Chapter3
1048 Words
The Thief and the Sister
The days blurred together like poorly mixed paint.
Scrub. Fold. Fetch. Repeat.
Emerald had never known her knees could ache from mopping, or that her perfectly manicured nails could chip so easily. There were blisters on her palms now. Her skin smelled like bleach and exhaustion. And yet, every time she passed a mirror, her reflection stared back with defiance. Tired, yes. But not broken.
Roman hadn’t said a word to her since the first day. He passed her in the hall sometimes, barely glancing her way, dressed in expensive shirts that looked like they cost more than her entire wardrobe. His silence wasn’t empty, though—it was deliberate. Like everything about him. Controlled. Cold.
She hated how still he was. How unreadable.
It made her feel like she was the only one suffocating.
Until today.
It was nearly sunset, and she had just finished hanging towels behind the guesthouse when she heard soft humming.
A low, off-key tune. Cringe. Childish.
She turned toward the sound and found Damien sitting on the low garden wall, barefoot, peeling an orange with a tiny fruit knife.
He looked up, grinning.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m stealing from the sacred Thorne orchard.”
She blinked. “You’re stealing oranges?”
“Borrowing,” he corrected. “With the full intention of digesting and never returning them.”
A laugh escaped before she could stop it. It felt strange rusty. Like a sound she hadn’t used in days.
“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor,” she said.
“I keep it in storage. Roman’s allergic to it.”
Emerald smiled and shook her head. She walked over, surprised by her own feet, and sat on the grass a few feet away. The earth felt cool beneath her. Real.
Damien tossed her half the orange. She caught it, barely.
“So,” he said, stretching his legs, “how’s indentured servitude treating you?”
She gave him a sharp look, then softened. “Like swallowing a dry sponge every day.”
He snorted. “Sounds about right.”
There was a pause—easy, not awkward.
She peeled a piece of orange and chewed slowly, letting the sourness pull her senses back to life. This was the first real conversation she’d had since she got here. And strangely, it wasn’t with her captor, or a lawyer, or a guard.
It was with Damien.
The Thorne who smiled like he didn’t carry the weight of a collapsing empire.
“Why are you being nice to me?” she asked finally.
Damien shrugged. “Maybe because someone in this house should be.”
She looked at him, brow furrowed. “You don’t agree with what your brother’s doing?”
He didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back on his elbows, looking at the sky. “Roman carries everything too tightly. Like if he lets go for even a second, it’ll all crash. I get why he’s angry. But I don’t think hurting you fixes anything.”
Emerald bit her lip. She didn’t know what to say to that.
“He wasn’t always like that, you know,” Damien added, his voice quieter now. “Before... everything. He used to laugh. Talk. Even dance sometimes. Terribly, but still.”
She couldn’t imagine Roman dancing. Or laughing. Or being anything but a sharp blade aimed at her throat.
“I guess people change,” she said softly.
“Sometimes too much.”
---
They sat in silence again, watching as the sky turned gold and the breeze carried the scent of wet earth. For the first time since she entered this house, Emerald didn’t feel like she was choking on grief.
She thought of her sister Alora. Vibrant ,stunning and intelligent, it was hard to keep her away from the chaos her father had caused. Emerald had spent years protecting her from the mess of their family, shielding her from debt collectors and lawyers and whispered phone calls.
“I have a sister,” she said suddenly, surprising herself.
Damien looked over. “Yeah?”
“Her name’s Alora. She’s the best thing in my life.”
“Let me guess—sweet, smart, and way better at lying than you?”
She smiled, eyes stinging. All of that." But she still believes the world is kind and people keep their promises.
There was a pause.
“Let her believe it a little longer,” Damien said gently. “She’ll find out the truth soon enough.”
Emerald swallowed hard. “I wish I could see her." Talk to her. I don’t even know if she’s okay.”
Damien didn’t promise anything. But he looked like he wanted to. And that was enough.
Their moment ended too soon.
The heavy sound of shoes on stone.
Roman.
He stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, face unreadable as always. His eyes flicked from Emerald to Damien, then back again.
“If you’re done stealing fruit and hosting therapy sessions,” he said dryly, “I assume the towels are folded?”
Emerald stood up slowly, her jaw tightening. “Yes. Perfectly. Would you like me to iron your ego next?”
Roman’s lips twitched—something between a smirk and a warning.
Damien stood too, brushing off his hands. “Don’t bite her head off, Roman. She’s just starting to like me.”
“I noticed,” Roman said, eyes still on her.
There was something different in the way he looked at her now. Like he wasn’t sure whether to punish her for breathing or protect her from something he couldn’t name.
She didn’t flinch.
“Thank you for the orange,” she told Damien, turning to leave.
Roman watched her walk away like she’d just stolen something more valuable than fruit.
---
That night, Emerald lay awake in her narrow bed, her body sore, her mind still replaying the sunset moment with Damien. She hadn’t laughed in days. Hadn’t talked about Alora to anyone since the sentencing. And for just a few minutes, she felt like herself again.
She smil
ed into her pillow, despite everything.
Maybe not all the Thornes were poisons.
Maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t as alone as she thought.
- Writer
