The silence of the Thorne mansion had begun to settle over Lyra like a layer of fine, suffocating dust. By the afternoon of her second day, the sheer scale of the estate felt less like a home and more like a sensory deprivation chamber. She had organized her studio to the point of obsession, shifting her old, splattered easels an inch to the left, then an inch back to the right, trying to drown out the oppressive stillness that seemed to radiate from the very stone walls. She was currently standing on a wooden stool, reaching for a high shelf to organize a row of Belgian linens, when the heavy, rhythmic toll of the front doorbell echoed through the house.
It wasn't the sharp, demanding ring of a delivery or the clinical, short buzz of a security check. It was a cheerful, melodic sound that seemed entirely out of place in a fortress of grey stone and cold glass.
Lyra climbed down, wiped her charcoal-stained hands on a rag, and moved toward the foyer. She expected to see Mrs. Holloway handling a mundane guest or a package, but instead, she found the massive front doors already swung wide by a footman, admitting a burst of golden afternoon sunlight and a woman who looked like she had been spun out of moonlight and expensive silk.
Aurelia Thorne didn't just walk into a room; she drifted into it, carrying an aura of effortless grace that Lyra found both mesmerizing and intimidating. She was slender and lithe, her natural black hair dyed a striking, ethereal silvery blonde that caught the light with every movement of her head. Her dark blue eyes, so similar to Elias's in color, yet entirely different in temperature, were wide with a genuine, sparkling curiosity. She was dressed in a pale lavender sun skirt and a chic, cream-colored blouse that made Lyra's own forest-green knit dress feel heavy, dull, and painfully practical.
"You must be Lyra," the girl said, her voice a soft, melodic contrast to Elias's low, commanding baritone. Before Lyra could even offer a formal greeting or find her voice, Aurelia had crossed the marble floor and taken Lyra's hands in hers. Her touch was warm, her grip firm but surprisingly gentle. "I'm Aurelia. Elias's sister. I know I'm early, Elias told the family we should wait at least a week to let you 'acclimatize,' as if you were a rare orchid he just moved to a new greenhouse, but I simply couldn't wait any longer to meet the woman who finally managed to pin him down. The mystery was killing me."
Lyra felt her walls go up instinctively, her muscles tensing. She was skeptical, her mind immediately cataloging this as another Thorne maneuver. Was this a test? Was Aurelia here to report back to Elias or their mother on her behavior? "It's nice to meet you, Aurelia," Lyra said, her voice guarded and polite. "Elias didn't mention you were coming today."
"Elias rarely mentions anything that isn't a quarterly projection, a hostile takeover, or a legal briefing," Aurelia laughed, a bright, silver sound that echoed off the cold, high walls of the foyer. She leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a playful, conspiratorial whisper. "And please, don't look at me like I'm a spy. I promise I'm the least terrifying person in this family. Even the twins, Adrian and Alistair, have more bite than I do, and they spend half their time falling off polo ponies or getting banned from clubs in the city."
Lyra found herself softening, despite her best efforts to remain detached. There was a refreshing lack of artifice in Aurelia's face that was disarming. "I was just in the studio," Lyra said, gesturing toward the long gallery. "Unpacking. Trying to make sense of the space."
"Oh, show me! Please!" Aurelia insisted, linking her arm through Lyra's as if they had been friends for years. "The family has been buzzing ever since the announcement. Mother showed me the official wedding photos this morning, the ones the press office released, and I was stunned. Elias looks... well, he looks like a man who actually has a pulse. The way he was looking at you in those shots, so focused and intense... I've seen him look at a billion-dollar merger with less passion. It was quite the scandal at breakfast, I assure you."
As they walked toward the studio, Lyra remained silent, her mind spinning. She remembered those photos being taken, the artificial closeness, the way Elias had gripped her waist just a little too tightly to ensure she didn't pull away. It was all a performance, one that apparently even his own sister had bought into.
In the studio, Aurelia wandered among the easels, her fingers trailing over the worn, paint-flecked wooden handles of Lyra's old brushes with genuine interest. She didn't look at the expensive Italian pigments or the pristine canvases Elias had bought; she drifted toward the half-finished, raw charcoal sketches Lyra had brought in the boxes from Queens.
"These are haunting, Lyra," Aurelia whispered, standing before a sketch of a winter tree, its branches skeletal and reaching toward a dark sky. "There's so much... tension in your lines. It's beautiful, but it feels like you're holding your breath while you paint. Like you're waiting for something to break."
Lyra felt a sudden, sharp pang of vulnerability. She wasn't used to people, especially someone with the Thorne name, seeing the raw emotion behind her work so clearly. "It's just a study of light and shadow," Lyra said quickly, trying to reclaim her professional distance.
"No, it's more than that," Aurelia replied, turning to look at her with an expression that was surprisingly wise. "I think you and Elias might have more in common than people realize. You both hide behind your work. He uses numbers and steel; you use charcoal and canvas. But the walls are the same height."
They spent the next few hours in a way Lyra hadn't expected. They migrated from the studio to the sunroom, a glass-walled space that overlooked the manicured gardens. Mrs. Holloway appeared with a silver tray of tea and delicate cucumber sandwiches, her eyes lingering on the two women with a hint of curiosity before she retreated.
Aurelia did most of the talking, her bright, bubbling nature slowly eroding Lyra's skepticism. She told stories of the twins' childhood pranks, like the time they dyed the fountain water purple before a gala, of her own struggles to find her place in a family that valued "legacy" above all else, and of her deep, protective love for her older brother.
"Elias wasn't always this... frozen," Aurelia said, stirring her tea with a delicate silver spoon. "When we were children, before the weight of the company was dropped on his shoulders, he was the one who taught me how to ride. He used to sneak me out of the house past our father's strict curfew just so we could see the stars from the roof of the old estate. He has a heart, Lyra. I promise you. It's just buried under layers of stone, duty, and the Thorne name."
Lyra looked away, her fingers tracing the rim of her porcelain cup. "He seems very committed to that duty. Sometimes it feels like that's all there is to him."
"He has to be," Aurelia sighed, her expression suddenly clouding with a shadow that looked remarkably like the one Elias wore when he thought no one was watching. "You have to understand the pressure he's under. Our father, Sebastian... he isn't an easy man to please. He doesn't give praise; he only gives demands. He views the Thorne name as a religion, and Elias is the high priest who has to perform the sacrifices."
Lyra leaned in, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. "Worse how? I mean, he's the CEO. He has the power."
Aurelia bit her lip, as if realizing she was stepping into territory she shouldn't. But the afternoon had created a strange bridge of confidence between them, and the words tumbled out, fueled by a sister's frustration. "Father is obsessed with the transition of power. Lately, he's been threatening to restructure the entire board, to pull back Elias's authority and put more pressure on the younger branches of the company if Elias doesn't show a 'stable and traditional' family front. He wants the lineage secured. He wants a legacy that looks perfect on paper."
She paused, her eyes widening as she realized what she had implied about the timing of the marriage. "I mean, he's clearly taken with you! But the pressure from Sebastian is real, Lyra. It's a weight that would crush a lesser man. Elias carries all of it so the rest of us don't have to, so the twins can play, and I can be 'Aurelia.' He takes the hits from Father so we stay safe in the shadows. He's the shield for the entire family."
Lyra felt a strange, cold sensation in her chest. So, the "Artemis Miracle" wasn't just a way to save her family; it was a strategic shield for Elias against his own father. It was a play for stability in a house that treated people like assets. Elias was saving her, yes, but he was also using her to save his own position from a father who sounded more like a tyrant than a parent.
"I didn't realize things were so... complicated with his father," Lyra said softly, thinking of her own father, Lucian, and the gentle way he had encouraged her art.
"Everything with Sebastian is a negotiation," Aurelia said, her voice dropping an octave, losing its bubbly edge. "He doesn't see people; he sees potential or liability. I think... I think he actually scares Elias, though Elias would never admit it to anyone. My brother spends every waking hour trying to be the man Father demands, just to keep the peace for the rest of us."
They sat in silence for a long moment, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, golden fingers across the sunroom floor. The bright, bubbly girl was back a moment later, shaking off the heavy mood with a practiced ease that suggested she was used to masking the family's darkness.
"Oh, look at the time! Margot will have my head if I'm late for dinner at the main house. She's very particular about the seating chart tonight," Aurelia said, jumping up and smoothing her lavender skirt. She turned back to Lyra and, without hesitation, pulled her into a sudden, warm embrace.
This time, Lyra didn't stiffen. She let herself feel the genuine affection in the girl's hug, a rare moment of human warmth in a house made of marble.
"Thank you for today, Lyra," Aurelia whispered near her ear. "I think you're exactly what this house needs. Some actual color in all this grey. I'll come back soon, maybe we can sneak away into the city? I know all the best galleries that don't have the 'Thorne' name on the donor wall."
"I'd like that," Lyra said, and to her own surprise, she truly meant it.
She stood at the massive front door and watched as Aurelia's white convertible zipped down the cobblestone driveway, a splash of lightness against the darkening oaks. As the iron gates groaned shut with their usual finality, Lyra turned back into the silent foyer.
The house felt different now. The shadows didn't just feel cold; they felt heavy with the secrets Aurelia had unknowingly shared. She thought of Elias at his desk in the city, working through the night, carrying the weight of a father's disapproval and a family's safety on his back.
He had bought her life to save her brother, but according to Aurelia, he had also bought her presence to save his own standing in the Thorne hierarchy. They were both prisoners of the same legacy, just in different ways.
As Lyra climbed the grand stairs toward her room, she felt the first crack in the ice she had built around her heart. It wasn't love, it was far from it, but it was a terrifying thing called understanding. And in a house built on secrets, understanding was the most dangerous emotion of all.