HIS TO COMMAND

Chapter9

Chapter 9: The Letter and the Line

Emerald never expected to find it. The letter. Hidden deep in the drawer behind rows of dusty books in the upper west study, a room Roman rarely used. She hadn’t even planned to snoop — not exactly. But curiosity, that soft-burning kind that eats away at resolve, had gotten the better of her.

She was dusting shelves when she saw the stack of papers, some sealed in envelopes with Thorne letterheads. One envelope stood out. A note addressed not to Roman, but to someone named Ezra. The signature at the bottom stopped her breath: Ambrose Thorne.

Emerald’s fingers trembled as she read. The letter spoke of regret, guilt, and an unfulfilled promise — a secret deal that could have salvaged both families had it not been buried under pride and revenge. A deal her father once considered but never pursued after Ambrose fell ill. Emerald’s chest tightened as she folded the letter and tucked it into her apron. Her breath hitched.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Panic.

Emerald shoved the books back, wiped her hands, and quickly made her way out to the other side of the room. She turned a corner and nearly collided with Damien.

“Are you okay?” he asked, squinting.

She nodded too quickly. “Just... tired.”

Damien looked at her like he didn’t quite believe it, but he let her pass.

She barely slept that night. Her mind swirled with thoughts, the weight of that letter growing heavier by the hour. The truth behind Rom

an's bitterness, the buried past of their families, and the letter that could ruin or redeem them all.

---

The next morning, Roman sat at the long mahogany table in the dining room, coffee untouched, his gaze fixed on the fireless hearth.

Emerald entered quietly, head down. She couldn’t help but feel it—the shift in the air. The way his shoulders tensed the moment she stepped inside.

He didn’t look at her. “You were in the west study yesterday.”

Her stomach dropped.

She said nothing.

He finally turned to her, eyes like steel. “I said, you were in the west study.”

“I was cleaning,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

“For two hours?”

“I didn’t know there was a time limit on cleaning.”

His chair scraped back as he stood, slow and deliberate. “I don’t like liars, Emerald. Especially ones who think they can outsmart me in my own house.”

“I didn’t—”

“You touched something you shouldn’t have.”

Her lips parted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stepped closer. “If I find out you took anything, I won’t just throw you out, Emerald. I’ll make sure your sister loses more than just a business deal. And your father?” He smiled, cruel and cold. “Let’s just say retirement won’t be an option.”

Emerald clenched her fists. “Is this how you operate? By threatening people who have nothing left?”

“You have more than you think. That’s the problem.”

Before she could reply, he added, “From today, you will no longer clean the east wing. Damien will handle that.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because you’ve gotten too comfortable.”

He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving her trembling.

She sat alone in the hallway afterward, arms wrapped around her knees. For the first time since arriving, she felt like the ground beneath her was shifting, pulling her into something darker, deeper. The house felt colder than ever.

---

Damien noticed the shift almost immediately.

Roman began involving him in company matters. Meetings, phone calls, strategy sessions. He'd always kept Damien out, claiming he wasn’t ready. But now, it was like Roman was trying to mold him into a shadow version of himself.

“You’re giving me all this because of Emerald?” Damien asked one night.

Roman didn’t look up from his tablet. “You need to learn business eventually.”

“That’s not what this is.”

Roman’s voice was calm, clipped. “Focus on your work, Damien. Stop chasing broken things.”

Damien left the room without a word, frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

---

Emerald felt the walls closing in. Every step was watched. Every glance felt loaded. And that letter — hidden now inside the lining of her pillowcase — was a ticking bomb.

She spends her days cleaning, folding, hiding. Her nights awake, eyes wide open in a house that felt more like a trap than a home.

She passed Roman in the hall one evening. He paused beside her.

“I don’t trust you,” he said simply.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I don’t trust you either.”

His gaze darkened, but he said nothing more.

That night, Emerald walked outside, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater. The cold bit at her skin, but she needed air. Needed distance from the house’s suffocating walls.

She looked up at the sky, the stars dim against the city's glow. Her mind ran wild.

If she gave the letter to the authorities, would it ruin Romania? Would it expose the truth? Or would it only backfire on her father?

She was stuck between two worlds — loyalty to her blood, and a bitter, burning ache for justice.

The door creaked behind her. She turned quickly, startled.

It was Roman.

He didn’t speak. Just lit a cigarette, staring out at the city.

“I can feel it,” he said quietly. “You’re planning something.”

She met his eyes. “And what if I am?”

He took a slow drag, then flicked ash into the wind. “Then I guess we’re finally on equal footing.”

A beat passed.

“Be careful, Emerald. Some fires burn everything — even the ones who start them.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving her in the dark, the letter close to her heart — and the storm closer than ever.

And for the first

Time since she entered that house…

She started to wonder if surviving Roman Thorne would come at the cost of losing herself.