Crown Of Thorns: Ashes of the Vows.

City airport, 2:45PM The glass doors of the international terminal hissed open, spilling waves of tired travelers and chattering families into the arrivals hall. But when he stepped out, the air seemed to shift. Zephyr Rutherford walked with the kind of arrogance that didn’t need announcement. His stride was loose, lazy, but beneath it simmered the restless energy of a man who carried storms in his chest. A leather jacket clung to his shoulders, black as sin, his dark hair falling carelessly into eyes that glimmered with mischief. Two girls waiting for a cab stilled mid-conversation. Their giggles faltered, eyes trailing him like moths to a flame. Even the security officer posted at the corner straightened unconsciously, as if drawn into Zephyr’s orbit. He smirked not at them, not at anyone in particular, but at the world itself, as though it were all one big joke he was too clever to share. A cigarette dangled from his fingers though the “No Smoking” sign flashed above him in bright red. Rules, for Zephyr, had always been decorations. His phone buzzed. He ignored it. He liked making people wait. “Mr. Rutherford,” a suited driver approached, bowing slightly, “the car is ready.” Zephyr’s gaze flicked lazily toward him, then past him, out through the revolving doors to where the city stretched in lights and smog. His lips curled. “Home, huh?” he drawled, shoving his sunglasses onto his face though the night sky had no sun. “Let’s see if it missed me.” As the driver scrambled to grab his luggage, Zephyr slid into the sleek black car waiting at the curb. The door slammed, the engine purred, and in seconds he was gone leaving behind only the sharp smell of cigarette smoke and the uneasy hum he always carried with him. The prodigal son had returned. And trouble, as always, followed close at his heels. _____ Hawthorne’s Mansion, Seraphina's Room. “Seraphina! Wake up, wake up!” A sudden weight crashed onto the bed, followed by careless giggles that rang too bright for such an early hour. Seraphina groaned softly, irritation flickering before she pulled the blanket over her head, seeking refuge in the fading remnants of sleep. But Elara had no mercy. Her younger sister bounced again, relentless, tugging at the covers with childish determination until Seraphina’s face finally peeked out, eyes narrowed in quiet protest. “Elara…” she mumbled, her voice still husky from sleep, threaded with restrained patience. “It’s not even sunrise.” “It’s my birthday!” Elara sang, spinning the words like a victory anthem, her eyes sparkling with unfiltered joy. “You promised you’d be the first to celebrate with me. Come on, up, up!” Seraphina sighed not sharply, not loudly but with the weary exhale of someone who rarely allowed herself rest. Still, a faint smile tugged at her lips as she pushed herself upright, the early morning light spilling through the lace curtains and brushing her hair with a muted, golden glow that softened her otherwise composed features. She rubbed her eyes slowly, deliberately, pushing strands of dark silk away from her face as though preparing herself for the day ahead. Beneath that controlled exterior sat the familiar heaviness in her chest the constant weight of her family’s decline, the unspoken sacrifices she carried without complaint. Yet as she looked at her sister, that weight eased, just enough. Seraphina’s gaze softened, though something guarded remained behind it. “Happy birthday, Elara,” she whispered, pulling her into her arms with measured tenderness. Elara squealed and hugged her tightly, burying her face against Seraphina’s neck, clinging with the kind of trust Seraphina both cherished and feared. “You remembered,” Elara said, her voice muffled, as though the thought itself surprised her. “Of course I did.” Seraphina kissed her forehead gently, the gesture practiced yet sincere. “How could I forget the day the world was blessed with its brightest star?” Elara giggled again, radiant. “You’re too sweet. Now get dressed! I want us to go shopping later. Just us. Please?” Seraphina chuckled softly, though the sound carried restraint rather than abandon. Warmth stirred in her chest, briefly eclipsing the ache she kept buried. “All right, all right. I’ll spoil you today,” she said, eyes narrowing playfully. “But only today.” As Elara dashed out of the room, humming with excitement and leaving chaos in her wake, Seraphina lingered by the window. She drew back the curtain and stared at the waking city beyond the glass a city indifferent to innocence, where power dictated survival and sacrifices were traded like currency. Her smile faded, just for a moment. A shadow crossed her eyes, fleeting but deep, revealing the steel beneath the softness the part of her that watched, calculated, endured. Then she exhaled, slow and steady, schooling her features back into calm gentleness. For Elara, she would always be light. Even if, deep inside, her own flame burned quietly toward ash. ------- RUTHERFORD IMPERIUM & CO, BOARDROOM. The boardroom was silent. Not out of respect, but out of fear. Every executive in the room sat stiff, their hands folded, eyes fixed on the man at the head of the long polished table. Kieran Rutherford didn’t need to raise his voice to command silence. He only had to exist. Tall, sharp, immaculately dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, he leaned back in his chair with the patience of a man who had already won the game before it began. His dark eyes scanned the charts on the projector screen, then flicked once toward the trembling manager who had just presented quarterly losses. “Unacceptable,” Kieran said finally. His voice was smooth, low a blade wrapped in velvet. The manager swallowed. “S...sir, there were unforeseen...” Kieran lifted a hand, just barely. The man fell silent as though his throat had been cut. “This company does not run on excuses,” Kieran continued, rising to his feet. The room seemed to shrink when he stood, his presence filling every corner. “It runs on results. And if you can’t deliver them, I will find someone who can.” He closed the file in front of him with a quiet snap that echoed louder than a slammed door. Then, adjusting his cufflinks with surgical precision, he turned to the rest of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, our competitors are waiting for us to bleed. I don’t intend to give them the satisfaction. From today, there will be no errors. No delays. No second chances. Am I understood?” “Yes, President Rutherford,” came the unified reply. Kieran gave a small, cold smile not of joy, but of acknowledgment. He thrived in this, the weight of power pressing down on everyone else but fitting him like a second skin. As the meeting adjourned, the room emptied with obedient efficiency. Leather chairs slid back, documents were gathered, voices lowered. Power dispersed—but only because it had already settled. Zarek was the first to reach him. “Boss,” he said quietly, leaning in, “your brother has landed. He’s back in the country.” Kieran Rutherford did not look up immediately.He fastened his watch instead slow, deliberate the click of the clasp sounding final, like armor locking into place. Only then did his gaze lift. There was no surprise in his eyes. No tension. No relief. Only calculation. “Then let him come,” Kieran said evenly. “He’ll learn soon enough that this city only has room for one Rutherford at the top.” Zarek smiled faintly. “Isn’t it strange?” Kieran added, finally facing him. “His arrival coincides perfectly with my departure.” Their eyes met. Both smirked. “With what I know of Zephyr,” Zarek said, amused, “he’ll lose his mind when he realizes you didn’t bother to welcome him.” Kieran said nothing. Silence was his answer. And silence, from him, was always deliberate. ------ RUTHERFORD ESTATE, MAIN VILLA. Zephyr’s car halted as the security pushed open the massive iron gates of the Rutherford estate, the metal groaning as though resisting his return. The vehicle slowed to a deliberate stop, engine humming with restrained power, as though even the machine sensed the weight of the moment. The windows rolled down. Zephyr removed his glasses slowly, almost ceremoniously, and stared out at the familiar grounds. His gaze was sharp, malicious, cutting through the manicured hedges and towering walls like a blade returning to its sheath. His eyes lifted to the crest engraved boldly at the gates. “RF.” His lips curved faintly as he studied the letters, his eyes capturing their every line, every curve, every memory carved into them. “This means Rutherford,” he said aloud, voice low, taunting. He smirked, one hand leaning lazily against the car door as he turned to the side mirror, staring not at his reflection but at the symbol behind him. “Everything is still the same.” He ruffled his hair, a slow exhale leaving him as something darker settled in his expression. “But Zephyr Rutherford isn’t the same.” The glasses slid back onto his face, hiding the storm brewing behind his eyes. His jaw hardened. “Drive,” he ordered. The car rolled forward. Moments later, Zephyr pushed open the towering doors of the renowned Rutherford mansion. The doors gave way under his hands, heavy wood yielding to his force as though the house itself recognized him. His face was set, strong, unreadable carved from restraint and quiet fury. His black leather boots stepped onto the marble floor of the living room. One step. Then another. The sound echoed slow, deliberate, unhurried each footfall announcing more than his presence. It announced return. Seven years away, and yet the ground still knew his weight. His legs spread slightly as he came to a halt, standing tall, defensive, unapologetic, like a conqueror reclaiming lost territory. Behind him, the doors remained wide open. The sun stood at his back, its harsh reflection swallowing his features in shadow, casting his body into a dark silhouette. An ominous aura radiated from him, heavy and suffocating, as though the house itself held its breath. “Brace yourselves, Rutherfords,” Zephyr declared, his voice ringing through the halls like a challenge. “Zephyr is back.” The servants froze, then bowed immediately, heads lowered in practiced submission. Zephyr smirked, his gaze roaming the vast villa — the chandeliers, the staircases, the walls heavy with legacy. “No family member in sight,” he scoffed softly. “Amazing.” Outside, thunder roared. The sky darkened as though responding to his presence. Clouds gathered thickly, murmuring among themselves, the air shifting, whispering of unrest. Lightning flashed sharp, violent as if even the heavens dreaded his return. Rumi stepped forward, her heels clicking lightly against the marble. “Even the weather can’t seem to keep quiet about your return, Zephyr,” she said calmly. “I wonder what troubles you’ve brought with you now.” She closed the distance between them and smiled, warmth reaching for him despite the tension thick in the air. “Welcome home, son.” She wrapped her arms around him. Zephyr returned the hug, bending slightly due to his height. For a brief moment, his eyes softened distant, yearning starved for his mother’s affection in a way he would never admit. She tapped his back slowly before pulling away, gathering herself. “How was your journey? I hope the flight attendants didn’t bother you. And what about your stay there?” Zephyr took her hands gently, grounding her restless energy. “Mom, calm down.” His voice softened just enough to pacify. “When you didn’t ask me these things in the past, why question me now?” Rumi stared at him, momentarily confused. “No, I mean… you were busy before, and you’ve just returned. We can do the questioning later, right?” She smiled and lightly slapped his shoulder. “You’re still as funny as ever.” “Come in,” she urged, guiding him further inside. “I made sure to prepare your favorite meal.” Zephyr walked slowly, eyes scanning every corner. “Where’s Dad? And the rest of the family?” “Oh, your father went for an important meeting,” Rumi replied. “He’ll be back soon. Everyone’s busy with their lives. I’m sure by dinner, everyone will be gathered.” Zephyr smirked faintly. “Am I that unimportant to them?” His tone sharpened. “Especially your husband that he couldn’t wait for my return before leaving?” “Don’t be like that,” Rumi said gently. “I tried to convince your father, but he insisted. After hearing his side, I understood it was important for him to go.” She chose her words carefully, too carefully. Zephyr tilted his head slightly. “Mom, do you really have to choose your words when speaking to me?” His voice lowered. “Remember, I’m your son. Your Zephyr.” Rumi’s smile faltered, then returned practiced. “Still relentless, huh?” She rested a hand on his shoulder, her eyes darting toward the dining room. “I prepared all your favorites today. In fact, I made a feast just the way you like it. All for you.” She turned to face him fully. “Dinner or shower which would you prefer?” “I’ll shower first,” Zephyr replied casually. “As for dinner, I’ll have it when everyone’s around.” “Okay.” She glanced at her watch. “There’s still some time. In about an hour, everyone should be gathered at the dining table.” She looked up at him. “I’ll set the table in the meantime. Go up to your room I’ve adorned it just the way you like. If there’s any problem, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” Zephyr nodded once. He took her hand and pressed a brief kiss to it. “Relax, Mom. Why are you so hyper around me?” She studied him the way his eyes scanned the house, the way his gaze searched without asking. She smiled knowingly. “Looking for your brother, aren’t you?” Zephyr turned sharply, his expression unreadable. “Don’t worry,” she continued. “He should be back anytime soon.” She turned to the maid standing nearby. “You take Zephyr’s suitcase upstairs. Make sure he’s settled properly.” “Yes, ma’am,” the maid replied quickly. Zephyr said nothing. His boots echoed again as he moved toward the staircase the house watching, waiting, remembering.