The moment the velvet jewellery box was passed into Silas's hands, a
strange tightness coiled in Elara's chest. She watched, her breath held, as he
opened it.
There it was. The band of the men's ring was engraved with an intricate
pattern of intertwined branches—deceptively simple, yet profoundly meaningful.
He placed the heavy, solid platinum ring in her palm. Its weight felt
significant, a tangible promise.
Taking a quiet, steadying breath, she reached for his left hand. His
fingers were long and elegant, yet the calluses on his palm spoke of a strength
that was both intimidating and reassuring. She slid the ring onto his ring
finger, pushing it all the way down until it sat perfectly.
In that moment, it felt as if their fates were being sealed, intertwined
like the branches on their rings—two lives, now inextricably linked.
"...There," she whispered, her task complete.
Silas's dark, intense gaze had never left her face, tracing the focused
frown of concentration, the slight parting of her lips. Seeing the subtle
relaxation in her shoulders once the ring was in place, a slow, possessive
smile curved his lips.
He took her hand, his thumb stroking the matching ring on her finger
before he lifted it to his mouth. His lips, warm and firm, pressed a reverent
kiss against the metal. "Now it's official, my love."
Elara's cheeks flushed a warm crimson. Under the heat of his expectant
stare, she mirrored his action, her smaller hand enveloping his. She lowered
her head and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his ring finger.
The touch of her lips against his skin sent a jolt straight to his core,
his heart hammering against his ribs. When she looked up, her clear eyes
meeting his, he couldn't resist pulling her into a tight embrace.
"Wearing my ring means you're my wife for life," he murmured
into her ear, his voice a low, possessive vow. "And I belong only to
you."
His words, though softly spoken, carried the weight of an unbreakable
oath. A bittersweet ache tightened Elara's chest, and to her surprise, tears
welled in her eyes. For the first time, the future didn't seem like a vast,
uncertain ocean, but a sheltered harbour.
She felt a dampness seep through the fabric of her dress onto his shirt.
Silas's gaze darkened, his arms tightening around her petite frame as he
pressed a silent, protective kiss into her hair.
A long while later, Elara finally drew back from the sanctuary of his
embrace, only to be startled by his next move.
With deliberate care, he removed the distinctive black pinky ring from
his left hand. Then, from the same jewellery box, he retrieved a delicate
silver chain. He threaded the black ring onto it, his movements sure and
steady. Gently, he swept her hair aside and fastened the chain around her neck.
The black ring settled just below her collarbone, the metal cool against
her skin, yet it seemed to carry the lingering warmth from his finger.
"Remember," his voice was low and serious, brooking no
argument. "Once it's on, it never comes off. And no one else touches it.
Ever."
She hadn't even had a chance to study its strange engraving.
"Yes," she agreed, meeting his solemn eyes with a firm nod. After a
pause, she asked, "This ring... it's important to you?"
"It was the first piece I ever made for myself, back in Italy when
I was just a boy," he explained softly, a shadow of nostalgia in his deep
gaze. "It holds... significant meaning."
What he left unsaid was that the ring's true value lay not in its
material, but in what was concealed within it.
Elara looked down, her fingers tracing the unusual ring. It was pure
black, made of an impossibly hard, unidentifiable material. The pattern was a
lion's head in profile, but not the noble beast of a royal crest. This lion was
snarling, its mane a chaotic swirl of deep cuts that looked less like hair and
more like swirling smoke or shadow, its single visible eye a pinprick of
polished gold that seemed to watch her. It held an aura of ancient, predatory
power.
"You can study it all you want when we get home," Silas said,
glancing at his wristwatch. "It's late. Time for our baby's prenatal
lesson."
"Right."
As they stepped off the yacht, they saw the car waiting, Ethan leaning
against the hood, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He promptly stubbed it
out, waved the smoke away, and opened the back door for them.
Settling into the plush interior, Elara's thoughts drifted. She turned
to the man beside her. "By the way, where's Brooke? Isn't she assigned to
me anymore?"
She hadn't seen the stoic bodyguard since returning to the Winslow
residence.
"She's serving her punishment," Silas stated matter-of-factly,
lacing his fingers with hers.
"By the rules, she failed. She should be permanently reassigned.
But," he continued, his tone pragmatic, "she is exceptionally
skilled, the most capable all-rounder I have. This punishment will serve as a
stark reminder. I'm giving her one last chance."
"She will resume her position as your primary bodyguard. Having a
woman by your side is more convenient in many social settings. Others will
provide covert security from the shadows."
Elara had no objection; his logic was sound. "Alright," she
murmured, leaning closer. "Silas... if I wanted to learn something to
protect myself, what would you recommend?"
Her voice was soft, but in the quiet of the car, it was perfectly clear.
Ethan, in the driver's seat, shot an amused glance through the rearview mirror.
Well, well. The little lady has claws. Boss's woman is full of
surprises.
Silas's expression blanked for a second before a soft chuckle escaped
him. "And what exactly do you think you can learn in your condition?"
He'd considered it himself, but her pregnancy ruled out anything strenuous.
"That's why I'm asking you," Elara retorted, a hint of
displeasure in her voice as she tried to pull her hand away.
His grip tightened, preventing her retreat. Shedding his amusement, his
face grew earnest. "Alright. I'll give it serious thought. We'll find
something suitable for you now."
His mind was already racing, designing a custom, low-recoil pistol she
could handle with ease.
Satisfied by his genuine response, Elara's expression softened.
"Then remember this," she said, her voice low and earnest. "Your
safety is my only real peace."
Her words, cool and resolute in the dim light of the car, struck a chord
deep within him. Silas's gaze sharpened, drinking in her profile.
"Understood."
The single word was a promise, sealed as he tightened his hold on her
hand. She had come into his world so young, her life shifting from light to
shadow. He knew a kernel of anxiety had always lived within her.
By the time the car pulled up to the villa, Elara had fallen asleep
against his shoulder. Silas lifted her with infinite care, cradling her against
his chest as he walked slowly into the house, his every movement calculated not
to disturb her.
From the shadows of the trees near the neighbouring villa, Vivian
watched, her face a mask of bitter jealousy.
Elara was too lucky.
She had begged the old lady for hours before the matriarch reluctantly
agreed to plead her case with Silas again, to let her stay and "care for
Julian." She was terrified that if she left, the hard-won title of
"Mrs. Thorne" would be snatched by another. After all, if she could
bear Julian's child, so could anyone else.
"Bloody hell. I had a feeling the little rat scurrying around would
be you."
The sudden male voice made Vivian jump, her hand flying to her chest.
Ethan emerged from a dark alley, his all-black attire making him look
like a slouching predator. His roguish demeanour made Vivian instinctively take
two steps back.
He sneered. "What are you backing away for? I don't have the
stomach for scum like you."
"..." Rage twisted Vivian's features, but she swallowed it
down. This man was one of Julian's father's inner circle. Crossing him was
pointless. Besides, she recognised his voice—he'd been with Julian during their
video call.
"You startled me, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the
night!" she retorted, injecting a note of hurt into her voice.
"What are you doing, sneaking around like a thief?" Ethan's
eyes narrowed, sharp as blades, pinning her in place.
Her mind raced for an excuse.
Unexpectedly, Ethan's grin returned. "Don't be nervous." He
jerked his chin toward a dense patch of woodland near the villa. "See
that?"
Vivian hesitated, then turned to look. Under the pitch-black sky, the
forest was shrouded in a thin, eerie mist. A palpable aura of danger emanated
from it. She shrank back, her heart clenching.
Seeing her fear, Ethan leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a
conspiratorial whisper. "Mr. Thorne keeps a few... pets in there. Very
large, very hungry pets. If I were you, I wouldn't wander about at night. You
might just end up as a midnight snack... not a trace left. How tragic, no body
to even claim."
His hushed tone, combined with the distant, indistinct growls that
seemed to carry on the wind, made Vivian's legs turn to jelly. She clutched her
stomach, a spasm of fear tightening her abdomen.
"...You're lying. That's impossible."
Who kept wild beasts on their estate?
"Hmph. Suit yourself." Ethan shrugged, his grin widening.
"Why do you think no one's stopped you from wandering the Winslow grounds
after dark?"
The look on his face made her blood run cold. She bit her lip, ready to
turn and flee back inside.
"Miss Grays," Ethan called out, his tone almost friendly.
"My advice? Stay put for a couple of days, then hurry back to Ashbourne.
Since Mrs. Thorne has pointed out that your... condition makes it inconvenient
for you to care for Master Julian, pleading with the Old Lady is useless. The
only person Master Julian listens to is his father. Got it?"
Vivian's steps faltered.
"However," he drawled, "if you were to ask me nicely, I
might consider arranging a little meeting with Master Julian. What do you
say?"
Vivian's resentful stare fixed on him. His roguish face, with its
sharply arched brows, was unreadable. But thinking of her desperate situation
back in Ashbourne, she gritted her teeth. "How... how should I ask
you?"
A sliver of moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating Ethan's
widening, dangerous smile.
The next morning, Elara woke feeling unusually refreshed.
Seeing the man still asleep beside her, she slipped quietly out of bed
to wash up.
In the bathroom, after completing her routine, she carefully applied her
pregnancy-safe skincare. Catching her reflection, her gaze was drawn to the
black pendant resting against her throat.
She lifted the tail ring, her fingertips tracing its cool, enigmatic
surface, remembering his words.
"...Once you put it on, you must never take it off. And you must
never let anyone else touch it."
So typically commanding.
This was something he had worn for over twenty years, a piece he had
crafted with his own hands. He often absently ran his thumb over it when deep
in thought. And now, he had simply given it to her.
Shouldn't she give him something in return?
The thought sent a warm flush across her skin, making her feel like they
were characters in an ancient romance, exchanging tokens of their love.
"Darling, why are you up so early?"
His voice, low, husky, and thick with sleep, murmured behind her, making
her jump.
She dropped the pendant and turned to find him already there, his arms
encircling her from behind. He wore only a dark crimson silk robe. He buried
his face in the curve of her neck, the stubble on his chin a rough, tantalising
scrape against her sensitive skin.
"Next time, wake me when you get up."
"That tickles," she protested, squirming and trying to push
his head away. "You're so annoying..."
Her flustered, breathy complaint went straight through him, his throat
tightening. She was driving him crazy first thing in the morning.
Elara met the scorching, unmistakable heat in his dark eyes and felt her
heart stutter. She quickly tried to extricate herself from his embrace.
"I'll go get changed. You should brush your teeth and wash up."
Just as she moved to leave, his large hand shot out and caught her
wrist, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "No rush. Shave me first,
hmm?"
Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her gaze traveled over the line of
his strong jaw. The stubble didn't make him look unkempt; instead, it added a
layer of raw, mature masculinity. It was...
...incredibly sexy.
"No need to shave," she managed, clearing her throat.
"Leave it... It looks good."
A slow smile spread across Silas's face. He released her, running a hand
over his jawline. "Alright. I'll listen to my wife."
"..."
Blinded by that increasingly seductive smile, her heart doing
somersaults, Elara turned and practically fled.
Silas's brow furrowed slightly. Had she just been... teasing him?
At eight sharp, as the couple was finishing breakfast, Ethan sauntered
in, yawning widely.
His disheveled appearance drew a sharp glance from Silas. "Robbing
a bank keep you up?"
"Just playing exterminator," Ethan retorted with a roguish
grin, dropping into the seat opposite them.
Silas placed a walnut bun on Elara's plate without looking up.
"Spit it out."
Elara, however, was curious and looked expectantly at Ethan.
"Nothing major," Ethan said, flashing her a quick smile.
"Just caught a female thief with a habit of snatching what doesn't belong
to her. Gave her a little... motivational speech."
Elara froze, her mind instantly flying to Vivian. What had she done now?
Silas glanced up at Ethan, then back down at his food, his lack of
interest evident.
Ethan had no intention of ruining the pleasant breakfast mood with
details.
After a moment of comfortable silence, Silas looked at Ethan again.
"Old man Hudson has invited me for a round of golf at ten-thirty. I'm
taking Elara with me. Make the arrangements."
"Right." Ethan stood to leave. He needed to check on that
woman, Brooke—if she could even walk straight yet.
"You're meeting someone for business. Is it really appropriate for
me to come?" Elara turned to Silas, who was leisurely wiping his hands
with a napkin. "Besides, I'm not very good at golf."
Her few visits to the golf course had been with her uncle and Bianca,
under the guise of "learning social graces." She had quickly grown to
hate the sidelong glances and the inevitable, pitying conversations about her
deceased parents, always followed by praises for her uncle's
"generosity." After a while, she had refused to go.
"I can teach you," Silas said with a soft smile. "It's
just a meeting with an old family friend. Informal. Just conversation."
Elara pushed the old memories away and nodded. "Alright."
At fifteen to ten, changed and ready, Elara left with Silas. As they
approached the car, she saw Brooke standing beside it, dressed in loose black
trousers and a fitted black top.
Ethan was already in the driver's seat, the engine purring.
"Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne." Brooke opened the rear door and
gave a curt, professional nod.
"Are you feeling better?" Elara asked, noting the slight
pallor beneath the woman's olive complexion.
Brooke forced a stiff smile. "Thank you for your concern, Mrs.
Thorne. I'm fit for duty."
"Don't push yourself too hard if you're not—" Elara began,
wanting to say that with Silas there, she could rest.
But the recent incident with Julian flashed in her mind, and she bit
back the words. This was Oakhaven, Silas's territory, his entire social circle.
One could never be too careful.
Seeing Brooke's determined shake of the head, Elara simply gave her
shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze before sliding into the car.