A chilling realisation dawned on Elara. "Ethan... he mentioned
catching a female thief last night. You don't think...?"
"Who knows." Silas's voice was a disinterested murmur. He was
already pulling out his phone, dialling Ethan's number and putting it on
speaker.
"Arrange for someone to take Julian to the hospital. Vivian has
lost the child."
A low, mocking laugh crackled through the speaker. "Tsk. So
fragile."
"Mind your tone, Ethan," Silas warned, his voice dropping to a
dangerous timbre. He had no desire to know the specifics, only that a line had
been crossed. The woman had been carrying a child—a life, even if not of Thorne
blood. Her choices were her own, but Ethan's hands were not to be the
instrument.
"Relax, Boss. If I'd truly overstepped, last night would have
scared her to death. Literally."
The call ended. Elara let out a soft, incredulous chuckle. "I have
to admit, I'm dying to know what he actually did to her."
Silas's sharp, inturned eyes narrowed. He reached out, his fingers
gently capturing her earlobe, the pad of his thumb tracing its delicate curve.
"Darling," he murmured, his voice a velvet threat. "Curiosity
about other men is a very dangerous habit."
A blush heated the skin beneath his touch. She shot him a playful,
sideways glance, pulling away with a graceful step. "Uncle Thorne, they
say a little broad-mindedness is good for the soul."
"Are you implying I'm narrow-minded?" he asked, a dark brow
arched. He stood with an effortless, commanding grace, hands in his pockets,
inviting her appraisal.
Elara clasped her hands behind her back, circling him with an
exaggerated, thoughtful frown. "Well, now... let me see..."
She let the silence hang, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Just as he
was about to speak, she flashed a triumphant grin. "I never said you were
petty—you said it yourself!" With a light laugh, she linked arms with a
bemused Brooke. "Come on, I'm starving. Let's go eat before someone's
bruised ego ruins my appetite."
Silas could only watch her go, a mixture of exasperation and profound
affection softening his stern features. She was the only one who could play him
so effortlessly—and get away with it.
The hospital room was sterile and silent, save for the fading echo of
Old Lady Thorne's fury.
"You useless girl! You can't even protect the heir in your womb,
and you thought you were fit to stand by Julian's side?" The old woman's
voice had been a venomous whip. "Know your place. That child is your only
value. If you fail me again..."
Vivian lay motionless on the bed, her hands limp on her still-flat
stomach. Her eyes, vacant and red-rimmed, stared at the ceiling, replaying the
old woman's final, hissed threat: "I'll send you straight back to the
filth you crawled from! You enjoyed selling yourself in those bars, didn't you?
I'll make sure you never leave one!"
A cold tremor ran through her. She had thought her past was buried, a
secret even Julian didn't know, hidden behind a cheap surgery. The old woman
knew everything.
The door creaked open, shattering her thoughts.
Julian entered, his arms encased in stark white plaster, his face gaunt
and shadowed. But it was the woman beside him who stole the air from Vivian's
lungs. She was gentle-looking, refined, her hand resting lightly on Julian's
good arm as she guided him in.
The contrast was a physical blow.
"Julian!" Old Lady Thorne rushed forward, her wrinkled hands
fluttering helplessly near his casts. "My boy, look at you! So pale...
Your father... how could he be so brutal over nothing?"
"It's fine, Great Grandmother. Just a fracture. It will heal."
Julian's voice was flat, his attention already shifting to Vivian. The warmth
he reserved for others was absent when his gaze fell upon her. "Great
Grandmother, please give us a moment."
The old woman's lips tightened, but she complied after shooting a final,
warning glare at Vivian. The gentle woman beside Julian gave a soft,
sympathetic smile. "I'll be outside, Julian. Don't forget your check-up in
half an hour." Her exit was silent and graceful.
The moment the door clicked shut, the fragile calm shattered.
"What is this, Julian?" Vivian hissed, pushing herself up on
the bed. Her voice trembled with rage and betrayal. "I'm your wife! I'm
lying here after almost losing our child, and you have the audacity to bring
your... your whore to my hospital room?"
Julian didn't flinch. His expression remained carved from ice. "The
child is still there, isn't it?"
The callousness of the question stole her breath. "Julian! This is
your flesh and blood! How can you be so cold?" This wasn't the man who had
doted on her, who had yielded to her every whim for the sake of this pregnancy.
Oakhaven had hollowed him out.
His cold gaze dropped to her abdomen, lingering for a long, silent
moment. When he finally spoke, each word was a shard of glass. "This
child... it doesn't matter to me if it stays or goes."
Vivian's blood ran cold. "What... what did you just say?"
"If you want it, go back to Oakhaven and raise it. I'll provide
funds. Nothing more." He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his eyes
locking with hers. "And if you don't want it... get rid of it. Now."
"YOU MONSTER!" she screamed, the sound raw and guttural.
"We are married! How can you say that? Have you forgotten? You need this
child! The Thorne legacy—"
"Not anymore." Julian's lips curled into a bitter, knowing
sneer. The darkness in his eyes was absolute. He had finally seen the
unvarnished truth. Silas never saw him as a son, never intended for him to
inherit anything. The old lady's scheming was a futile game. His father could
easily sire a new, worthy heir with a woman he actually respected.
The realisation was a poison, and he was now passing the cup to her.
A horrifying thought cleaved through Vivian's panic.
"Elara..." she whispered, her eyes widening in dread. "She's
pregnant, isn't she? That's why your father has cast you aside! That's why
you're giving up!"
"She's not." The words were clipped, final. "I came to
tell you how this will be. Keep the child if you wish. Live comfortably as the
nominal Mrs. Thorne. But do not," he emphasised, his voice dropping to a
lethal whisper, "harbour any other illusions. And you will not speak a
word of this to my great grandmother."
He turned to leave, his movements stiff and final.
Vivian's hand shot out, clutching at his shirt, her knuckles white.
"Julian, please..."
He simply took a large step back, breaking her weak grip without a
second glance.
As the door closed behind him, a twisted, bitter sneer spread across
Vivian's ashen face. A weakling. A coward. He was tossing her to the wolves,
using the old lady's obsession with the heir as her cage.
If she kept the child, she'd be a single mother in all but name, trapped
in a gilded prison with a husband who despised her.
If she lost it... the old lady would destroy her.
He had backed her into a corner with no way out, his heartlessness her
final, brutal lesson.