The door clicked shut behind Elara, sealing her in the opulent silence
of her room. A glance at the ornate clock on the mantlepiece confirmed her
fears: past six. The message she'd sent Silas hours ago remained unanswered, a
stark, lonely bubble on her screen. When she called, it went straight to
voicemail—his phone was off.
A cold knot of unease tightened in her stomach. By her calculations, he
should have landed in Ashbourne by now.
Fighting back a surge of panic, she scrolled through her contacts and dialled
Ben. He answered on the second ring, his voice a practiced calm. "Mrs.
Thorne. What can I do for you?"
"Ben," she said, her voice deliberately steady. "Have you
heard from Mr. Thorne? Or Ethan? Do you know when they're due back?"
She hoped that Silas's most trusted confidant might have a backchannel,
a way to reach him when official lines went dead.
On the other end, Ben leaned against the balcony railing of the
second-floor guest room, watching the shadows lengthen across the estate
grounds. "Mrs. Thorne, there's no need for concern. It's not uncommon for
Mr. Thorne to be unreachable during critical negotiations. He's likely on his
return flight as we speak. No news is often the best news. If there were a
problem, you can be sure he would have someone inform you immediately."
In truth, he'd received a cryptic update: Mr. Thorne, fresh from an
unscheduled surgical procedure and in a weakened state, had ordered Ethan to
arrange an immediate return. But until the plane was safely in the air, nothing
was certain. Revealing such sensitive information without Silas's direct order,
however, was a professional suicide he wouldn't commit. He was far wiser than
the impulsive Ethan.
Elara absorbed his words, searching for any hint of deception in his
tone. Whether Ben was genuinely in the dark or expertly concealing the truth,
his composure was convincing enough to loosen the knot in her chest slightly.
She would have to wait a little longer.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "Mrs. Thorne? Dinner is
served," a maid announced from the hallway.
Taking a steadying breath, Elara smoothed her dress and headed
downstairs.
The Victorian dining room was a spectacle of old-world grandeur. The
large round table was surrounded by seven or eight women, with Old Lady Thorne
presiding at the head like a silver-haired queen. The air hummed with polite,
animated chatter that died the moment Elara stepped into the room.
All eyes turned to her. She offered a small, polite smile and took the
only empty seat at the far end of the table, distancing herself from the
matriarch's immediate scrutiny.
Silas's younger aunt was the first to break the silence, offering a
pleasantry that Elara returned with ease. Her memory was sharp; she recalled
each woman from Julian's earlier introductions—the aunts, the cousins, their
daughters. Old Lady Thorne herself remained aloof, her expression unreadable
until she frowned at a servant.
"Has no one summoned Young Master Julian for dinner?"
"Master Julian mentioned he was meeting a friend at the gate,
madam. He said he would return shortly."
The old lady's lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. A friend? At
this hour? But Julian was her favourite, the child she had indulged since his
infancy. She held her tongue as the first course was served—an elaborate spread
of rich and delicate dishes designed to please every palate.
Just as spoons were lifted, a commotion at the doorway drew everyone's
attention. Elara, from her vantage point, had a clear view. She froze, her
fingers tightening around her cutlery. A bitter, scornful smile threatened to
curve her lips before she forced her expression back to neutral.
It was Vivian Grays.
But this wasn't the Vivian she knew. Gone was the woman with the
blood-red lips and cascading waves, the one who moved with predatory grace.
This version was dressed in soft, elegant neutrals, her eyes downcast, her demeanour
the picture of demure submission. It was a convincing act.
A stunned silence fell over the table as Julian entered with his guest.
"Great-grandmother," he began, his hand resting possessively on the
small of Vivian's back. "I'd like to introduce my girlfriend, Vivian
Grays. With the family all here, I thought it the perfect time for her to meet
everyone."
The younger women exchanged wide-eyed glances behind their napkins.
Girlfriend?
But it was the name "Vivian Grays" that made Old Lady Thorne's
face turn to stone. Her sharp eyes, like chips of flint, scanned the woman from
head to toe. "You are Vivian Grays?" she asked, her voice dripping
with icy recognition. That Vivian Grays?
Vivian flinched, instinctively leaning closer to Julian. She lifted her
face, offering a timid, compliant smile. "Good evening, Madam. It's a
pleasure to meet you. I'm Vivian, Julian's girlfriend."
As she spoke, her gaze flickered past Julian and landed on Elara. A
spark of triumph glinted in her eyes before she quickly masked it. She was
here. Inside the Thorne mansion.
The old lady responded with a dismissive "Hmph!" that echoed
in the quiet room. She couldn't believe Julian's audacity. Did he think he
could force her hand by presenting this… this actress to the entire family? So
what if there was a child? Without her blessing, that woman would never be a
Thorne.
After the fiasco with Elara, she would not let another unsuitable girl
waltz through her doors.
Sensing the matriarch's fury, Julian sighed.
"Great-grandmother—"
"Enough," she cut him off, her jaw tight. She would not have a
scene in front of everyone. "Sit. We will eat." Her tone promised a
reckoning later.
The tension eased marginally. Julian guided Vivian to a seat, which
happened to be just one away from Elara.
"Stepmother," he greeted Elara with formal respect.
Vivian seized the opportunity. She turned to Elara, her smile sweet and
harmless. "Elly! It's been so long. You look more beautiful than
ever." She spoke as if they were the dearest of friends, trying to weave a
thread of connection between them.
Before Elara could respond, a curious cousin across the table chirped,
"Oh! So Julian's girlfriend is friends with Mrs. Thorne, too?"
Vivian smiled brightly. "Yes, we were—"
"I don't recognise her," Elara stated flatly, her voice
cutting through Vivian's like a shard of glass.
The two statements collided in the air, creating a palpable, awkward
silence. Vivian's smile shattered, her eyes instantly welling with tears. She
had gambled that Elara would play along to avoid dredging up their messy past.
She never expected such a public dismissal.
"Elly..." Vivian whispered, her voice trembling with feigned
hurt.
Elara didn't even look at her. Instead, she fixed a stern gaze on
Julian. "Julian, has your girlfriend mistaken me for someone else? I did
have a classmate named Vivian, but she bore no resemblance to this… delicate
flower. My classmate was always rather bold and alluring. The contrast is quite
striking."
A few of the Thorne women muffled giggles behind their hands. The drama
was more delicious than the food.
Julian's arm tightened like a steel band around Vivian's shoulder. A
smooth, practiced smile graced his lips. "You'll have to forgive her,
Stepmother. She's blind as a bat without her glasses, and of course, she's
forgotten them. A simple case of mistaken identity." The warning in his
charming tone was crystal clear.
Vivian felt the pressure of his grip and forced another smile, her
cheeks burning with humiliation. "Y-yes, stepmother. My mistake. It won't
happen again."
Elara gave a curt, regal nod. "See that it doesn't. It's important
to know your place." The dismissal was absolute.
Vivian's submissive mask almost slipped. "Understood," she
mumbled, the words tasting like ash. "...Stepmother."
Vivian had been thoroughly put in her place before the meal had even
properly begun. Old Lady Thorne's face was thunderous.
For a few minutes, the only sound was the clinking of silverware.
Everyone was absorbed in the spectacle, waiting for the next act.
It came sooner than expected.
A sudden, gagging sound broke the silence. Then another.
"Ugh—"
All heads swivelled toward Vivian. She had one hand clutched to her
chest, the other pressed dramatically over her mouth, her face a mask of pained
discomfort.