Consciousness returned not to sight, but to sensation. The weight of him
on the bed, the heat of his body, the familiar scent of sandalwood and
something uniquely, essentially Silas that wrapped around Elara, pulling her
from the depths of sleep. Before her eyes even fluttered open, her body
responded on a primal level. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling him down,
and her mouth found his in a desperate, hungry kiss that was less a greeting
and more a reclaiming—a silent, fervent conversation of fear, relief, and raw,
unbridled need.
But all too soon, he broke away. His breath, hot and ragged, fanned
against her ear, a stark contrast to the cool morning air. As she blinked her
eyes open, hazy with desire, a sharp, gentle sting at her earlobe made her
gasp. He was nibbling, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
Then, his voice, a low, husky whisper that vibrated through her very
bones, seeped into her ear. "I could devour you whole, my love."
A shiver, delicious and uncontrollable, racked her body. Her hands,
which had been tangled in his hair, slid down, mapping the familiar, powerful
lines of his shoulders, heading for the solid plane of his back to pull him
closer—
"Mmm—"
A sharp, muffled groan, thick with pain, escaped his lips against her
neck.
Elara froze. The passionate fog in her mind evaporated instantly. That
wasn't a sound of pleasure.
"Silas?" she breathed, her voice laced with sudden alarm.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he gritted out, the word strained. He pressed his
forehead into the crook of her neck, his breathing a controlled, shallow
rhythm. She could feel the tension thrumming through his entire body. After a
moment, he lifted his head, a casual smile expertly masking any discomfort as
he sat up on the edge of the bed. "Just a long flight. Stiff
muscles."
But Elara wasn't convinced. She pushed herself up, the silk sheets
pooling at her waist, and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at
her.
The morning light streaming through the window illuminated every detail.
He was still devastatingly handsome, but the weariness etched into his features
seemed deeper than mere travel fatigue. His lips were kiss-swollen, his eyes
dark with lingering passion, yet his skin held an unnerving pallor beneath his
natural tan. Dressed head-to-toe in black, he looked more like a spectre than a
man returned from a business trip.
A faint, clinical scent tickled her nose—antiseptic, clean and sharp,
cutting through his familiar cologne.
Driven by a sudden, cold dread, she leaned forward, burying her nose in
the fabric of his shirt near his collarbone.
Silas's reaction was lightning-fast. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest
as his hands closed over hers, gently but firmly pulling her away.
"Conducting an inspection, Mrs. Thorne?" he teased, his voice a
forced lightness. "All this looking and sniffing. I rushed straight from
the tarmac to your side. I haven't even had a chance to wash off the grime of
travel. Forgive me."
His words flustered her, successfully deflecting her concern with
intimate charm. She cleared her throat, pulling her hands back and sitting up
straight. "Well then, you should take a bath. You'll feel better. The
ancestral rites begin at ten."
"Right. Sleep a little longer. I'll wake you when I'm done."
He smiled, a genuine warmth reaching his eyes as he ruffled her sleep-tousled
hair before rising with a careful, deliberate movement that did not escape her
notice.
Elara hugged her knees, watching his retreating form disappear into the
walk-in closet. Joy at his safe return warred with a gnawing unease. That
smell… it was disinfectant. She was sure of it.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. "Mrs. Thorne? The Old
Lady requests your presence for breakfast. The guests will be arriving
shortly."
"Understood," Elara called back, glancing at the clock. 7:40
AM.
She rose and moved to her dressing room, selecting the elegant, solemn
outfit she had laid out the night before—a tailored dress in a deep, respectful
hue suitable for the Thorne family's traditional rites.
By the time she had dressed and fastened her hair with a simple jade
pin, Silas emerged from the bathroom. His hair was damp, and he was dressed in
a fresh black shirt and trousers that emphasised his tall, powerful frame. The
steam from the shower had brought a healthier flush to his cheeks, and his
demeanour was once again the picture of cool, controlled authority. The moment
of vulnerability was gone, locked away behind a mask of impeccable composure.
"The Old Lady is waiting for us downstairs," she reminded him
softly.
He nodded, retrieving a sleek, expensive watch from a drawer. As he
moved to put it on, his fingers fumbled slightly. Seizing the opportunity,
Elara stepped forward. "Let me."
She took the watch, her fingers brushing against his wrist. She could
feel the steady, strong beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips as she
fastened the clasp. Silas watched her, his gaze soft. "Thank you,
darling."
Once it was secured, he looked down at her with a playful glint in his
eye. "Would you mind helping me with my coat as well, Mrs. Thorne?"
Elara blinked. There was a new tenderness to him, a softness that hadn't
been there before he left. It made her heart flutter even as it deepened her
suspicion that something significant had happened to him.
When they descended the stairs together, arm-in-arm, the dining room was
already abuzz. The entire household was present, including Old Lady Thorne,
Auntie Thorne, and, notably, Julian and Vivian, who were seated together.
A path cleared as they entered. Out of respect for Silas, the two chairs
at the head of the table had been left vacant, a silent acknowledgment of his
status as the family head.
But all eyes were not on him alone. Across the table, Vivian Grays was
staring, her mouth slightly agape. Her eyes were wide with shock as they swept
over the man standing beside Elara.
This… this is Julian's father? Her mind reeled. He wasn't a balding,
middle-aged man as she had imagined. He was young, formidable, and radiated a
power that made Julian seem like a boy playing at being a man. A treacherous,
comparing thought slithered into her mind: He's in a completely different
league.
A slow, calculating smile touched Vivian's lips as she
lowered her gaze to her plate. Perhaps it was time she reevaluated her
strategy.