The heavy oak door of the villa clicked shut, sealing them off from the
outside world. Without a word, Elara gripped Silas's wrist, her small hand
surprisingly strong, and led him straight upstairs to his room.
Silas let himself be pulled along, a curious eyebrow arched as he
studied the tense line of her shoulders. Ah, so the little kitten had claws.
And she was definitely upset. The fact that she was this agitated, enough to
practically drag him, sent a peculiar thrill through him.
The moment they crossed the threshold into his room, she dropped his
hand as if burned. She pointed a slender finger towards the plush sofa in the
center of the room, her expression unyielding.
"Sit. We need to talk."
The corner of Silas's mouth twitched. Seeing her like this—so serious,
so stern—was undeniably captivating. He obliged, sinking into the sofa with a
languid grace that was entirely his own. His long legs sprawled comfortably,
his black attire a stark contrast against the light fabric. A faint, amused
smile played on his lips as his dark eyes settled on her.
"Alright, I'm sitting properly. Now, what's on your mind, little
one?"
Elara took a steadying breath, her almond-shaped eyes locking with his,
fierce and direct.
"Earlier. With Vivian. If I hadn't stopped her, what would you have
done?"
The question hung in the air. Now, in the quiet of the room, she
wondered if she'd acted too hastily. Maybe she should have let the scene play
out. Maybe she should have seen how far Vivian would have gone… and how he
would have reacted when those painted nails tried to touch him.
Silas almost chuckled. So, this was a reckoning. She'd bottled it up all
the way home, only to unleash it now, in the privacy of their space. How
utterly, adorably possessive.
"Do you find this amusing?" Elara's voice was sharp, catching
the fleeting amusement on his face. Annoyance flared within her. Did he think
she was being ridiculous? Was Vivian's blatant act something he considered
normal?
He schooled his features into a mask of seriousness, though the warmth
in his eyes remained. "Not amusing at all. It's a very serious
matter."
She crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "Then give me a serious
answer."
"Would you like to sit? I'm worried you'll get tired
standing." He patted the space beside him, his voice a low, tempting
murmur.
"No, thank you. I'm perfectly fine right here," she retorted,
her tone leaving no room for argument. She knew his tricks. If she sat down,
he'd pull her into his arms, and all coherent thought would vanish in a haze of
his scent and touch.
This time, Silas did laugh, a rich, deep sound that vibrated through the
room. Her wary, defensive posture was both exasperating and endearing.
Elara didn't blink, her eyes pinned on him, waiting.
With a soft sigh, he relented. "Little girl, you can't possibly
think I'm like Julian—a man whose head can be turned so easily?"
His bluntness startled her. "I never thought that." And she
hadn't. He was a man of immense control and experience. If he were easily
seduced, he wouldn't have reached the age of thirty-seven without a trail of
scandals, only to end up with her, unexpectedly pregnant.
"Really?" His lips curved, the amusement returning.
"Since you know what kind of man I am, what do you think I was
going to do?" He deftly turned the question back on her, his eyes
challenging.
Elara's cheeks flushed with frustration. "Uncle, could you just
answer the question directly? I'm the one interrogating you here."
Silas's expression softened into one of pure affection.
"Baby," he corrected, his voice a low caress. "You keep
forgetting. I'm your husband, not some old uncle."
She rolled her eyes, a huff of air escaping her lips. "Well, I'm
your wife, and you just called me 'little girl'."
"..."
He was momentarily speechless, before a string of low, magnetic laughter
escaped him. He rose in one fluid motion, closing the distance between them.
His hand came up to gently pinch her soft cheek.
"That sharp little tongue of yours is going to be the death of
me," he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.
"That's because you provoke me into using it," she shot back,
swatting his hand away. But his fingers instantly intertwined with hers,
holding her captive.
"Alright, alright. Let's talk properly." His tone shifted,
becoming serious once more.
Elara stilled, her gaze lifting to meet his lowered eyes. The intensity
there made her breath catch.
"Women like that," he began, his voice like shards of ice,
"if she didn't still have a sliver of use, she would have been removed
long before she ever got close enough to speak to me."
The sheer coldness in his tone left no room for doubt. He was utterly
repulsed.
"Had you not spoken, my next words would have been to have her
thrown out."
"And as you so cleverly pointed out, wouldn't it be interesting for
Julian to see how devoted his lover truly is?"
Elara's eyes widened. "You haven't already told him, have
you?" Suddenly, she remembered the soft, intimate female voice that had
joined the video call between the old lady, Vivian, and Julian. "That
nurse… the one with Julian… was that your doing too?"
A slow, cunning smile touched Silas's lips. "Let them have
something else to focus on. It keeps them from being a nuisance to me."
It was a classic business tactic: let your rivals fight amongst
themselves. And it worked just as well in his personal life.
The pieces clicked into place for Elara, though one thing still nagged
at her. "What if… what if the old lady finds out one day that Julian isn't
a Thorne? That he shares no blood with you? Would she…" Her voice trailed
off, the unspoken words—would her heart break?—hanging heavily between them.
The old lady had pinned all her hopes and ambitions on Julian. To
discover that the great-grandson she had doted on and groomed for over twenty
years was an imposter…
Silas's gaze darkened, the shadows in his eyes deepening. "So, are
you suggesting I tell her?"
Elara met his stare, her mind racing. Ingrid's fury last night… it
wasn't just about the pregnancy. The sheer intensity of it had to be connected
to Julian, too. Silas had confessed the truth to Ingrid and Arthur, but he was
clearly keeping his grandmother in the dark.
"The timing isn't right yet," Silas said, his voice a low
rumble.
"Then when will it be?" she pressed, determined to get an
answer.
Seeing her resolve, he finally pulled her to the sofa, and this time,
she let him. The unease Vivian had sparked was gone, replaced by a burning
curiosity.
"When Steven Cohen appears."
The name dropped between them like a stone. Elara felt a chill. There
was a complex, dark history there—a mix of hatred and something else she
couldn't quite decipher, all veiled in secrecy.