The aftermath of the midnight confrontation didn't result in a flurry of phone calls or frantic messages. Instead, it resulted in a suffocating, leaden stillness.
For days, Alexander and Seraphina existed in a state of icy detachment. They didn't speak of the rain, the gate, or the bruises Jason had left on her arm. They shared meals where the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock, and they shared a bed where they both lay perfectly still, staring at opposite walls, the air between them thick with things unsaid.
The tension finally snapped on Tuesday
morning. Seraphina found Alexander in his glass-walled study, his silhouette sharp against the morning light as he reviewed a stack of legal documents.
"I saw the news this morning," Seraphina said, leaning against the doorframe. Her voice was steady, but her eyes held a new, hardened spark. "My father's primary shipping partner pulled out of their contract overnight. You didn't just block his emails, Alexander. You're dismantling him."
Alexander didn't look up from his monitor. "I am fulfilling my promise to your grandmother. He attempted to use her health as leverage to demand an 'emergency bridge loan' from the Thorne treasury. I've made it clear that the Thorne name is no longer his safety net. If his business falls, it is because it was built on sand."
Seraphina let out a cold, sharp breath. "You've turned me into a wall he can't climb, and now you're starving him on the other side."
Alexander finally looked up, his gaze clinical and unyielding. "Your family sees you as a currency, Seraphina. I've simply devalued the exchange rate to zero. They will no longer use you to get to me."
"Then I need a life that doesn't involve being a buffer between two monsters," Seraphina said, stepping fully into the room. "I want to start working. Real work."
Alexander paused, setting his gold fountain pen down. He leaned back, his eyes searching hers with an unreadable intensity. "Working? You have every resource at your disposal here. If you are restless, you can oversee the charity gala for the hospital or redesign the estate gardens."
"I have a degree in Art History and three years of training in archival restoration," she countered. "I don't want to pick out flower arrangements, Alexander. I want to work in my field. I need to be something other than 'Mrs. Thorne' for eight hours a day."
Alexander's expression shifted. He considered this for a moment, his mind clearly running through the logistics. "Fine. If you want to work, I will arrange a position for you at the Thorne Foundation. You can head the archival wing. It's prestigious, it's secure, and I can personally ensure your safety."
"No," Seraphina said firmly.
Alexander's brow furrowed. "No? It's the most logical placement for your skill set."
"I am not working for you, Alexander," she said, her heart racing but her voice like iron. "I'm not stepping out of this house just to walk into your office building where every employee will bow to me because they're afraid of you. I won't be a decorative 'Director' under your shadow."
"Seraphina, be reasonable," Alexander's voice dropped an octave, a low warning. "The industry is small. Any firm that hires you will only do so to gain a favor from me. At least at my company, I can guarantee you aren't being exploited."
"I don't care," she challenged. "I've already reached out to the Sterling Gallery. They're an independent boutique firm. They don't care about the Thorne name; they care about my portfolio. I want to earn my own life, Alexander. I need to know that something in my world belongs to me—not to a contract."
The buzz of the security intercom broke their standoff. "Mr. Thorne, Mr. Lin is at the main gate. He's... he's extremely agitated. He's demanding to see his daughter."
Alexander's eyes flashed with a dark, lethal light. "I'll handle it."
"No," Seraphina said, her hand catching his forearm. Her touch was brief, but the heat of it lingered. "We'll deal with him together."
When they reached the iron gates, Seraphina's father was there, red-faced and shouting at the guards. He looked smaller than she remembered—shriveled by his own greed.
"Seraphina!" Silas roared when he saw them. "Alexander, tell your thugs to stand down! I need to talk to my daughter about the shipment funds!"
Alexander stepped forward, his presence casting a long, intimidating shadow over the iron bars. "Your daughter is not a revolving credit line, Silas. She has nothing for you."
Silas blinked, stunned. "Seraphina, stop this nonsense! Give me the money! We're blood!"
Seraphina looked at the man who had ignored her for years until she became a bargaining chip. "Blood is just a biological fact, Father. Loyalty is a choice. You made yours when you ignored me for years." She turned to Alexander, her voice clear and cold. "He's trespassing, Alexander. And I have an interview to prepare for."
Alexander looked at her, a rare, genuine smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—a look of pure, dark pride. He turned to the guards. "You heard her. Escort him off the property. If he returns, use whatever force is necessary."
As her father was led away, still screaming about ingratitude, Seraphina turned back toward the mansion.
"I'm going to that interview on Monday morning, Alexander," she said. "Don't try to buy the gallery. I'll know if you do."
Alexander watched her walk away, realizing the "known variable" was quickly becoming the only thing in his life he couldn't control