Chapter 5

William Vance

The door clicked shut, the sound echoing through the silence of my study. I didn't move. I stayed by the window, watching the reflection of the empty room in the glass until the tension in my shoulders finally began to thaw.

My hand was still warm where I had brushed the hair from his forehead.

I looked down at my fingers, then tightened them into a fist. This was supposed to be a standard integration. I had mapped out the Thorne merger with the same precision I used for the Midtown skyscraper project: stabilize the assets, secure the inheritance, and manage the human variables.

But Elias Thorne wasn't a variable. He was an anomaly.

I picked up my glass, the scotch tasting like ash. I had told him he was an "interesting project," but that was a lie of omission.

The truth was, his eyes—that burning, unfiltered hatred—were the only thing in this house that felt alive. Every time I provoked him, every time I tightened the leash, I wasn't just checking his stability. I was testing my own.

I turned back to my desk, the glow of the lamp illuminating the "Stability Clause" on the screen. It was a perfect legal document. It was airtight.

And for the first time in my career, I found myself hoping he’d find a way to break it.

"Seven o'clock, William," I muttered to the empty room, my voice sounding foreign even to me. "Keep the mask on."

I reached for my tie, draped over the leather chair. I had built my work out of stone and steel, and I had just invited a wildfire to live inside it. I knew the risks of combustion. I knew what happened when heat met a closed system.

But as I straightened my collar in the mirror, I realized I wasn't afraid of the fire. I was afraid of how much I wanted to feel the burn.

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The dining room table was a twenty-foot expanse of polished obsidian, reflecting the flickering candlelight like a dark, still lake.

To anyone else, this was a celebration of a union. To me, it was a structural stress test.

I watched Claire from across the table. She was perfect: poised, articulate, and completely aware of her environment. She understood the language of power. But my attention kept drifting to the empty chair on my right.

Elias.

My pulse, usually steady, spiked as I heard the heavy thud of footsteps on the staircase. I didn't turn my head. I didn't need to.

I could feel the temperature in the room drop as he entered. He was wearing the navy suit I’d requested, but he’d styled it with a defiance that was almost physical—the top button undone, the pocket square missing, his hair a mess of intentional chaos.

"You’re four minutes late," I said, my voice cutting through the soft clink of Claire’s silverware.

Elias pulled out the chair with a jarring screech against the marble floor. "I had to decide which suit looked more like a cage. This one won by a landslide."

He sat down, and the scent of him,something raw and youthful settled over me.

I finally looked at him. His eyes were rimmed with a faint redness, a lingering ghost of his grief, but his jaw was set with a hardness that I respected.

"Eat, Elias," Claire said, her tone a warning. "The photographers will be here at eight. I won't have you looking gaunt because you’re throwing a silent tantrum."

"I'm not throwing a tantrum, Mother," Elias replied, his gaze fixed solely on me. "I’m just trying to figure out if William actually enjoys the taste of the lives he consumes, or if it’s just a nutritional requirement for his ego."

I set my wine glass down. The amber liquid swirled, mirroring the agitation I was suppressing. "I consume only what is necessary to ensure the longevity of the firm, Elias. If that includes a few uncomfortable dinners, then so be it."

"And what about me?" Elias leaned forward, his shadow stretching across the table toward mine. "Am I a necessary consumption?"

The air between us felt thick with a sudden, dangerous electricity. I saw the way his pulse hammered in the hollow of his throat—the same spot my thumb had occupied just an hour ago. I felt a surge of something that wasn't power and wasn't anger. It was a hunger for the friction he provided. In a world of glass and steel, he was the only thing that could actually burn me.

"You’re the legacy," I said, my voice dropping to a low, clinical rasp. "And I don't let legacies go to waste. After dinner, we’ll move to the library for the portraits. Try to look like you’ve been welcomed into this family, rather than kidnapped by it."

"The line between the two is getting pretty blurry, don't you think?" Elias spat.

Claire cleared her throat, her patience finally fraying. "Enough. William, Barret mentioned the press release for the Thorne merger needs your final signature. Can we focus on the future for one night?"

"The future is exactly what I’m focusing on, Claire," I murmured, though I never broke eye contact with her son.

Dinner was a mixture of polite conversation and jagged silence. Every time Elias reached for his water, every time his cufflink clinked against the glass, I felt it like a touch.

When the clock struck eight, the household staff began ushering in the media team.

The quiet of the house was replaced by the artificial hum of equipment and the sharp, white flashes of test bulbs.

I stood in the foyer, adjusting my cuffs. I saw Elias standing by the window, staring out at the dark driveway. He looked fragile in that moment, the navy silk of his suit draped over shoulders that looked too heavy with the weight of the world.

I walked over to him. The photographers were busy setting up the backdrop in the ballroom, and for a few seconds, we were alone in the shadow of the grand staircase.

"Elias."

He didn't turn. "Don't. Just... don't."

I stepped into his space, forcing him to acknowledge me. The height difference between us usually acted as a barrier, but tonight, it felt like a bridge. I reached out, and for the first time without the excuse of a suit lapel, I placed my hand on the small of his back.

He stiffened, a sharp intake of breath hitching in his chest. "Get your hand off me."

"The photographers need to see a united front," I lied, my voice dropping.

"If you look like you're pulling away, they’ll smell the blood in the water. Is that what you want? To give the tabloids the satisfaction of seeing the Thorne name look weak?"

He finally turned, his face inches from mine. His eyes were wide, dark, and filled with a frantic kind of energy. "You don't care about my name. You just care about the optics."

"I care about the structure," I reminded, my hand sliding slightly higher, feeling the heat radiating through his shirt. "And right now, you’re the most vital part of it. Now, walk in there, stand beside me, and act like you belong to this house. Because you do, Elias. Body and soul."

He didn't pull away. He didn't even blink. He just stared at me with a look that was half-hate and half-something far more terrifying.

He didn't reply.

I led him into the ballroom, my hand never leaving his back. As we stepped into the blinding light of the flashes, I felt him lean, just a fraction of an inch, into my touch.

Everyone who would look at the picture would see how I smiled for the cameras. No one would know the real reason behind my smile