2. Thorne Above Them All
1322 Words
The Unspoken King
Kael Thorne didn’t speak unless there was something worth saying. And this morning, there was nothing but trash in front of him.
He sat at the head of a sleek glass table in the corner suite of Thorne Hall’s top floor — a building technically donated by his family, though everyone knew better than to call it charity. His blazer hung over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled up, eyes fixed on the clause he’d already slashed through twice in red.
“They think backend equity at twenty percent’s going to slide past me,” he said, more to the silence than to the woman standing beside him.
Sienna Vale, heels sharp enough to draw blood, didn’t bother looking up from her tablet. “Your father’s lawyers are as subtle as a hand grenade.”
Kael clicked his pen once, then again. The quiet sound was as close to annoyance as he got in public.
He scribbled a correction in quick, efficient strokes, then signed the bottom with the kind of pressure that cracked cheap pens. His weren’t cheap. Nothing about Kael was.
“This goes back to them,” he said.
“Already queued. I’ve also spoken to Dr. Halberd about your midterm score. He agreed to ‘re-evaluate’ his rubric.”
Kael didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. That was what Sienna was for — precision cuts and clean coverups. She was the only one in his inner circle who could match his ruthlessness without blinking.
Before she could step away, the room’s built-in speaker crackled.
“Kael,” came Thatcher’s voice — dry, paranoid, and brilliant as always. “You’ve got another list. Gossip forums are spinning again. You’re now allegedly dating a sophomore with a skincare line.”
Kael tilted his head. “Do I at least get free product this time?”
Sienna rolled her eyes and left the room.
Thatcher’s voice continued. “Also, someone’s flagged your name alongside Alina Everhart. She wrote something in the campus paper that’s getting buzz. Ethics in leadership. Sound familiar?”
Kael froze.
Then: “Pass.”
He ended the call and stood, his shadow slicing across the floor like a blade.
⸻
Power Plays and Party Invitations
The courtyard buzzed with filtered sunlight and artificial conversations. Kael walked like a ghost among them, footsteps silent, presence deafening.
Knox Reyes matched his pace, all tailored charm and practiced swagger.
“I don’t get it,” Knox said. “You could walk into any party and turn it into an empire. But you act like socializing’s a terminal disease.”
Kael barely turned his head. “It is.”
Knox laughed like they were just two guys joking about brunch instead of buying futures in biotech firms.
“Max’s bonfire bash is this weekend. Half the campus wants in. Rudd’s even name-dropping you.”
Kael’s mouth twitched. “Tell Max if he uses my name for clout again, I’ll buy the land his daddy’s gym sits on and turn it into a parking lot.”
“Dramatic. I like it.”
They stopped at the edge of a lawn where a group of students were huddled, whispering. Someone’s eyes flicked toward Kael. The group hushed instantly.
“See?” Knox grinned. “The Ice King effect. One glance and everyone forgets how to breathe.”
Kael didn’t respond. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
A message. Unlisted number.
Everhart. The perfect one. You’ll want to keep an eye on her. Things aren’t what they seem.
Kael’s gaze narrowed.
He deleted the message without reading further.
Another girl. Another scheme. The world was full of women who wore honesty like perfume — pleasant until it faded, leaving only the stench of intent.
He’d learned that lesson the hard way.
⸻
Behind the Mask
Kael’s penthouse was a study in control. Every surface clean. Every item placed with surgical precision. Not a picture frame out of place. Not a cushion creased.
He poured himself a two-finger scotch as dusk folded over the skyline outside.
Jax strolled in, uninvited as usual, a hoodie slung over his shoulder and a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.
“You live in a damn museum,” he said, dropping onto the leather couch. “Ever thought of hanging a painting? Something with color? Maybe a plant?”
“I’m allergic to maintenance,” Kael replied, taking a sip.
“What are you allergic to more — plants or people?”
Kael didn’t answer.
Jax eyed the folder still open on the counter. “Is that the new article that’s got people frothing?”
Kael raised a brow. “What article?”
Jax plucked it up. “‘The Heart of Campus: Alina Everhart on Balance, Brilliance, and Boundaries.’ Catchy.”
“She sounds exhausting.”
Jax flipped the page. “She sounds like someone who’d make you blink twice, which is more than anyone else does.”
Kael held out a hand. Jax handed over the article.
He scanned it. Clean writing. A quote about authenticity. Some idealistic line about leadership not being a crown but a responsibility.
He dropped it in the trash.
“Hope she enjoys the high while it lasts.”
⸻
Shadows of the Past
Tone: Isolated, vulnerable, emotionally repressed
The bedroom was dim — all sharp lines and steel gray shadows. Kael preferred it that way. No distractions. No softness.
He sat at the edge of the bed, back hunched slightly, shirt wrinkled from the long day. One hand gripped a crystal tumbler, the other scrolled absently through his phone.
Messages. Alerts. Meeting reminders.
Noise.
Then — he stopped.
Selene.
The name sat at the top of an old thread, highlighted by a faint red warning: This contact has been blocked.
He didn’t unblock it. He didn’t delete it either.
That was the problem with memories — they didn’t disappear just because you stopped calling them back.
His thumb hovered for a moment too long, then fell away.
He moved to his gallery instead. Past legal screenshots, contract drafts, investor charts. Past photos he never took himself. And there — buried between a scan of his forged signature and a press clipping — was the image.
A candid photo. Grainy. Caught at a student charity event from a year ago.
Kael stood at the center, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled by wind. Someone must have said something off-camera — because he was smiling. Not smirking. Not faking.
Smiling.
He didn’t remember that moment. He only remembered what followed.
Selene had posted it with a caption that spun him into a scandal. Claimed he’d promised her exclusivity. Claimed things he never said. Sold her version of the story for likes and interviews — and when the storm hit, he’d been the one left to fix the ruins.
That smile? It had cost him the luxury of believing in sincerity again.
Kael exhaled slowly and locked the screen. Tossed the phone onto the mattress beside him.
He ran a hand down his face, tension pulsing through his jaw. The scotch in his other hand sat untouched now, the ice melting into silence.
He remembered what his father once told him — at nine years old, after Kael asked why people pretended to care and didn’t mean it.
“Because pretending gets them close enough to use you. Real loyalty only exists if it’s profitable.”
Back then, Kael hadn’t understood.
Now, he lived by it.
He set the glass down, untouched, and laid back against the mattress. One arm draped across his forehead, cutting off the ceiling light from his eyes.
No softness. No warmth. Not for him.
Not anymore.
“Everyone lies,” he whispered to no one.
It wasn’t bitterness. It was fact.
⸻
“In a world of wolves, only fools believe in fairytales. And Kael Thorne had been a fool once. Never again.”
- Writer
