HIS TO COMMAND

When the Sky Fell “No one betrays my family and walks away unscathed. Not even yours.” Roman Thorne’s voice cut through the courtroom like a blade through glass. Emerald Davis flinched, the words striking her as surely as a physical blow. For a moment, the entire room seemed to freeze. The air grew heavy, suffocating. Then, like a ripple, life returned: the shuffle of papers from stiff-collared lawyers, the furious scratching of journalists in the press gallery, the distant clicking of cameras as though the destruction of her world was entertainment for the masses. Emerald’s hands trembled where they gripped her lap, nails biting into her skin. She sat perfectly still, back rigid, trying to appear composed. But inside? Inside she was falling. Across the aisle, he stood—Roman Thorne. The man, who had once been her father’s godson, had played in their gardens when they were children. Now he was nothing like the boy she half-remembered. Tall. Commanding. Exquisitely dressed in a black suit tailored to ruthless perfection. His face was carved from stone, his mouth unsmiling, his eyes cold as winter ice. He hadn’t even looked at her since the trial began. To him, she was invisible. Nothing more than collateral damage. And maybe she was. Emerald’s gaze flicked to her father. He sat slumped beside her at the defendant’s table, his once proud shoulders sagging. His hair, once jet black, was now streaked heavily with gray, his face hollowed out by stress and regret. Once he had been untouchable—a man other businessmen envied, admired, feared. She remembered how, as a little girl, she used to trail behind him at parties, convinced her father was the strongest man in any room. Now he looked like a man already defeated. Her throat tightened. The judge’s gavel slammed down, snapping her back to the present. The ruling echoed like thunder: Damages owed—3.8 billion naira. Mismanagement. Betrayal of trust. Possible criminal charges pending. A gasp rippled through the audience. Someone muttered, “The mighty Davis empire… finished.” Emerald wanted to disappear. She lowered her head, but it didn’t block out the whispers, the stares. The humiliation sank into her skin like acid. And still, across the room, Roman stood tall. Not relieved. Not triumphant. Just… unyielding. As if the destruction of her family was simply justice written in stone. The gavel struck again. Court dismissed. Emerald exhaled shakily. But before she could even rise from her seat, his voice carried across the courtroom. “Justice is served. And this—” his gaze finally cut to her, pinning her like a butterfly to glass, “—is only the beginning.” Her blood turned cold. --- Later, in the Davis Mansion The study smelled of leather, dust, and whiskey. Once, this had been her father’s sanctuary. As a child, Emerald would perch on the leather chair opposite his desk, kicking her legs while he spun stories of future empires and global deals. Her mother would laugh softly from the doorway, teasing that their daughter was far too young to be plotting mergers and stock trades. Now, the same chair felt like a coffin. Emerald curled into it, arms wrapped tightly around her body as if holding herself together. “Papa, please.” Her voice cracked. “There has to be another way.” Her father poured himself a drink, though his hand shook so badly the liquid sloshed against the rim. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin ashen. He had aged ten years in one week. “I tried,” he rasped, voice hoarse with exhaustion. “I begged. I offered money. Everything. But Roman… he doesn’t want a settlement.” Emerald’s chest squeezed. “Then what does he want?” His gaze flickered to hers, watery and broken. “You.” The word dropped like a stone into the silence. Emerald sat frozen. “Me?” “He gave me a choice.” Her father’s voice cracked. “Either I go to prison… or you belong to him.” Her stomach lurched. “No. You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.” His head dropped into his hands. “It’s already done.” The room spun. “The papers are signed,” he whispered. “You’ll be his wife.” Wife. The word sliced through her like a blade. Her knees trembled as she surged to her feet. “You can’t just trade me like—like property!” “I had no choice!” he roared suddenly, the glass slipping from his hand and shattering on the floor. His voice broke into a whisper. “I had no choice, Emmy. He has the power to bury me alive. And your mother…” Emerald’s heart stuttered at the mention of her mother. Though she was gone, the guilt still lingered. Her mother’s accident had drained everything—the money, the strength, the hope. Her father had made terrible deals in his desperation to save her, and when she died, it destroyed him. And now, even in death, her mother was the reason Emerald was being bartered away. Emerald turned from him, blinking back tears. She would not cry. Not now. Not in front of him. Not when Roman would want nothing more than her tears. --- Midnight Her phone buzzed against the nightstand. She reached for it, half-asleep, half-praying it was all a nightmare. One message. No name. No signature. Tomorrow. 8AM. Thorne Estate. Bring nothing. Her breath caught. It was him. She stared at the glowing screen until her vision blurred. Then she lay back, wide awake, clutching the duvet as though it could protect her. Memories flickered—her mother’s gentle hand brushing hair from her face, her father’s proud laughter when she won her first award in school, the girl she had once been before all of this. Her mother’s voice whispered in her memory: “You’re stronger than you think, Emmy. Never let anyone break your fire.” Emerald swallowed hard. Roman Thorne thought he could break her. He had no idea. --- The Next Morning The gates of the Thorne Estate loomed like sentinels against the pale morning sky. Wrought with iron and towering stone, they were built to intimidate—and they succeeded. Emerald’s breath hitched as they groaned open. The mansion beyond was vast, elegant, mercilessly beautiful. Every line of it screamed power. Control. Untouchable wealth. She clutched the strap of the small bag she had insisted on bringing, even though the message had said otherwise. Without it, she would feel completely stripped. Her heart thudded painfully as she stepped forward. And then she saw him. Roman Thorne. He stood in the doorway as though he had been waiting for her. Tall, broad-shouldered, a dark king surveying his domain. The sun caught the hard line of his jaw, glinting against hair as black as midnight. His suit fit his body like it had been cut from the shadows. Her lungs forgot how to work. He folded his arms, gaze sweeping over her with a slowness that made her skin prickle. “You’re on time.” His lips curved faintly—not a smile, but something sharper, crueler. “Maybe you’ll survive this after all.” Emerald forced her chin up. “You got what you wanted. I’m here.” He stepped closer, and the faint scent of his cologne wrapped around her—dark, expensive, intoxicating. It was unfair, how even his presence could overwhelm her senses. “No, Emerald.” His voice dropped, silk wrapped around steel. His hand lifted, tilting her chin up with two fingers until her eyes locked with his. “This… is only the beginning.” Her heart pounded, loud enough she feared he could hear it. She hated him. She feared him. And yet, somewhere in the chaos, her pulse betrayed her, racing as though it recognized something dangerous… something magnetic. His mouth brushed the barest smirk. “Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Thorne.” And in that m Oment, Emerald Davis knew: the sky had fallen. But she would rise. And one day, she would make him regret ever thinking he could command her.