EMPIRE OF HEARTS

Chapter 7: The First Sign

The following week was a blur of staged photoshoots and high-pressure meetings. Clara and Elias were everywhere: Vogue, The Wall Street Journal, Page Six. They were the Power Couple of the Decade.

But behind the scenes, the tension was reaching a breaking point.

They were in the Sterling board room, surrounded by ten men who looked like they wanted to vomit. Clara had just presented the new restructuring plan a brutal, efficient strategy that Elias had helped her draft.

You’re cutting the charitable wing? one board member asked, his voice trembling. The Sterling Foundation has been our pride for fifty years.

Pride doesn't pay the interest on a two-hundred-million-dollar loan, Henry, Clara said, her voice sounding hauntingly like Elias’s. We either cut the fat, or the whole body dies.

The board reluctantly approved. As the room cleared, Elias leaned back in his chair, a rare look of approval on his face.

You handled them well, he said. You’re starting to think like a Thorne.

Is that a compliment or a warning? Clara asked, rubbing her temples.

In this world, it’s the same thing.

He stood up and walked toward her. He reached out and began to massage her shoulders. Clara started to pull away, but his hands were strong, his touch surprisingly gentle.

You’re tense, he murmured.

I’m destroying my father’s work piece by piece, Elias. I’m allowed to be tense.

You’re saving it. There’s a difference. He turned her around to face him. His eyes were softer than she had ever seen them. For a moment, the predator was gone, replaced by a man who looked tired.

Why do you do it? Clara asked softly. The fighting. The taking. Is it ever enough?

Elias looked away, his gaze fixed on the mahogany table. When I was twelve, I watched the bank take my mother’s wedding ring off her finger. I watched my father beg for a week’s extension on the mortgage. They laughed at him, Clara. Your father’s friends. They called us 'nuisances'.

He looked back at her, his eyes burning with a dark, ancient fire.

I promised myself that day that I would never be a nuisance again. I would be the man who did the taking.

Clara felt a sudden, sharp pang of empathy. She reached out and touched his cheek. His skin was warm, his stubble rough against her palm.

Elias...

He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned into her touch. The air between them changed, the corporate coldness replaced by a sudden, electric heat. Elias’s hand moved to the back of her neck, his thumb tracing the line of her ear.

We’re supposed to be pretending, Clara, he whispered, his voice ragged.

I know, she breathed.

He leaned down, his lips brushing hers in a tentative, questioning ghost of a kiss. It wasn't the kiss of a conqueror. It was the kiss of a starving man finding bread.

Clara responded, her hands sliding into his dark hair. It was real. For a few seconds, the contracts, the mergers, and the lies vanished. There was only the heat of him and the desperate need for something that wasn't for sale.

Elias pulled back abruptly, his breathing heavy. He looked at her as if he didn't recognize her—or himself.

I have a meeting, he said, his voice cold once more. He turned and practically ran out of the room.

Clara stood alone in the boardroom. She touched her lips, the ghost of his kiss still burning there. She had just found the first c***k in the Ice King’s armor. And it terrified her more than his coldness ever had.