Chapter one

The Architect of Destruction

The scent of damp earth and blooming jasmine usually centered Vivian. Not today. Today, the salt air carried the metallic tang of stress and diesel fumes.

Vivian Holloway wiped a smear of dirt from her cheek and stared at the towering, dark-suited figure who had just parked a sleek, black vehicle—a machine that looked offensively out of place—on the curb outside her modest nursery and landscape studio, The Green Foundation.

She recognized him instantly. Even after ten years, even draped in a bespoke suit tailored to emphasize the powerful breadth of his shoulders, Elias Thorne was unmistakable.

He was the ghost of her most passionate summer and the father of her son.

Vivian gripped the handle of her trowel so tightly her knuckles whitened. “You’re late, Mr. Thorne.”

Elias didn’t flinch at the cool reception. He looked exactly like the man she’d tried to forget: sharp jawline, eyes the color of old scotch, and a devastating intensity that could strip the paint off a wall. He didn’t look like a man who spent his days cultivating roses, but rather one who conquered cities.

“My apologies, Ms. Holloway,” his voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated with a confidence learned in boardrooms, not gardens. “My schedule is dictated by deadlines. I prioritize efficiency.”

Vivian dropped the trowel into a pot of lavender. "My schedule is dictated by the sun and soil. I prioritize life. And I told your representative I am not selling my land to Thorne Global."

A flicker of annoyance—or was it pain?—crossed his face. "I'm not here to negotiate land, Vivian. I’m here to finalize the design contract for the Thorne Coastline Development. And I'm not leaving until that contract is signed."

Vivian knew exactly what the contract meant. He was not just tearing down the historic park next door to build his luxury high-rises; he was tearing down the safety she’d built for herself and her son. She'd reluctantly agreed to meet him only to tell him face-to-face that she was walking away from the lucrative bid.

"Then you’ll be here a while," she said, crossing her arms. "I won’t work on this project, Elias. The Thorne Development is a wrecking ball, and I don't supply the flowers for the victims."

He took a step closer, reducing the professional space between them to something dangerously intimate. "Wrecking balls sometimes clear the way for something better. You used to believe that."

The implied judgment of the girl she was ten years ago—the girl he abandoned—stung her. "The girl I was is gone," she whispered, her voice tight. "She learned the hard way that promises from men like you are just collateral damage."

Before Elias could reply, the door to the studio burst open.

A whirlwind of energy and sun-kissed hair materialized in the doorway, clutching a battered soccer ball. “Mom, Mrs. Henderson needs the keys, and who is this guy? He has the same grumpy forehead lines as Uncle Mark when he’s late for dinner.”

Vivian’s blood ran cold. The boy tilted his chin up, his gaze direct and curious. He had her nose, her slightly scuffed jeans, and her love for terrible observations. But his eyes—those striking, intense, whiskey-colored eyes—were a perfect, unmistakable replica of the man standing before them.

Elias’s calculated CEO mask fractured. His breath hitched audibly, his focus locking entirely on the boy. He didn't look at Vivian. He looked at his son, the proof of his ten years of absence, and the truth hit him with the force of a tidal wave.

“Leo, honey, this is… this is Mr. Thorne. Mr. Thorne, this is my son.” Vivian forced the introduction out, her voice barely steady.

Elias remained motionless, his mouth slightly open, the carefully controlled world of Thorne Global collapsing around him. "Leo," he finally breathed out, the name tasting foreign and profound on his tongue.

The boy grinned, unaware of the tectonic shift happening on the gravel drive. “Hi! Are you a superhero or just rich? You look like both.”

Elias didn't answer. He simply stared, the horror, realization, and sudden, fierce possessiveness of fatherhood washing over his face.

“Your son?” he finally demanded, his eyes—identical to Leo’s—snapping up to meet Vivian’s, now burning with raw accusation. "You had my child, and you never told me?" Summarize to 200 words