Chapter 13
644 Words
The warehouse was a tomb of my own making, the air thick with low-frequency hum of the servers. I stood behind her, watching the way her small shoulders tensed staring at the glowing monitors. She looked fragile in that oversized black sweater—a speck of defiance against cold, hard data world.
I leaned over her, the scent of her hair—faintly hitting me like a physical blow. I could feel the frantic heat radiating from her skin. My hand on the desk effectively caged her. I wanted her to feel the weight of my presence, to understand that there was nowhere else to except into the shadow
"Show me," I commanded.
Her voice was a brittle thread when she spoke. She found it; of course she did. The "Thorne blood" wasn't just a metaphor; it was a biological imperative for finding the rot in a system. But when she said the name Julian, something in my chest shifted. It wasn't surprise—I’ve lived long enough to know that loyalty is a luxury most men can not afford—it was a dark, sharp satisfaction.
The trap had caught a rat, and the girl was the one who had tripped the wire.
I watched Julian through the heavy metal door. He looked pathetic—a dead fish trying to breathe on dry land. I didn't feel anger but rather clinical need to restore balance. In my world, a leak isn't just a loss of money; it's a loss of face—and I don't lose face.
I saw the way Clara’s eyes widened and how she tripped over the chair; now she witness,an accomplice by proxy.
She begged for him to be spared
I ordered Arthur to take him. The sound of Julian’s struggle sounded like music to my ears —a necessary dissonance like nails scraping against a chalkboard.Clara would be reminded of her place and the consequences of defiance. I seized her chin with a firm grip, forcing her gaze to meet mine.
I wanted her to see the emptiness in my eyes, the void where warmth and compassion once resided. I wanted her to understand that the man who had purchased her was the same man who could make someone disappear into the gray morning fog without a trace.
"Remember this feeling," I said, my tone devoid of emotion. It wasn’t a threat; it was an education. A lesson in what true power felt like.
The drive back was blissfully quiet, a silent victory lap as she slumped in the corner of the car, staring out at the city through glass that was far too thick to hear its whispers. She looked like she might be seeing it for the last time.
When we reached Aethelgard, I sent her to her room. I knew what was waiting for her there.
I had tracked that pendant through three different pawn shops and a private collector in Vegas. It had cost me fifty times what she had sold it for, but to me; the price didn’t matter; this sapphire was a tether. It was a reminder that I didn't just own her time; but also all events leading up until—by returning it, I was telling her that her past didn't belong to the pawn shop—it belonged to me.
I stood in my study,and poured myself a drink, the amber liquid glinting in the light. Thomas Kingsley’s was dead; his absence had created some kind of vacuum effect—the council members were swooping down on us like vultures already!
I picked up the phone. "Arthur. Report."
"The Council is restless, sir. They’ve been they've been spotted meeting with your brother, Adam."
I felt the glass cool against my palm. "Adam?"
"They’re looking to elect a new head soon, boss. We need to be prepared for the bloodshed."
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