The rain had returned, a relentless drumming against the glass of the Thorne mansion that seemed to count the seconds of Seraphina's insomnia. She lay on her side of the massive bed, the distance between her and the sleeping silhouette of Alexander feeling like a vast, frozen tundra.
Her mind was trapped in the hospital room from earlier that day—her grandmother's fading pulse and the heavy weight of the promise Alexander had made to a dying woman.
At 2:00 AM, the vibration of her phone on the nightstand sounded like a gunshot in the silence. She expected the hospital; she expected the final call. Instead, the screen displayed a name that made her blood run cold: Jason.
She slipped out of bed, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet. She retreated to the en-suite bathroom, locking the door before answering.
"What do you want, Jason?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fury.
"I'm outside the estate gates, Sera," Jason's voice was high-pitched and manic, slurred by desperation. "I'm not leaving. I'll sit on this horn and scream your name until every neighbor and every tabloid reporter in the city is at your front door. Come to the gate. Now. Or I'll start a scene that will ruin your perfect marriage before sunrise!"
The threat of a public spectacle—one that would undoubtedly reach her grandmother's ears and break her fragile heart—was too dangerous to ignore. Seraphina stayed in her thin silk nightgown, moving with frantic, silent steps. She navigated the darkened hallways, slipping out of a side service door into the biting rain.
She ran toward the iron gates, her lungs burning. As she reached the perimeter, Jason was already out of his car, pacing like a caged animal.
Sera," he growled, his eyes bloodshot. Before she could speak, he reached through the iron bars and snagged her arm, his fingers digging into her skin with bruising force.
"Let go of me!" she hissed, struggling to pull away. "You're drunk, Jason. Go home!"
"I'm not going anywhere without you!" He yanked her harder against the bars, his breath smelling of stale whiskey. He reached his other hand through, trying to grab her waist to pull her closer to the iron. "You think you're a Thorne? You're mine. You've always been mine."
"I am a married woman! I am a Thorne!" Seraphina cried, twisting her arm desperately, her silk gown soaking through and clinging to her as she fought his grip. "The very sight of you makes me feel disgusted! Let me go!, If you don't leave right now, I'll let the world see you for the desperate, broken man you've become, especially your soon to be wife "his hand hovering over the steering wheel as if ready to strike.
"She told you to leave."
The voice didn't come from Seraphina. It came from the shadows behind her.
Alexander stepped into the dim light of the gate lamps. He wasn't holding an umbrella; the rain soaked his half-buttoned shirt, making him look like a dark, vengeful specter. He didn't look at Seraphina yet. His eyes were locked on Jason with a cold, predatory focus.
"Alexander—" Jason stammered, his hand dropping from the car horn as if it had turned to fire.
"You have ten seconds to vanish, Jason," Alexander said, his voice a low, lethal purr. "If your car is still on this street in eleven seconds, I will not call the police. I will call my legal team to begin the total acquisition of your father's firm. By noon tomorrow, you'll be penniless. By dinner, you'll be in a cell for trespassing and harassment. Choose."
The raw power in Alexander's voice broke Jason instantly. Without a single word of protest, Jason scrambled back into his car, the engine roaring to life as he sped away into the night, his tires screeching in terror.
Alexander turned, his gaze finally landing on Seraphina. He didn't speak. He simply grabbed her arm—his grip firm and absolute—and led her back toward the house. The walk through the rain was silent, the air between them vibrating with a tension more dangerous than the storm.
The moment the heavy oak doors of the mansion slammed shut, the warmth of the foyer felt stifling. Alexander didn't stop until they were back within the confines of the master suite. He locked the door behind them and turned, his wet shirt clinging to his frame, his eyes like polished flint.
"Explain yourself," he rasped. "Why would you meet a man like that at such an odd hour? Dressed in nothing but a nightgown, shivering in the rain like a common runaway?"
"He was going to scream! He was going to wake the neighbors, the press... my grandmother!" Seraphina cried, her body shaking from the cold and the adrenaline. "I was trying to stop a scandal before it started."
"And you thought you could handle a Thorne scandal on your own?" Alexander took a predatory step toward her, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "By sneaking out of my bed like a thief? Do you have any idea how this looks? A Thorne wife meeting her ex-fiancé in the dead of night? You think a 'scene' at the gate is worse than me finding my wife's side of the bed empty at two in the morning?"
"I was protecting the presentation! I was protecting the contract!"
"You were being a liability!" He stepped closer, closing the distance until she was backed against the vanity. He leaned down, his breath hot against her cold, rain-slicked skin, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Listen to me very carefully, Seraphina. I do not care what he threatens. I do not care what he screams. But I am telling you now—I never want to see you anywhere near that man again. If you so much as acknowledge his existence, or if you ever slip out of this house to meet him behind my back again, you will find out exactly how cold this 'facade' can get."
He straightened up, his gaze pinning her in place. "You are a Thorne now. Act like it. Stay in your bed, and let me deal with the trash at the gate."
He let go of her, leaving her trembling in the center of the room. As he walked toward the dressing room, the sound of his footsteps echoed like a closing cell door. Seraphina realized that in her attempt to silence Jason, she had finally forced Alexander to show her the true, iron-willed edge of the man she had married.