A wave of quiet gratitude washed over Elara as she left the business
analysis department. Margaret's kindness—the promise to hold her position—was a
stable anchor in the whirlwind her life had become. It was a reminder of the
person she was outside the gilded, complicated world of the Thornes.
She glanced at her phone: 10:35. A flicker of anticipation, warm and
bright, ignited in her chest. He was waiting.
Pushing through the revolving doors, she saw the Rolls-Royce, a sleek
black monolith of promise. As she approached, Ben, ever perceptive, emerged and
opened the rear door for her.
The interior was a sanctuary, all muted leather and hushed luxury. Silas
was there, scrolling through his phone, the screen's glow highlighting the
sharp, commanding planes of his face. He was the picture of a powerful CEO, a
world away in his thoughts. But the moment she slid in beside him, her presence
filling the space, he set the device aside without a second glance. His entire
world, in that instant, narrowed to her.
The door thudded shut, plunging them into an intimate silence. The
familiar scent of his cologne—sandalwood and something uniquely, essentially
him—wrapped around her like a tangible embrace.
"I've arranged to have lunch with Chloe," she said, breaking
the quiet. She cleared her throat slightly, a nervous habit she couldn't quite
suppress around him. "I need… some proper girl talk. And probably an
obscene amount of chocolate cake." She glanced at him, a playful glint in
her eye. "What are your plans for the afternoon?"
Silas turned his head fully, his stormy grey eyes capturing hers in the
dim light. A slow, possessive smile touched his lips—a smile that held a
universe of secrets and whispered promises. It was a smile that made her heart
stutter and her blood heat. He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray
strand of hair from her cheek, the simple touch sending a cascade of shivers
down her spine.
"Not planning to bring me along?" he asked, his voice a low,
intimate rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very core of her being.
The question hung in the air, simple yet profound. It wasn't just about
lunch. It was an unspoken claim on her time, a declaration that her world was
now irrevocably intertwined with his.
Elara's breath caught. She recovered with a coquettish flutter of her
eyelashes, a defence mechanism against the intensity of his presence.
"It's rather awkward for a grown man to insert himself into a lunch
between two young women, don't you think?" she teased, though a part of
her genuinely feared Chloe might be too intimidated to eat.
The smirk playing on his lips deepened, a predator amused by its prey's
playful defiance. "But having two grown men present is perfectly
acceptable, isn't it?"
A sense of unease trickled down her spine. "What do you mean?"
He gave a casual nod towards the driver's seat. "Me and Ben—that's
just the right number, isn't it? Two grown men."
In the front seat, Ben's ears twitched imperceptibly, his stoic
expression fracturing for a nanosecond. He was a bodyguard, a shadow, not a
luncheon companion for chatty young women.
Elara stared, speechless for a moment. The man was impossible. And
utterly irresistible. "...I'm afraid I cannot decline," she finally
conceded, a laugh bubbling in her throat.
The chic, bustling café near Aeternum was not prepared for their
entrance.
First came Silas, a vision of dark, tailored elegance in his overcoat,
his aura of cold, unapproachable authority parting the crowd like a ship's prow
cutting through water. All conversation near the door momentarily hushed.
Following him was Elara, a delicate contrast in her soft attire, though
her expression was carefully composed.
And then there was Ben, bringing up the rear. Dressed in a black bomber
jacket, his features were sharp and icy, his posture rigid. He carried a
calfskin luggage bag not as an accessory, but like a piece of tactical
equipment. He looked less like a lunch guest and more like a lieutenant on a
high-stakes protection detail.
The trio's entrance was so conspicuously flamboyant it drew every eye in
the room.
Chloe, already seated, sank lower in her chair. She wasn't a wallflower,
but the prospect of sharing a meal with the legendary, intimidating Silas
Thorne—with a human iceberg as a plus-one—was enough to make her consider a
tactical retreat under the table.
Alas, escape was impossible.
"Chloe!" Elara called out, weaving through the tables with an
apologetic wince. "You don't mind… um, having two gentlemen join us, do
you?"
Chloe forced a brilliant, slightly strained smile, pulling her scarf
away from her face. "Heh, not at all. We're… delighted to have you."
The lie was smooth, a testament to their friendship. "Do sit down."
"Miss Smith," Silas inclined his head with a politician's
grace as he pulled out the chair opposite her. "We hope we're not
intruding."
"Oh, Mr. Thorne, you're too kind," Chloe chirped, deftly
shifting closer to the window to make space.
It was then that Ben stepped forward. He held out the luggage bag.
"Yours." His voice was flat, devoid of social niceties.
Chloe blinked, startled by his directness. Elara quickly interjected,
"Chloe, my apologies. With everything that's happened, I never had the
chance to give that to you. I hope everything's to your liking."
"Of course! I trust your taste implicitly," Chloe assured her,
her gaze inadvertently dropping to the man's hand still holding the bag—tanned,
with prominent veins tracing the back. A strong, capable, and intensely
masculine hand.
"Cheers," she said, her lips curving into a genuine smile as
she took it, her fingers briefly brushing against his.
The contact was electric and fleeting. Ben gave a curt nod and sat down
beside her, his expression unreadable. His right hand, now resting on his
thigh, flexed almost imperceptibly, as if trying to dispel the lingering warmth
of her touch.
Once they were seated, the waiter arrived. With Silas still recovering,
Elara took charge, ordering the mildest items on the menu and specifically
instructing, "No ginger shreds or spring onions, please."
She was so focused she didn't notice the way Silas was watching her, his
deep gaze fixed on her face as she spoke. A faint, undeniable smile played on
his lips. She knew him. She knew his preferences, his needs. The realisation
settled in him, warm and satisfying.
Chloe watched this silent exchange, the sweet, unspoken understanding so
thick you could cut it with a knife. She sighed inwardly. Maybe Elara marrying
an older man isn't so bad after all. The shadow that had once clung to her best
friend was gone, replaced by a radiant, settled confidence. Finding the right
man truly was the finest nourishment for a woman.
When the waiter brought sterilised tableware and a pot of hot water, a
well-rehearsed ballet unfolded. Elara glanced at Silas, looking every bit the
refined aristocrat painfully out of place in the casual café, and couldn't
suppress a teasing smile.
He caught her look and tilted his head, a silent question in his raised
brow, his smile inviting her shared joke.
In perfect sync, Ben placed a napkin under Silas's teacup. Silas rinsed
the cup and poured the water into it, whereupon Ben, with an unexpectedly
attentive gesture, moved Chloe's cup forward and placed another napkin for her.
Chloe was genuinely surprised. She'd pegged this cold-eyed man as
socially oblivious. "Thank you," she said, her voice softer than she
intended.
The meal, however, was undeniably stifled. With the two formidable men
present, light-hearted gossip was impossible. The conversation inevitably
turned to work.
"By the way," Chloe said, leaning in, "I already got the
notification about that proposal you signed. The initial feedback is really
positive. They're talking about its high feasibility."
A spark of professional pride lit Elara's eyes. Silas observed it as he
poured a cup of milky black tea and placed it by her elbow to cool. The look on
her face… it was the same fervour she'd had when they first discussed her
designs. A possessive, proud thought crossed his mind: If she loves this so
much, I'll just buy her the company. She can run it. All the profits can be
hers. He wanted to give her the world, to see that light in her eyes forever.
Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He retrieved it, glanced at
the screen, and his expression tightened almost imperceptibly. He leaned close
to Elara's ear, his breath a warm caress against her skin. "Carry on
chatting. I need to take this call from Ingrid."
"Alright, go ahead," Elara said, already turning back to Chloe
with an animated expression, waving him off dismissively.
Silas's lips quirked in a wry smile at her easy dismissal. He rose, his
gaze sweeping the crowded café once before he and Ben moved in unison towards
the exit.
The moment the two men were gone, the atmosphere at the table lightened
exponentially. Chloe slumped in her chair with an exaggerated gasp of relief.
"Your husband is something else, Elara. The sheer aura on that man!
I was terrified I'd accidentally use the wrong fork and he'd have me escorted
out by security."
Elara laughed, shaking her head. "It's not that bad. He doesn't
bite."
"Of course you don't think so! You're the one who tamed the beast.
You two are practically cut from the same cloth now," Chloe teased.
Outside, standing a discreet distance from the café window, Silas put
the phone to his ear. He barely had a moment to speak before Ingrid's roar,
tinny and furious, erupted from the receiver.
"Silas Thorne, you conniving little shit! I'm your aunt! You
undergo a surgery that finally fixes your little… problem… and you don't think
to tell me? Were you trying to get yourself killed, you foolish boy?"
Silas remained impassive, holding the phone a few inches from his ear.
He could practically see her pacing her lavish living room, hands on her
hips. When he didn't respond, her volume increased. "I have my sources at
the old mansion, you know! Did you think you could keep this a secret from me?
Well? Spit it out! Is this 'cure' of yours even real, or is this some new
scheme of yours?"
Silas's eyes, cold and calculating, found Elara through the
window—laughing, vibrant, his. A slow, dangerous smile touched his lips.
"Let's just say the situation is... being handled to my complete
satisfaction."