The moon was a sharp, silver claw in the night sky, its cold light doing
little to pierce the deep shadows of the mountain forest. At the summit,
shrouded in an unnatural silence, sprawled a vast estate. Dozens of buildings
lay behind imposing, high walls that seemed to swallow the surrounding
darkness, a fortress designed to keep secrets in and prying eyes out.
A black, modified SUV moved like a predator, its engine a low purr as it
approached the colossal gates. Without a sound, the gates swung inward,
granting immediate access. The vehicle slid into the heart of the compound.
Five minutes later, in the basement of a three-story building, the air
was cold and still.
Dim, fluorescent lights flickered overhead, illuminating a sterile
corridor lined with heavy, sealed doors. Carpo Jack, a man whose rugged, wild
features looked carved from granite, led Silas and Ethan to the deepest
chamber.
Through a reinforced transparent window, the sparse room within was
visible. Barely ten square meters, it contained only a single bed. Under the
harsh glow of a lone bulb, Julian lay flat on his back. Both of his arms were
encased in plaster up to the shoulder blades, his complexion a sickly,
washed-out grey. His eyes were closed, but his brow was furrowed in torment.
Suddenly, his body jerked, a silent scream twisting his features as he fought
some invisible demon in his sleep.
"What did you show him?" Silas's voice was a low, calm rumble in the
quiet hall.
Carpo Jack's face remained an impassive mask. "Nothing much. As the son
of Mr. Thorne, he can't afford to be timid." His flat tone belied the brutality
of his words. "We had to deal with a deserter tonight. We thought it
educational for Young Master Julian to witness the price of betrayal."
Ethan let out a soft, appreciative click of his tongue. He knew Carpo's
methods—swift, bloody, and merciless. Things that would haunt a normal person's
dreams for years. No wonder Julian was having nightmares.
"Hmm." Silas's composure was absolute. "Was the item placed on him?"
"During his treatment. He won't detect it," Carpo confirmed, his loyalty
outweighing any personal curiosity. Fitting a tracking device on the boss's own
son was a strange request, but it was not his place to question.
Silas stood silhouetted against the door's window, his dark eyes
reflecting the bleak scene inside. "Withdraw all personnel from his vicinity."
If Julian was to be the bait, the trap had to look unguarded.
"Understood," Carpo replied with military precision.
Silas cast one final, unreadable glance at Julian's restless form.
"Tomorrow, transfer him to Stonehaven Villa. Find a caregiver for him—someone
with a gentle temperament."
As they turned to leave, Ethan couldn't resist a mutter. "Boss, do we
have to move him so soon? Couldn't he… enjoy the hospitality a few more days?"
Silas didn't break stride, his voice dropping to a meaningful murmur.
"Ethan. He is, after all, my 'son'."
The way he emphasised the word sent a clear message. He absently twisted
the black tail ring on his left hand, his face a landscape of shadows and ice
in the mottled light.
Ethan's eyes widened in sudden understanding. A female caregiver? Now
that was an interesting twist.
The next morning, Elara woke feeling more rested than she had in days.
But as consciousness fully returned, so did the awareness of a heavy, warm
weight around her. She was curled into someone's side, her head nestled
perfectly in the crook of a man's shoulder, her senses filled with his
familiar, intoxicating scent.
Amusement and exasperation warred within her as she lifted her head.
There he was. Silas, fast asleep, his handsome face relaxed in slumber.
In the soft morning light, he looked younger, the usual imposing authority
smoothed away. Propping herself on one elbow, she couldn't resist tracing the
strong arch of his brow, her fingertips following the line of his thick lashes.
Her touch drifted down the straight bridge of his nose, coming to rest on the
soft, perfectly shaped curve of his lips.
No wonder kissing him feels so good…
Her finger lingered, and suddenly, his lips parted, gently sucking the
tip of her finger.
A jolt of pure, electric heat shot through her. Her cheeks, ears, and
neck flamed crimson. She snatched her hand back as if burned.
His eyes fluttered open, dark and heavy with sleep and something else
entirely. A lazy, predatory smile played on his lips.
"When did you get in here?" she whispered, her voice husky. "I didn't
feel a thing." The nerve of this man, risking Ingrid's wrath.
"Sometime after midnight," he murmured, his gaze locked on her mouth,
clearly regretting it wasn't her lips he had tasted. "You were sleeping so
soundly. Like an angel."
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Remembering the lash marks from
Ingrid's riding crop, she pushed herself up. "Your arms, I need to put ointment
on—"
His hand hooked behind her neck, gentle but unyielding, pulling her back
down.
His mouth found hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was a
claiming, full of pent-up longing and possessive heat. Just as his tongue
sought deeper entry, the door creaked open.
"Elara, are you up? I—" Annabelle's clear, childish voice cut through
the heated silence and then abruptly stopped.
Silas broke the kiss, his expression darkening into a thunderous scowl
as he turned to glare at the little girl in the doorway. "Who told you you
could just walk in?"
Annabelle, dressed in her light blue school uniform, stood frozen for a
second, her big dark eyes wide. Then, a mischievous grin spread across her
face. She backed out of the room, and they heard her shriek down the hall,
"MUMMY! COME QUICK! COUSIN SILAS IS IN BED WITH ELARA!"
"Get out!" Silas's command was a low growl.
Elara was mortified. She shoved at Silas's chest, sending him tumbling
off the side of the bed with a surprised grunt. She frantically smoothed her
dishevelled hair and made a beeline for the bathroom, her face on fire.
From the hallway, they could hear Annabelle's gleeful shrieks. "Mummy,
help! Cousin Silas is going to murder me!"
Silas got to his feet, scowling as he heard the little imp's retreating
footsteps and the sound of her sticking her tongue out. He couldn't help the
reluctant chuckle that escaped him. He should have never left his own estate
with his wife.
At breakfast, Annabelle was already off to school, but Ingrid more than
made up for her absence. She launched into a tirade directed solely at Silas,
who simply tuned her out, focusing instead on carefully buttering Elara's toast
and filling her cup with tea.
Elara, feeling the weight of the morning's scandal, kept her head down,
chewing her food with meticulous care.
"Alright, you impossible boy," Ingrid finally snapped, her expression
turning serious. "Take Elara back to your own place tonight. This afternoon,
your grandmother is arriving with that woman Julian married. She's insisting on
staying here at the manor this time."
Elara froze.
After Silas had broken Julian's arms, Ethan had taken him to the secure
facility at Oakhaven. The old lady's sudden visit was no coincidence; she was
clearly coming to shield Julian, afraid of what Silas might do next.
"If she wishes to stay, let her," Arthur said, his tone mild. Silas
simply nodded in agreement, his face unreadable. "There are plenty of rooms."
After breakfast, Silas took Elara back to their wing of the mansion. She
immediately pulled him down onto the plush sofa and called for the butler to
bring the medical kit.
The welts on his forearms from Ingrid's riding crop had darkened into
ugly, purplish bruises.
"You didn't put any ointment on these last night?" she chided, her voice
soft with concern as she carefully dabbed at the marks with antiseptic.
"I was waiting for you," he said, his tone laced with a feigned
innocence that didn't suit him. "My ungrateful wife, who abandoned me the
moment she saw a pink princess room. I waited until midnight, then risked
another beating from my aunt just to see you, only to find you dead to the
world."
The genuine hurt in his voice tugged at her heartstrings. She looked up,
meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry. Ingrid and I… we got to talking. I didn't mean to
fall asleep."
A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face. "It's fine. Since
Grandmother is coming, it would look suspicious if we slept in separate rooms,
don't you think? Her eyes are sharp."
She saw the calculation in his eyes, but he wasn't wrong. To avoid any
unnecessary drama, she nodded in reluctant agreement.
Shortly after three in the afternoon, the car carrying Old Lady Thorne
and Vivian crunched to a halt in the courtyard. Out of respect for the family
matriarch, everyone had gathered to welcome her.
The driver opened the door, and Vivian stepped out first, turning to
assist the old woman. A maid from the main family residence followed closely
behind.
The Old Lady Thorne was dressed in a severe new green dress, her silver
hair coiled into a ruthless bun. She leaned heavily on an ornate, brown walking
stick—an accessory Elara didn't recall her using at the old residence. Elara
wondered if it was for effect, or if Silas had truly driven her to such a
state.
The thought barely had time to form.
The family moved forward as a group to greet her. The moment Old Lady
Thorne's eyes landed on Silas, her composed facade shattered into pure,
unadulterated fury.
With a strength that belied her age, she raised the heavy walking stick
high and brought it down with a vicious, whistling force, aiming directly for
Silas's head.
"SILAS THORNE, YOU BEAST!"