Silas, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the tension he'd
left in his wake. His deep-set eyes held an inscrutable, chilling gaze as he
fixed it on Julian for several long seconds. The silence stretched, thick and
heavy, before he finally replied in a measured, icy tone.
"Provided you've thought it through yourself, and the
old lady Thorne has no objections, I have no issue."
Marry Vivian Grays? How could the Old Lady Thorne
possibly have no objections?
Julian almost scoffed inwardly. She had doted on him, her
great-grandson, since he was a child; he was her pride and joy. No wealthy,
well-connected heiress would ever truly be good enough in her eyes. Her
initial, reluctant acceptance of Elara had stemmed solely from Julian's own
fierce, unwavering determination—his vow to marry no one else. And even then,
she'd disapproved. Elara, at least, came from the respectable Hayes family in
Ashbourne.
But Vivian Grays? She was a nobody. A scheming girl from a
remote mountain village who had clawed her way into his life by stealing her
best friend's boyfriend. She had no pedigree, no connections, and a morality
that was, at best, flexible. To the Old Lady Thorne, marrying her wouldn't just
be a disappointment; it would be an insult to the Thorne bloodline.
Julian knew all this. He knew his great-grandmother's
sentiments better than anyone.
But he also knew that Silas's word was law. As long as Silas
spoke up, the old lady's objections would be silenced, no matter how vehement.
His father's will was an immovable force.
"Father, I've thought this through," Julian said,
bracing himself against the oppressive weight of that piercing gaze. His
fingers clenched subtly at his sides. "The child is already over two
months along. We can't delay any longer."
"Wait until we return to Ashbourne," Silas
declared, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Bring her along for
the old lady to meet first."
Without another word, Silas turned and took Elara's arm, his
large hand enveloping hers with a possessiveness that was both startling and
absolute. He led her away, toward the murmuring sounds of the living room.
Julian turned to watch their retreating figures—one towering
and imposingly powerful, the other delicate and gracefully clinging to his
side. A perfect, infuriating picture. A match made in heaven that felt forged
in his own personal hell.
A bitter smile touched his lips. Since this household had
already descended into chaos, let it plunge deeper into utter disorder. The
more chaos, the better. He welcomed it.
Vivian's pregnancy was a secret he'd kept locked tight, yet
Elara had known. And now his father knew—clearly not from her. The memory of
that night, and the cold words spoken by that man, Steven Cohen, slammed back
into him.
So, it was true. He had always been watched. Every move,
every meeting, every careless word—all of it conducted under his father's
omnipresent, unblinking eye.
All these years, he had never known. Was it protection? Or
was it surveillance?
He found he no longer cared.
In the discreetly opulent, high-ceilinged living room, the
conversation among the four women died instantly the moment Silas and Elara
entered. All eyes turned toward them, a freeze-frame of curated elegance and
hidden curiosity.
Apart from Ingrid Winslow, the other three women—all
impeccably dressed socialites—masterfully concealed their shock within a
heartbeat, their polite masks slipping seamlessly back into place.
Silas Thorne. The formidable patriarch of the intertwined
Thorne and Winslow empires. A man who commanded legions in both the corporate
boardrooms and the city's shadowy underworld. He was Oakhaven's most eligible
and most unattainable bachelor.
Rumours of his infertility and an adult son did nothing to
deter the endless stream of women from elite families hoping to catch his eye.
Beyond the staggering wealth and power, the man himself—with his stark,
commanding features and powerful physique—was a lure few could resist.
Yet, not a single woman had ever secured a place by his
side. His impenetrable wall of bodyguards was one reason. His cold, aloof
demeanour and the sheer, intimidating force of his presence was another. Most
simply couldn't breathe in the same air without feeling suffocated.
Now, to see him appear with a young, ethereally beautiful
woman tucked protectively against his side? It was nothing short of
breathtaking.
"Silas! Perfect timing. Bring Elara over here to
sit," Ingrid chirped, her cheerfulness sounding genuine. She waited until
Silas had seated Elara firmly beside him on the plush sofa before turning her
attention to her guests, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Isn't this a wonderful surprise? Ladies, you are among
the first to meet my nephew's beautiful new bride. He's just returned from
Ashbourne with her."
"New bride?"
This time, the shock was impossible to fully mask.
Particularly from the woman seated at the far end. She was
in her early thirties, with a head of voluminous, dark waves and a figure
hugged by a sophisticated crimson dress. Beyond the initial astonishment, her
gaze—as it flickered between Elara and Silas—held a deep, unmistakable gloom of
reluctance and jealousy.
Elara, with her keen intuition forged from a lifetime of
reading rooms and people, met the woman's gaze directly. She offered a small,
polite smile and a nod, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken challenge,
before calmly looking away.
The woman also averted her eyes, her perfectly sculpted lips
tightening almost imperceptibly.
Ingrid, either oblivious or choosing to ignore the tension,
carried on with relish. "Allow me to introduce you all to Elara. Not only
is she stunning, but she's brilliantly sharp. Fresh out of Kingston University
and already making waves as a business analyst. In fact," Ingrid leaned
forward conspiratorially, "her very first proposal last month landed a
multi-million dollar deal for Aeternum's new subsidiary. Silas was immensely
impressed. We all are. She's the talk of the executive floor."
Elara felt a warm flush of surprise and gratitude. She
hadn't expected such a glowing, career-focused endorsement from Ingrid in this
setting. It was a powerful, public show of support.
The two middle-aged socialites, clearly close friends of
Ingrid's, took the cue perfectly. Their eyes lit up with renewed, genuine
interest as they turned their delighted gazes on Elara.
"My dear, how wonderful!"
"Such a perfect combination of beauty and brains!
Ingrid, you lucky woman, gaining such a remarkable niece!"
Elara turned on the charm, her smile sweet and demure.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all. Aunt Ingrid is too kind; I was just
fortunate to have a great team supporting me."
Ingrid, showing no modesty, beamed with pride.
"Nonsense, darling. Talent like yours can't be hidden. I've already told
the ladies at the foundation board they must have you consult on our next
investment portfolio. We need that Midas touch."
As the three women launched into a cheerful discussion about
the fickle nature of investments, Elara subtly edged closer to Silas. She
tugged gently on the sleek fabric of his black shirt and whispered under the
cover of the chatter, "Is this what you meant about Aunt Ingrid building
my empire? Is she really selling my credentials to all of high society?"
Silas, who had been silently observing, his arm resting on
the sofa behind her, glanced down. A faint, amused curve touched his lips as he
leaned in, his voice a low, intimate rumble meant only for her ear.
"Have a little faith in your own talent, little one.
This is merely a strategic investment. Ingrid isn't just selling you; she's
building your empire. And she's only getting started."
His hot breath against her skin sent a shiver of electricity
straight down her spine. Her ears burned, and a familiar, flustered heat spread
across her cheeks.
"Mm-hmm, understood," she mumbled, leaning back
only to be caught firmly by his arm. His scorching palm slid down her slender
arm until his fingers found hers, lacing together tightly in a possessive,
undeniable grip.
The affectionate gesture was far too conspicuous, and
Elara's face burned hotter, acutely aware of their audience. When she dared to
lift her gaze, it collided once more with the woman across from her. Her eyes,
now dark pools of indignation and pure, unadulterated jealousy, were fixed
squarely on their intertwined hands.
Elara's breath hitched. The woman's red lips curved into a
faint, cold smile before she pointedly turned her attention back to Ingrid,
listening with an air of dignified, elegant patience. It was a masterclass in
poise, a deliberate contrast to Elara's whispered intimacy and flushed,
youthful discomposure.
A sudden clarity struck Elara. She dug her fingertips
lightly into the thick, veined back of Silas's hand.
If she couldn't decipher this woman's intentions now, then
all those years of surviving by reading hidden cues and navigating subtle wars
in the Hayes household would have been for nothing.
This was no socialite making polite conversation. This was
trouble. Silas's troublesome romantic entanglement had just walked into the
room.