnson's voice was a sharp needle, popping the
bubble of his past. Robert flinched, then recovered with a practiced, weary
sigh. He lowered his head, pretending to wipe a non-existent tear from the
corner of his eye.
"My apologies," he murmured, his voice thick with
manufactured grief. "I was just thinking... if Elara is to be married, it
would finally bring some peace to my brother and sister-in-law. I could face
them knowing she's settled."
Elara watched his performance, her expression remaining a
mask of cool indifference. From her corner, Claire observed the exchange, a
silent, knowing smirk playing on her lips.
Lawyer Johnson, all business, pressed on. "So, to be
perfectly clear, Mr. Hayes, you are giving your consent to Miss Hayes's
marriage to Mr. Thorne?"
"Of course," Robert said, shifting his mournful
gaze to Silas. "Mr. Thorne, I entrust my niece to your care. Treat her
well. Though her parents are gone, she still has me. The Hayes family door will
always be open for her."
Silas's head tilted, a predator considering its prey. A
slow, dangerous smile touched his lips. "Elara is my wife. How I treat her
is a given and none of your concern," he stated, his voice a low rumble
that vibrated with unspoken threat. "You should focus on your own health.
That leg of yours... one never knows. It might just stand again."
Robert's blood ran cold. The carefully constructed mask of
the grieving uncle slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing sheer panic
before he cloaked it in a bitter smile. "You're too kind, Mr. Thorne. This
wheelchair has been my prison for over a decade. I fear that particular door is
permanently closed."
Silas didn't bother to respond to the obvious lie. He simply
turned his piercing gaze back to Lawyer Johnson. "The paperwork. Can we
proceed?"
"Immediately, sir."
The lawyer signalled his assistant, and the room burst into
a flurry of activity. Documents were produced, pens were offered. Elara signed
her name with a steady hand, each signature transferring millions in assets—two
lavish villas, a significant portion of the Hayes Corporation—from Robert's
control to hers.
Bianca watched, her jealousy a toxic brew she could no
longer contain. As Elara and Silas rose to leave, victory radiating from them,
Bianca snapped. She lunged forward, her voice a shrill shatter in the tense
room.
"Elara! We had a deal! You get your parents' things,
and you sign Grandpa's inheritance over to me! Or did your new wealth make you
forget your promises?"
The room froze. Robert and his wife looked as if they wanted
to strangle their daughter where she stood.
Elara turned slowly, a glacier of contempt in her eyes.
"A deal? The deal was if you returned what you stole. But you denied
everything, remember? Ms. Finch and Lily are still in a detention cell, taking
the fall for you. Has your memory failed you so completely?"
Bianca's bravado faltered, but her greed was stronger than
her sense. "T-they're our servants! It doesn't matter who took it! You got
your trash back, now hold up your end! Give me what's mine!"
"Yours?" Elara's laugh was sharp and cold.
"Bianca, the audacity you have to stand there and say that after your
servants destroyed my parents' photographs—the last relics I had of them. I
should be pressing charges against you for conspiracy. Instead of cowering in
gratitude, you have the nerve to demand a reward? How thick is your skin?"
Bianca stood speechless, her face mottled red with
humiliation and fury.
Elara's eyes then sliced toward Robert, her tone icy and
final. "Uncle Robert, I believe you mentioned plans to send Bianca abroad
after the New Year. I trust that arrangement still stands."
Robert met her gaze, and for the first time, he didn't see a
vulnerable girl he could manipulate. He saw a queen standing beside a king,
armed with his power and her own newfound steel.
"It does," he forced out, his jaw tight.
"Excellent."
Elara turned, dismissing them all, and took Silas's arm.
"NO!" Bianca shrieked, her composure obliterated.
"I'm not going! You can't make me! I won't leave this country! I'd rather
die than be shipped off like some unwanted garbage!"
Robert's face purpled with rage, but before he could speak,
a voice cut through the chaos, low and absolute.
"You won't leave the country even if you die?"
Silas had paused at the doorway. He didn't even fully turn,
merely glanced over his shoulder, his deep eyes pinning Bianca to the spot like
a butterfly to a board. The air grew thin and cold.
"Then die," he said, his voice devoid of all
emotion. "And we will carry your corpse onto the plane."
The silence was deafening. Bianca's mouth hung open, all
sound stolen from her lungs by the sheer, terrifying finality in his tone. She
wasn't looking at a man; she was looking at death itself.
Robert shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow.
"M-Mr. Thorne, you have my word. She will be on a plane. She will be
gone."
Silas didn't even acknowledge him. His eyes held Bianca's
for a second longer—a promise of unspeakable violence—before he led Elara away.
Back in the sleek confines of the Rolls-Royce, Elara sank
into the plush leather, exhaling a long, weary breath. The battle was won, but
the war for her family's legacy was far from over.
A moment of comfortable silence passed before Silas spoke,
his voice casual, as if asking about the weather.
"Do you want the Hayes Group?"
Elara turned her head, startled. "What?"
"The company. Do you want it?" he clarified, his
sharp eyes seeing right through to her deepest, unspoken ambitions.
She hesitated, the old doubts creeping in. "I... I
studied business, but I'm no CEO. I don't have that kind of experience."
A slow, confident smile graced his lips. "As long as
you want it, that's the only problem that matters. You have me. What is there
to be afraid of? We hire the best managers. You become the shadow queen. The
power is yours; the work is theirs."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a compelling
whisper. "You hold twenty percent. That doesn't make you a player; it
makes you a target. The only way to end this game forever is to take the entire
board. Make the company yours. Make them all bow. Then you can truly
rest."
Elara's heart hammered against her ribs. It was a audacious,
terrifying, magnificent idea. She had been fighting for scraps, for what was
rightfully hers. He was offering her the whole kingdom.
She looked down, her mind racing. She thought of her
parents, of Robert's deceit, of Bianca's venom. She thought of the future.
When she looked up, her almond eyes were blazing with a
newfound, unshakable resolve. "I want it," she said, her voice firm.
"I want the company."
A spark of pride flickered in Silas's gaze. But before he
could speak, Elara blinked, her fierce expression melting into something
softer, more potent. She leaned into his space, her voice a sweet, honeyed
whisper that went straight to his core.
"Darling... will you help me?"
The shift was so sudden, so utterly disarming. The word
"darling" on her lips was a weapon he hadn't anticipated. Silas's
calm, millennia-old composure cracked. A jolt of pure, white-hot electricity
shot through him. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and he had to fight
the urge to pull her into his arms right then and there.
Damn it, he thought, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. It's
true what they say. The older you get, the harder you fall. And he was falling,
hard.