Alexander's polished shoes echoed softly against the marble floor as he entered the grand Thorne residence. The familiar scent of polished wood and faint cologne greeted him, mingling with the quiet bustle of staff moving about the halls.
"Welcome home, sir," the housekeeper called gently from the entrance hall.
A few staff members peeked from the corridors, offering subdued nods of greeting. Alexander didn't respond. He only kept walking, each step deliberate, his mind heavy with the weight of the evening.
As he reached the stairs he froze,near the stairs was the huge dining. There, seated with a delicate porcelain cup in hand, his grandmother regarded him calmly, a small smile tugging at her lips. The soft clink of the tea spoon against the cup punctuated the quiet air.
"Grandmother…" he began, voice even but sharp with surprise. "What are you doing at my house?"
She set her cup down, tilting her head slightly. "I came to ask how your little… date went," she replied lightly, her tone deceptively casual. "Besides, I have every right to be here, don't I?"
Alexander's eyes narrowed subtly. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face. "Something tells me you won't be leaving anytime soon," he murmured, stepping closer.
She smiled, mischief glinting in her eyes. "You might be right," she said softly, almost teasingly. "And tell me… do you like her? Jasmine Whitmore?"
His jaw tightened. He avoided her gaze. "I don't want to talk about it," he said, curt and final.
The old woman's eyes twinkled with amusement. She leaned back slightly in her chair, folding her hands over the cup before her. "Fine," she said, her voice soft but pressing, "but I do want to know — is she your type, or not?"
Alexander lowered himself into a chair across from her, his posture rigid, hands resting lightly on the table. His gaze was distant, thoughtful, unreadable.
She waited, calm and patient, the faintest smile never leaving her lips, as if she already knew the answer but enjoyed drawing it out.
He remained silent for a long moment, his dark eyes flicking to the tea in front of him, then back to her. "It's… complicated," he said at last, his tone clipped, deliberate. "And I'm too tired to discuss it tonight."
She chuckled softly, the sound warm but teasing, like a soft breeze stirring the stillness of the room. "Complicated, hmm?" she murmured. "I like that answer. Very… Thorne of you."
Alexander said nothing further, the tension settling like a heavy cloak over the dining room. For now, the night — and its truths — could wait.
Alexander slowly pushed back his chair, the soft scrape against the marble echoing in the quiet Dinny. "I'm tired," he said evenly, his voice low, controlled. "I need to rest."
Madam Theresa leaned back slightly, a playful glint in her eyes. "Tired, hmm?" she murmured, lifting her cup to her lips. "Well, if you don't like this Jasmine Whitmore, I can always arrange another dinner. Another date. Someone more… to your taste."
Alexander stopped mid-step, one hand resting lightly on the back of a chair. He turned slowly toward her, dark eyes locking onto hers with a cool, measured intensity. "You wouldn't dare..would you?" His voice was quiet, but every word carried a weight that made the air between them thrum.
She smiled, unmoved by his tone, the faintest amusement tugging at her lips. "Of course, Alexander," she replied lightly. "It's my job to make sure you're… properly challenged. Or entertained. Whichever applies."
He straightened, his jaw tight, taking a deliberate breath. "I'm neither entertained nor challenged tonight," he said, voice low. "And I intend to remain that way. So no more meddling."
Theresa chuckled softly, setting her cup down. "Very well, my dear," she said, tilting her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "But don't think I'll let this go so easily. I do enjoy watching you squirm a little."
Alexander's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing further. With a quiet exhale, he turned and ascended the stairs, each step deliberate, leaving the Dining and Madam Theresa's knowing gaze behind him.
****************************
It was 7:15 a.m. The soft hum of the city below barely reached Alexander's office, but the pulse of the day already pressed against the glass walls.
Alexander sat in his black leather chair, posture sharp, tablet balanced effortlessly in one hand. The morning light caught the edges of his profile — controlled, cold, deliberate. He scrolled through the latest jewelry designs from the design department, each piece rotating on the screen, light glinting off imagined facets. His expression didn't shift; his eyes were hard, analytical, dissecting every curve and detail with quiet precision.
The door opened softly. Noah stepped in, tablet tucked under his arm. "Good morning, sir," he greeted, voice calm but alert. "The meeting with the design department begins in fifteen minutes. They're expecting you."
Alexander didn't look up immediately. His finger continued to swipe across the screen, the faint glow reflecting in his dark eyes. "Have they submitted the latest set for review?" he asked, tone low, composed — more command than question.
"Yes, sir," Noah replied, stepping closer. "All finalized pieces are on the shared drive. The lead designer also mentioned a few variations they'd like your input on before the presentation. Also…" he hesitated, "a representative from Veymont Designs is here. They requested a brief slot to show some of their upcoming work."
That made Alexander look up. His gaze lifted slowly — calm, unreadable, and cold. "Veymont," he repeated, as if testing the name on his tongue. "Show me their files."
Noah slid his tablet across the desk. Alexander caught it mid-slide, resting one arm against the chair's armrest as he began scrolling through the designs. His movements were controlled, his focus absolute.
At first, the collection was ordinary — refined, yes, but predictable. Until he reached the last few slides.
His hand stilled. The pendant displayed on the screen drew his full attention. It wasn't merely similar — it was identical. Every detail mirrored the prototype his own team had developed — one that had never been made public.
Alexander's jaw tightened. His thumb hovered above the screen before swiping back, double-checking what he already knew. Every angle confirmed it.
Noah noticed the shift in his employer's stillness. "Sir?"
Alexander didn't respond right away. His voice, when it came, was calm and glacial. "All senior designers present. And ensure the Veymont representative stays."
"Yes, sir. Anything else?"
Alexander set the tablet down carefully, fingertips resting against the edge. "Prepare the prototype files from our archives," he said, tone precise, dangerous in its control. "I want a side-by-side comparison ready for the meeting. And Noah…"
"Yes, sir?"
"Tell no one else — not yet." His eyes flicked up, sharp and warning. "We'll see if this is coincidence… or betrayal."
Noah gave a short nod, understanding the gravity of the words, and left.
Alexander sat motionless for a moment, gaze fixed on the dark screen. The faint reflection of the pendant shimmered like an accusation. Then he rose — smooth, unhurried — straightened his jacket, and walked out.
The corridor was silent except for the measured echo of his steps. Assistants and staff instinctively moved aside as he passed. The glass doors to the conference room slid open as he approached.
Inside, the design team was already seated, murmuring quietly. Even the veymont rep.
Alexander entered without a word, his presence enough to silence the room. He took his seat at the head of the table, movements composed, coldly elegant.
"Proceed," he said simply.
The presentation began. Slides clicked forward, designs rotated, voices spoke — and Alexander said nothing. He watched, eyes trained on the screen, hands steepled lightly beneath his chin.
Then, the familiar pendant appeared.
"Pause."
The word was soft but carried the weight of command. The projector froze mid-slide.
Alexander's gaze lifted slowly to the representative. His voice was low, measured, and lethal in its calm.
His gaze cut toward the representative, voice low and precise. "That design," he said, "appears remarkably similar to one of ours. A piece that has never left this company."
The words hung in the air like frost.