The Ascension Of Dorian Blackthorn

Chapter 5: Fractured Facades

Emberwood estate was filled with tension the morning following Dorian’s arrival back from Ashenrow. Word about Lyla’s open animosity towards her husband and her close association with Edwin Whitcombe had spread through the higher circles of society in Silverhaven with the help of the gossipy news websites and word of mouth. T.V. screens, computers, and phone screens were filled with messages and pictures of the notorious couple, hinting at the collapse of their marriage.

Dorian was eating breakfast alone, hunched over his smartphone. The signs he had received in the cryptic texts pursued him, as did the sight of the abyss that could not be described. He felt that he was not part of the glass and steel of the Emberwood estate with its polished floors and glass walls. Lyla sat across from him, similarly using her phone as though he was the most boring person on the planet, and she couldn’t care less about his existence. Her phone rang, and she smiled. Dorian knew better than to enquire what could have been funny; he had learned early enough that her sense of humour was usually directed towards him.

The tension was interrupted by the arrival of Nathaniel Emberwood. The older man stood in the room with the air of a man who expected no disagreement from anyone. His tuxedo was immaculate, and the cut of his clothes oozed power and accuracy. He placed his tablet down on the table with a thud as he sat at the head of it.

“The rumours,” Nathaniel replied coldly, “are out of the question.” This marriage was not a recommendation—it was an order. You both have a part to play, and you are doing a bang-up job of it.”

Lyla glanced up from her phone and gave me what could only be described as the most bored look in the world. ‘Father, you know how people gossip.’ You can’t control every little—”

“Enough.” Nathaniel’s voice interrupted her. It’s not about people gossiping about each other’s business. It’s about perception. The Whitcombe gala tonight is your opportunity to do so. You will attend together, and you will pretend that you are a couple.”

Lyla frowned, her lips clamping together. “You want me to flaunt around with him?” She glanced at Dorian with hatred. “As if that will make people believe this sham?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel answered him with a scowl. You will carry out this task without any complaints. This family’s reputation depends on it.”

Finally, Dorian, who had been a passive listener to the conversation between the two women, decided to chime in. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

Nathaniel nodded, satisfied. Lyla, though, looked at Dorian with a glare that could have sliced through steel. She looked like a woman who was plotting her revenge.

---

That evening, Dorian stood near the gates of the Emberwood estate, adjusting the cufflinks on his black formal dress. The body of the limousine was shining under the street lamps, proclaiming the status of the owner as a wealthy and powerful man.

Lyla came out shortly after in a red dress, which was tight and seemed to be painted on her body. She wore high-heeled shoes, and the sound of her shoes hitting the tarmac could be heard as she walked towards them, gracefully. “Please don’t make me feel uncomfortable today,” she said as she entered the car. “Well, I guess that is rather too much to hope for.” Dorian suppressed a rude reply and went inside the house after her.

The drive to the Whitcombe skyscraper was quiet, with only the sound of Lyla’s phone dinging as she typed away on it. Dorian looked at the darkened city through the darkened windows of the car, attempting to build himself up for the night that lay ahead of him.

---

The gala was hosted on the highest floor of the Whitcombe Tower, and its floor-to-ceiling glass allowed a view of the city skyline. Inside, the atmosphere was filled with the smell of expensive perfumes and champagne. People strolled around the hall, sipping champagne and talking in perfect English while occasionally delivering subtle insults.

When Dorian and Lyla walked in, people looked at them. There were low whispers all around as everyone turned to watch the notorious pair arrive in the room. Lyla, the drama queen that she is, linked her arm in Dorian’s and posed for the cameras, her face alight with happiness. But her grip on his arm was bruising, and she was biting down on his skin with her nails.

“You are slouching,” she said through gritted teeth. “You are looking like a frightened little boy.” Dorian stood up, and although he felt like cursing at the Lyla, he tried to look as indifferent as possible. The photographers continued to take photos of what seemed to be the happy couple.

Inside, the facade crumbled. Lyla was being deliberately rude in everything she did. When a waiter came round with a tray of champagne She took a glass and flicked the champagne—just enough to wet Dorian’s suit.

“Oh no,” she said in loud tones that could be heard by people at the neighbouring tables. What a clumsiness on your side! Try to be more careful.”

The spectators smiled and looked at each other and at the two with the expressions of humorous condescension. Dorian clenched his fists and tried to wipe the stain off his jacket without saying a word to her.

Later, as they went through the wards, Lyla discovered how to embarrass him further. She compared him with Edwin, who was entertaining a group of people on the other corner.

“Look at him,” Lyla said aloud. “So poised. So confident. Just think how it is for a wife to be married to a man with half the charm. Those words hurt, but Dorian did not show it. He kept quiet, and she only became meaner than before.

When the music started and people started dancing, Lyla snapped her fingers at him and offered her hand with fake sweetness.

“Shall we, darling?” Dorian paused, but then he took her hand. They stepped onto the dance floor and started dancing extremely awkwardly. Suddenly, when he touched her foot with his foot, she twisted her leg away.

“Are you blind?” she asked angrily, making sure everyone in the room could hear her. He could only open his mouth to say something when she slapped him on the face. The room went silent. Lyla was yelling at him like a child as all the attention was focused on them.

“Can’t you do anything right? You’re embarrassing yourself—and me.” Dorian cheek was red, a result more from embarrassment than from the burn from the slap. Hushed murmurs spread across the crowd, and he spotted Edwin’s self-satisfied grin from the other end of the hall.

---

A few hours later, Dorian headed towards the rooftop garden, desperate for some fresh air. The whole city was sprawling in front of him; lights were blinking, laughing at his suffering. He leaned against the glass railing, his mind boiling with rage and humiliation.

His phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw the name Isla Fairweather on the screen. For a few seconds he paused before responding. “Dorian,” Isla was panting, her voice tense. “I’ve been trying to call you all day.”

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“You’re in danger,” Isla said. There is something going on in Silverhaven. Sometimes people disappear—those who dare to cross Emberwoods or get too close to the truth about the city. You need to be careful.”

Dorian frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The notes you’ve been getting,” Isla said. “They’re not just warnings. They’re a call to action. This is what someone wants you to understand: Someone wants you to uncover the truth."

“What truth?” Dorian demanded.

“The truth about your family,” Isla said. “About the Emberwoods. They do not want you to know there is something, something connected with that abyss you saw."

Before he could say anything, the line went dead, and what he heard was only Isla’s voice fading amidst the noise. Dorian pulled the phone away from his ear, looking at the screen, and then the phone fell from his hand when the call ended. A chill ran down his spine. He was not only a victim of the games played in Emberwood. He was a target.