The extended-wheelbase Rolls-Royce glided to a stop at the
private golf club at precisely ten twenty-five. The air here was
different—laced with the scent of money and quiet, transactional power.
Ethan remained with the car, a silent sentinel. Only Brooke
followed at a discreet distance as Silas and Elara stepped out onto the
immaculate gravel.
Silas was clearly a familiar presence. A middle-aged man,
the manager named Andy, hurried over, his smile a practiced blend of warmth and
deference.
"Mr. Thorne, what a pleasure to see you again. It's
been too long. Mr. Hudson is already waiting on the course."
His eyes, however, flickered with unconcealed curiosity
towards Elara. It was the first time Mr. Thorne had ever brought a woman. She
was young, beautiful, and radiated a fresh vitality in her black tracksuit, her
hair pulled into a high, swishing ponytail.
Silas's arm slid possessively around Elara's shoulders.
"Mhm. This is my wife," he stated, his tone leaving no room for
ambiguity. "Select a set of beginner clubs for her."
Andy's eyes widened a fraction before he mastered his
surprise, bowing slightly to Elara. "A true honour, Mrs. Thorne. I'm Andy,
the club manager. Please, anything you need, I am at your service."
"Thank you, Andy," Elara replied, her smile polite
and measured.
"Perhaps Mrs. Thorne would like one of our
instructors?" Andy suggested eagerly.
Before Elara could respond, Silas's voice cut through, cool
and final. "That won't be necessary. I will be her coach."
"Of course, of course!" Andy backtracked smoothly.
"My apologies, I should have realised. There's no better teacher than Mr.
Thorne himself. A wonderful way to, ah, strengthen the marital bond."
Silas merely gave him a sidelong glance, a silent dismissal.
Elara felt a flutter of unease at the manager's bluntness but kept her
expression neutral. Appearances, she was learning, were a battlefield of their
own.
They were driven on a golf cart to a sprawling expanse of
emerald-green turf. Silas helped her down, his touch brief but firm. Two
caddies—a young man and woman—along with Brooke, fell in behind them.
In the distance, a tall, athletic woman was taking a swing.
Nearby stood an older gentleman, his back to them.
As they approached, the man turned, his face breaking into a
wide, genial smile. "Silas! There you are, you scoundrel. I was beginning
to think you'd stood me up."
He was in his sixties, but dressed youthfully in a white
polo and blue trousers, his features kind yet sharp.
"Uncle Hudson," Silas acknowledged, his tone
neutral as he guided Elara forward.
Mr. Hudson's keen eyes appraised Elara with open interest.
"And who do we have here?"
"My wife, Elara Thorne," Silas said, his voice
steady. He glanced at Elara. "Elly, this is Uncle Hudson."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Uncle Hudson," Elara
said, her smile perfectly calibrated—warm enough to be respectful, cool enough
to maintain distance.
"So the rumours are true!" Mr. Hudson chuckled,
leaning on his golf club. He shot Silas a mock-accusing look. "Married!
And you didn't even think to tell your old Uncle Hudson? I'm wounded,
truly."
"The opportunity didn't present itself," Silas
replied with a faint, non-committal smile. "You were abroad, and we've
been keeping it private until we set a wedding date."
"Understandable, understandable." Mr. Hudson
clapped Silas on the shoulder—right over the spot where Elara knew the bandage
lay beneath his clothes. She held her breath, but the older man's hand fell
away quickly. "But you must inform me the moment you set a date."
"Naturally," Silas said, his expression
unreadable.
Mr. Hudson then turned, beckoning to the woman who had been
watching their exchange with a brilliant, practiced smile. "Sarah, don't
be shy. Come here, darling."
Sarah Vance.
Elara's internal alarm bells rang softly. Of all people. She
took in the matching white-and-blue outfits Sarah and Mr. Hudson wore—his
fatherly, hers decidedly not—and the pieces clicked into place with a sickening
clarity.
"Charles," Sarah purred, her voice a silken caress
as she glided over. She was dressed in a white cropped top and a dangerously
short blue skirt that showcased every curve of her toned, voluptuous figure.
She slipped her arm through Hudson's with a familiarity that was anything but
familial.
Mr. Hudson patted her hand, his gaze possessive. "This
is Sarah. She's been keeping this old man young." He winked, a gesture
that made Elara's skin crawl. "She's working on a fascinating AI project,
currently in talks with your company, I believe? I've looked it over—it has
immense potential. You should schedule a meeting. I assure you, she's very...
agreeable."
The way he said "agreeable" was laden with
unspoken meaning. Elara held her breath, waiting for Silas's trademark icy
refusal.
But it didn't come.
"If you're vouching for her, Uncle Hudson, I trust your
judgment," Silas nodded, his deep gaze briefly, dispassionately, skimming
over Sarah. "If Miss Vance is available this Friday, we can discuss the
details in my office."
Elara's sense of unease deepened.
Sarah's face lit up with triumph, a cat who got the cream.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Thorne," she said, extending a
manicured hand. "I look forward to Friday."
"You're welcome," Silas said, his hands remaining
in his pockets. The ignored hand hung in the air for a moment before Sarah
withdrew it, her composure barely faltering.
"Excellent!" Mr. Hudson boomed, clearly pleased
his "recommendation" had been so readily accepted. "Oakhaven's
business should stay among friends. Sarah knows how to be... rewarding."
He gave Silas a knowing look.
Silas's lip curled almost imperceptibly.
Satisfied, Mr. Hudson turned his avuncular smile to Elara.
"My dear, would you mind if I borrowed your husband for a little business
talk? Perhaps you and Sarah could... entertain each other?" The suggestion
was crass, lumping them together as accessories.
It was a clear dismissal. Elara looked up at Silas, who gave
a slight, almost imperceptible nod.
"Take Brooke and practice your shots," he said
softly. "I'll find you soon."
"Of course," Elara replied, the picture of
obedience. She nodded politely at Mr. Hudson. "Please don't let me keep
you." She pointedly ignored his suggestion, turning to leave. With a final
glance, she turned, Brooke and the female caddy in tow, heading in the opposite
direction. After a moment's hesitation, a smirk playing on her lips, Sarah
picked up her club and followed.
Once the women were out of earshot, Mr. Hudson clapped Silas
on the shoulder again. "You old dog! Where did you find such a sweet young
thing to marry?" He chuckled. "Though I must say, I prefer mine with
a bit more... fire."
Silas's brow furrowed slightly. "And you seem to have
found a new source of it, Uncle Hudson."
The older man froze, then let out a hearty, unashamed laugh.
"Cheeky bastard! At my age, a man needs a beautiful companion to keep his
blood warm. Don't you agree?"
Silas's eyes darkened. He said nothing.
Mr. Hudson slung his golf club over his shoulder and started
walking towards a nearby lake. "Come, walk with me."
Silas followed, his hands in his pockets, his pace measured.
"Silas, my boy," Mr. Hudson began, his tone
suddenly heavy with nostalgia. "Seeing you with a wife today... it does
this old heart good. It seems you've finally moved on from the shadow of that
Cohen girl."
"Uncle Hudson." Silas's jaw tightened, his voice a
low warning.
"She's been dead for years, son. You have to let the
ghost rest."
"Let go of what?" Silas's expression was marble.
"She's dead. There's nothing to hold onto."
He was tired of people presuming to know the chambers of his
heart.
"A pity, truly," Mr. Hudson sighed, missing the
storm in Silas's eyes. "If the feud between your families hadn't happened,
if you hadn't been shot, if she hadn't died... you two might have been..."
He trailed off, noticing the glacial chill emanating from
Silas. "Ah, well. Cruel fate."
A mocking smile touched Silas's lips. "The Cohens are
gone. Elora is dead. Let the past lie, Uncle Hudson."
Mr. Hudson heard the finality in his tone and dipped his
head. "You're right. Forgive an old man his maudlin memories." He
checked his watch, his smile returning. "Let's not dwell on it. After our
game, lunch is on me."
"The thought is appreciated," Silas said, his gaze
softening a fraction under the pale sun. "But my wife is still settling
into Oakhaven. She prefers the comfort of home."
""Another time, then," Mr. Hudson agreed
smoothly. "Ah, the christening is the day after tomorrow. It's just a
small gathering at the house after the service. Do bring your wife early; I'd
love to share a drink with you both."
He had almost said 'to welcome the newest member of the
family,' but caught himself, remembering the rumours about Silas's condition.
The slight hesitation was not lost on Silas, whose eyes shadowed.
"Of course," Silas replied, his voice flat.
Under the intensifying midday sun, Elara sought refuge under
a large parasol, content to wait for Silas.
"Mrs. Thorne! Not playing?"
Sarah Vance's voice, laced with false cheer and a hint of
condescension, interrupted her thoughts. The taller woman dropped her clubs
with her caddy and sat opposite Elara without an invitation, crossing her long,
exposed legs.
Elara looked up from her phone, her gaze cool. "I'm
fine here. Don't let me stop you from playing."
Sarah's eyes flicked dismissively towards the beginner clubs
in Elara's caddy's hands. A smirk played on her red lips. "It's no fun
alone. Join me for a few holes? Charles would love to see us... get
along." She said his name with intimate familiarity, a deliberate power
play.
The condescension was palpable. She probably can't even hold
a club properly, Sarah thought.
Elara's almond-shaped eyes narrowed, a glint of steel within
them. She finally looked directly at Sarah. "Miss Vance, your relationship
with Mr. Hudson is your business. It doesn't grant you any authority over
me."
The message was clear: You're the hired help. Don't forget
your place.
Sarah's smile tightened. Her chest rose and fell with a
sharp breath. After a tense moment, she recovered, her smile turning venomously
sweet. "My, my. It seems marriage has given you quite the boost in
confidence, Miss Hayes."
The deliberate switch from 'Mrs. Thorne' to 'Miss Hayes' was
a calculated insult, implying Elara was an upstart riding on her husband's
coattails.
"You've changed your approach quite a bit yourself,
Miss Vance," Elara countered, her own smile deceptively gentle as she let
her gaze sweep over Sarah's revealing outfit. "Your new... patronage...
seems to suit you. I almost didn't recognise you from our last encounter."
She was referring to their meeting at the mall, where Sarah
had tried to humiliate her. The Elara of then had been constrained. The Elara
of now was a Thorne.
Sarah's smirk faltered, a flash of fury in her eyes. She
uncrossed and recrossed her legs, leaning forward. "You have no idea what
suits me, darling. Charles is a very generous man. He speaks so highly of Mr.
Thorne's... prowess." Her eyes gleamed. "I'm sure Mr. Thorne and I
will find our collaboration... deeply mutually beneficial. And immensely...
pleasurable."
The innuendo in her final words was so thick it soured the
air. Even Brooke, standing stoically behind Elara, stiffened, her fingers
twitching with the urge to act.
Elara felt a wave of pure disgust. "Is that so?"
she asked, her voice turning to ice. Her gaze drifted pointedly over Sarah's
shoulder. "Why don't you repeat that particular sentiment to your...
benefactor... Miss Vance? I'm sure he'd find it fascinating."
Sarah's confidence shattered. The thought of Hudson hearing
her offer his business contact her "services" directly sent a spike
of panic through her. She spun around wildly. "Charles—?"
The empty space behind her made her words die in her throat.
Her face paled, then flushed with humiliated rage. She slammed her hand on the
table, lurching to her feet.
"Elara!" she snarled, her composure gone.
"You think you're clever?"
The violent motion sent her chair clattering backwards onto
the lawn.
In that instant, Brooke moved.
She was a blur of motion. In one fluid movement, she seized
Sarah's arm, twisted it behind her back, and slammed her upper body down onto
the tabletop with controlled force.
"Explain your aggressive action toward Mrs.
Thorne," Brooke demanded, her voice sharp and pitiless.
Sarah gasped, stunned and pinned, her cheek pressed against
the cool table surface, her carefully constructed façade of power utterly
demolished.