Elara's hand stilled. She lifted her gaze to meet Silas's, those dark,
perceptive eyes that seemed to see through every layer of her. He already knew.
Her almond-shaped eyes widened in a show of innocent surprise.
"Yes, he came to apologise. About that night." She paused, letting
the unspoken meaning hang between them. "You know."
A knowing smirk touched his lips. "Know what?"
She shot him a look that said, Don't play dumb with me.
Silas chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm. He slipped an arm around
her shoulders, guiding her with infinite care back into the heart of the
hospital room.
"Did he ask you to plead his case?" His voice was a low rumble
near her ear.
Elara let out a soft, exasperated sigh. "You tell me. You seem to
know everything already."
He helped her settle onto the edge of the bed, his hands resting lightly
on her shoulders as he leaned down, forcing her to meet his penetrating gaze.
"I wanted to see if he would be bold enough to ask you that."
A flutter of her dark lashes. "He didn't say the words, but the
intention was clear."
Silas studied her, his expression unreadable. "And did you
agree?"
Her gentle nature was both a strength and a potential weakness; he could
easily see her sympathising with Ethan's plight.
Elara tilted her head, a spark of defiance in her eyes. "Why would
you assume that? Do I look like the kind of wife who undermines her husband to
side with an outsider?"
He was the leader. His decisions, even those that concerned her, were
his to make. She had no right to interfere in his command. If she pleaded for
one subordinate today, another would come tomorrow. Where would it end? His
authority would be eroded, and the delicate structure of loyalty that held his
world together would crumble.
Besides, she knew him. This exile wouldn't be permanent. He understood
Ethan's loyalty ran deeper than a single mistake.
Silas was silent for a beat, then a slow, genuine smile spread across
his face, a rare sight that reached his eyes. "My apologies. I
underestimated you. It seems my wife is not only beautiful but possesses a
wisdom that puts many of my advisors to shame. You are my most capable
partner."
As he spoke, he bent to cup her cheek, intending to press a kiss to her
forehead.
Elara was quicker. She brought a hand up, gently blocking his advance, a
faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. "Save the flattery. It won't
work on me."
Undeterred, Silas captured her blocking hand, bringing it to his lips
instead. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her knuckles, his voice a coaxing
murmur. "It's not flattery. It's the truth. You continue to surprise and
impress me."
He held her gaze, his own intense. "To be perfectly honest, even if
you had begged for him, it wouldn't have changed my plans. I let him come to
you. Did you really think he just 'stumbled' upon an opportunity to sneak past
my security?"
The pieces clicked into place. Her eyes flew open wider. "You set
this up? You let him in?"
A simple, affirmative hum was his only reply.
Elara stared at him, a slow realisation dawning. The master strategist
had been at work, and she had been an unwitting, yet perfectly placed, piece on
his board.
"No wonder you're the boss," she breathed, a mix of awe and
chagrin in her voice.
His method of handling his men was brilliant. By letting Ethan stew in
his punishment, then allowing him a sliver of hope through her, he had
orchestrated the perfect lesson. Ethan was chastised, grateful for his
reinstatement, and now held a debt of gratitude towards her. It was a
masterstroke that reinforced loyalty at every level.
Silas's chuckle was deep and full of affection. He reached out to gently
pinch her cheek. "And there's a reason you're the boss's woman."
"Oh? And what reason is that?" she asked, curiosity piqued.
She was getting used to his affectionate, if slightly annoying, cheek-pinching.
"Your intelligence is utterly captivating. Every part of you
delights me." His gaze was heated, his voice dropping to an intimate,
sultry tone that promised so much more.
Elara's heart stuttered. Her lashes fluttered down as she nervously
tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, breaking the intensity of his stare.
This man's sweet nothings were becoming more potent, and her defences against
them were crumbling by the day.
Silas watched the blush creep up her neck to the tips of her ears, a
tender, possessive smile gracing his lips. His little ostrich. He had all the
time in the world to wait for her to stop hiding.
The next morning at ten sharp, a polite knock echoed through the room.
When Elara saw Ethan standing at the door, she couldn't help but marvel at
Silas's efficiency.
"Mrs. Thorne," Ethan began, his usual playful demeanour
replaced by a grave sincerity. "Thank you for speaking to the Boss on my
behalf. I won't forget this."
After her gentle but firm refusal the night before, he had been certain
his fate was sealed. He had truly believed his time serving Silas Thorne was
over. So when Ben had roused him that morning with orders to pack for a
business trip to Italy, he had been stunned. It was Ben who had revealed that
Elara's words had been the key to his pardon.
The revelation had struck him with profound complexity. Having seen the
worst of human nature, he was no saint himself. Had their positions been
reversed that night, he wasn't sure he would have been so forgiving.
After hastily packing, his first stop had been the hospital. He knew
that failing to express his gratitude to the woman who had interceded for him
would likely see his flight to Italy canceled.
"I accept your thanks," Elara replied with a calm smile,
impressed by her own poise.
"I know you questioned his decision out of loyalty to Silas,"
she continued, her voice soft but firm. "To me, that loyalty is more
important than anything else."
It was the truth, and it was the reason she had, in her own way,
endorsed his return.
A flicker of deep respect shone in Ethan's eyes.
Seeing the matter was settled, Silas's voice cut through, laced with
quiet authority. "Learn from this. There will not be a second
chance."
"Understood." Ethan stood ramrod straight, the picture of
absolute obedience.
"I'm tied up here. The Valenti negotiations are yours. With Steven
Cohen out of the picture, if he wants his son back alive, he'll need to offer
something of equal value. My terms are non-negotiable. A third of his European
arms market in exchange for his son's life. He knows which is more
valuable."
Silas's tone was cool, but the unyielding command in his eyes was
absolute.
"Understood. It will be done." Ethan's response was immediate
and solemn. With a final, respectful nod to Elara, he turned and strode out, a
man on a mission.
In the silence that followed, Silas turned to Elara, who was sitting
quietly on the sofa, a pensive look in her eyes.
"What's on your mind?" he asked.
"Nothing," she murmured, shaking her head.
It was just the abrupt shift—from the soft intimacy of their earlier
conversation to the cold, brutal reality of his business—that left her
momentarily off-balance. This was his world, and she was still learning its
harsh rhythms.
Silas watched the subtle play of emotions on her face for a long moment.
Then he reached out, drawing her into the shelter of his embrace. He rested his
chin on the top of her head, his voice a low, steady murmur against her hair.
"Don't overthink it. I share these things with you not to burden
you, but because you need to know. You must learn to see this world, to
understand it, to move within it. Because this is my reality, and I cannot
change it for you."
Elara leaned into the solid strength of his shoulder, letting out a
soft, acknowledging hum. His words were domineering, yet they held an
undeniable truth. She knew, with a quiet certainty, that she would adapt. For
him, and for the life they were building together.
Chloe's afternoon visit was a welcome distraction, a final burst of
normalcy before Elara's discharge. They chatted about everything and
nothing—Chloe's work, the latest gossip, the unspoken relief that the worst was
over.
The next morning, as Chloe prepared to catch her early flight, a small
surprise unfolded.
"I've arranged for the family driver to take you to the
airport," Elara said, already picking up her phone to make the call.
"Don't bother with all that fuss," Chloe waved a dismissive
hand, a little too quickly. "Ben can drop me off. We're... acquainted.
It'll be less formal, and honestly, less boring than sitting in silence with a
stranger."
Elara's eyebrows rose in mild surprise. The last car ride had been an
Arctic expedition in a Maybach. But Chloe's expression was breezy and
unbothered, so Elara let it go, assuming her friend had truly moved past any
lingering awkwardness. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll let him know."
Ten more days of hospital routine crawled by. Each day, Elara felt the
walls closing in a little more, the sterile air growing heavier. So, when Dr.
Miller made his rounds, his words were a symphony of liberation.
"Your final physical is today, Mrs. Thorne," he announced,
checking her chart. "If all goes well, and I have every reason to believe
it will, you can go home tomorrow."
Elara's face lit up with a radiant, unshakeable smile. Freedom was so
close she could taste it.
Dr. Miller continued, listing a litany of precautions: "Strict bed
rest at home, no strenuous activity, a carefully managed diet, and you must
come in for monthly prenatal check-ups without fail."
Elara nodded along, but it was Silas who absorbed every word with the
intensity of a general receiving battle plans. His focus was absolute, his
sharp eyes missing nothing. He was building a fortress of care around her, and
he would permit no weaknesses in its walls.
The thought of finally leaving, of feeling the sun on her skin outside
this room, made Elara feel like she could float. Any longer, and she was sure
she'd start to moulder.
Downstairs, in a ward that felt like a different world, the atmosphere
was thick with bitterness.
A nurse stood by the door, her tone polite but firm. "Ms. Grays,
you were medically cleared for discharge last week. We really do need the
room."
Vivian sat on the edge of her bed, her expression a thundercloud. She
could have left days ago. Julian had called once, a brief, cold conversation
about finalising their divorce. She had used every excuse to stay, putting off
the inevitable confrontation with her new, barren reality.
But there was another, darker reason for her reluctance. The guards
stationed outside her door weren't just for show. They monitored her every
move, treating her less like a patient and more like a prisoner. Even a simple
walk down the corridor was met with silent, imposing scrutiny.
Over twenty days had passed since the night that shattered her life.
Twenty days, and she hadn't caught a single glimpse of Elara. The woman who had
emerged unscathed, her pregnancy secure, her husband devoted, living in a
luxurious suite upstairs while Vivian's own life lay in ruins.
The injustice of it festered in her heart, a poison with no antidote. As
she was finally urged to pack her things, the sullen resentment on her face was
a stark contrast to the joyful anticipation shining just a few floors above.