EMPIRE OF HEARTS

Chapter 5: The Glass Apartment

Elias Thorne’s penthouse was less of a home and more of a gallery for the lonely. Located at the top of a needle-thin skyscraper overlooking Central Park, the walls were entirely glass, making it feel as if one were floating over the city.

Your things have been placed in the east wing, Elias said as they entered. The lights flickered on automatically, revealing a living room that looked like it had never been sat in. My housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, will handle your laundry and meals. Don't touch the art.

Clara walked to the window. The park was a dark void in the center of the glittering city. It’s beautiful. And completely devoid of life.

Life is messy, Clara. I prefer order.

Order is just another word for control, she countered. She turned to find him watching her, his coat off, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were lean and corded with muscle.

You’re remarkably observant for someone who spent her life behind a velvet rope, Elias remarked. He walked to a hidden bar and poured two fingers of scotch. He didn't offer her any.

I spent my life learning how to read people, Elias. My father’s board was a shark tank. I had to know who was going to bite before they opened their mouths.

And what do you read when you look at me?

Clara walked toward him, the soft soles of her shoes silent on the silk rug. She stopped just outside his reach.

I see a man who is terrified of losing, she said. I see a man who has built a fortress of glass so he can see everything coming, but nobody can get close enough to see him.

Elias’s hand tightened around his glass. For a second, the "Ice King" cracked. His eyes flashed with a raw, predatory hunger. He set the glass down with a controlled click and took a step toward her.

Careful, Clara, he warned, his voice dropped to a low growl. You might find that the fortress isn't meant to keep people out. It’s meant to keep the monster in.

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed on the marble counter. He looked at the screen, and the tension in his shoulders spiked.

I have to take this, he said, his tone turning instantly professional and distant. The guest rooms are down the hall. Dinner is at eight. Don't be late. The Architect hates tardiness.

He walked away into a private study, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Clara stood in the center of the silent room. She felt like a ghost in someone else’s dream. She wandered down the hall to her assigned room. It was larger than her entire apartment had been in college, decorated in soft creams and golds. It was beautiful, but it felt temporary.

She opened her suitcase and began to hang her clothes. As she reached the bottom of her bag, she found a small, leather-bound diary her father had given her years ago. She opened it to the first blank page.

October 12th, she wrote. I have entered the lion’s den. The lion is handsome, cruel, and hiding something that makes him look at his phone like it’s a ticking bomb. I must remember: this is a business deal. The heart is not part of the contract.

She closed the book and looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror. She looked like a Thorne. She looked like a winner.

But as she touched the yellow diamond on her finger, she realized that in this game, the only way to win was to make sure she didn't care about the man across the table. And looking at the closed door of Elias’s study, she realized that was going to be the hardest part of the deal.