Chapter 5: The Heir-Producing Mandate

The destruction of the burner phone was a relief, but the silence it left behind was deafening. I was officially cut off, completely dependent on the single, unauthorized shell script I'd managed to install. I could only hope the encrypted message to Mia hadn't been flagged by Julian’s security team.

I returned to the master suite after dinner, the blue gown feeling like a costume I was desperate to shed. I was exhausted, not from the event, but from the constant, agonizing performance required to maintain the lie.

I found a note placed neatly on my pillow:

> I require your presence in my suite at midnight. The mandate continues.

> —J.T.

>

My breath hitched. The mandate. That cold, clinical reference to Rule Four—the heir-producing requirement. I had known this was coming, yet the bluntness of the note was a shock. It wasn't an invitation; it was a summons.

I looked at the clock. It was 11:30 PM. I had thirty minutes to compose myself, to bury the memory of the mistake we’d made years ago, and prepare to face the man who now legally owned my body and held my son’s future in his hand.

I stripped off the gown, my movements slow. I wasn’t Eveyln Reed, the struggling single mother, or the genius hacker 'Phantom.' I was Mrs. Thorne, the commodity.

I chose a simple silk slip, pulling my hair into a loose, unstudied knot. My strategy was to be utterly compliant yet emotionally impenetrable. I couldn't afford to let him see the fear, or worse, the residual spark of chemistry that the simple pressure of his hand on my arm could ignite.

At precisely midnight, I walked to the south end of the penthouse. Julian’s suite was predictably imposing—dark woods, subtle lighting, and another expansive view of the city he dominated.

I knocked once, my knuckles barely brushing the oak door.

“Enter.”

Julian was standing by the window, his back to me, the city lights reflecting off the sheer power in his stance. He’d swapped the black shirt for a dark silk robe, tied loosely at the waist. His chest was wide, powerful, and utterly distracting.

He didn't turn. “Close the door, Evelyn.”

I did as commanded, the sound of the latch clicking into place sounding like the final lock on my cage.

“I find,” Julian stated, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that was infinitely more dangerous than his boardroom tone, “that unnecessary formalities waste time. The acquisition of Sinclair is scheduled for the week after next. I want the announcement of my marital bliss to be... credible.”

Marital bliss. I almost scoffed. This wasn't bliss; it was biological calculation.

He finally turned, his granite eyes sweeping over the silk slip, lingering on my throat and then my lips. The coldness was still there, but it was overlaid with a potent, hungry heat that made my skin prickle.

“Come here,” he ordered.

I walked the distance—a stretch of Persian rug that felt like a mile—until I was standing directly in front of him. I kept my chin up, refusing to let him see the quiver in my knees.

“This is simply business, Julian,” I forced myself to say, using his first name for the first time outside of my own desperate thoughts. “We can proceed without... undue emotion.”

He smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that was far more unnerving than his anger. “Emotion is a weakness I learned to excise, Evelyn. But satisfaction is often necessary for productivity.”

He reached out, his hand circling my waist and pulling me flush against his hard, warm body. The scent of his cologne and his own warm skin flooded my senses, momentarily overwhelming the sterile elegance of the room.

The physical contact was an immediate, brutal shock. This was the man who had given me Lucas. This was the intensity that I had spent six years trying to forget.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, his voice dark with challenge.

“I am simply aware of the terms of the contract,” I lied smoothly, meeting his gaze.

His grip tightened, possessive and dominating. “Good. Because as of this moment, every part of you belongs to me. Your time, your attention, and now, your body. You will perform, Evelyn. You will give me the heir this company requires.”

He lowered his head, his eyes closing the distance between us. I braced myself, ready for the assault of a contractual kiss—something clinical and demanding.

But it wasn’t.

His mouth found mine, and the kiss was unexpected: demanding, yes, but also filled with a deep, frustrated heat that had nothing to do with corporate planning. It was a search, a possessive reclamation. He didn't just kiss me; he consumed the air from my lungs, pushing me back until my shoulders hit the cold, glass wall.

My hands instinctively went to his chest, meant to push, but they stayed, gripping the silk of his robe. He tasted like scotch and something primal—the raw, unrefined power of a man who rarely had to ask twice.

The ghost of the one night we shared, the night that created my son, flared up, mixing the past with the terrifying present. I hated him for the contract, but I couldn’t deny the chemical reaction that had always existed between us.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily, his dark eyes blazing down into mine.

“You will forget the contract, Evelyn,” he commanded, his voice raw. “You will forget the money. When you are with me, you will only remember one thing.”

He lowered his head to my neck, his lips grazing my pulse point, sending shivers down my spine.

“You are mine.”

Just as my control threatened to shatter, the sudden, shrill buzz of his corporate line sliced through the tension.

Julian cursed, a low, savage sound. He pulled back, his face instantly hardening into the detached CEO mask. He glared at the phone on his bedside table as if it were a direct enemy.

“Sinclair is calling,” he ground out, already grabbing the phone. “They wouldn’t dare unless it’s an emergency. Wait here.”

He moved to the small sitting area across the room, leaving me leaning against the cool glass, gasping for air and trying to regain my composure. The sudden intrusion was a reprieve, a desperate breath in my underwater descent.

As he spoke in low, serious tones about a hostile takeover complication, my focus shifted. I saw the flash of the time on his tablet: 12:15 AM.

12:15 AM. This was the exact time the security protocols for the penthouse network ran its routine maintenance. And that maintenance would briefly disable the monitoring on his secondary terminals.

Julian had forgotten about me; he was consumed by his empire. This was the moment.

I slipped out of his suite, silent as a shadow. I didn't go to my room. I went straight to Julian’s private office—the one I had briefly hacked hours before. I couldn't risk the shell script on my destroyed phone, but I could still access his terminal.

I sat at his desk, heart pounding. My hands were steady now, driven not by fear but by the cold, clear focus of the hacker. If I couldn’t check on Lucas, I needed to secure the next step of my plan.

Julian was distracted; his empire was momentarily vulnerable.

I connected to the main firewall. I wasn't looking to breach it, only to monitor the outgoing security logs. I needed to know if my previous message to Mia had triggered any alarms that Julian would see in the morning.

I scrolled through the encrypted data streams, my eyes flying over the complex code. Nothing. My script had held.

Then, I noticed a strange, subtle spike of unauthorized activity four hours ago. Not an external threat, but an internal breach—a single, fleeting access to an old, archived employee database.

It wasn't me.

Someone else had breached the Thorne network tonight. And that someone was looking for information on a former employee.

I zoomed in on the IP address, running a reverse trace. The address led to a highly encrypted private server in Geneva—the kind used by hostile corporate rivals or powerful enemies.

This was more than corporate espionage; this was a war, and Julian was unknowingly fighting on two fronts. But who was the target?

I found the query: a simple, devastating search entry.

Search: Evelyn Reed. Employment History: 2017-2018.

The blood drained from my face. 2018 was the year Lucas was born. The year I suddenly resigned and vanished.

It wasn't Julian's team searching for the hacker. His rival was searching for the true identity of his new wife.

And they were close. Closer than Julian. Closer than anyone could know.

I deleted my terminal history, logged out, and slipped silently back toward Julian's suite. The adrenaline was a toxic rush. I was trapped in a marriage based on a lie, and now a dangerous third party was about to expose the truth—not just about the heir, but about the very foundations of Julian's empire.

I paused outside his door, listening to his harsh, commanding voice on the phone. Julian Thorne had powerful enemies. And by marrying him, I had just put my secret son directly in the crosshairs.

I went back to his room, composed, silent, and terrified. Julian looked up from his call, his expression grim.

"The deal is unstable," he stated, hanging up. His corporate mask was firmly back in place. "The enemy is moving faster than anticipated. We must accelerate the timetable."

He reached for me, the previous heat in his eyes now mixed with ruthless necessity.

"The heir, Evelyn. We must focus on the mandate now."

He pulled me into his arms, and this time, the kiss was not passion; it was a desperate, urgent move of a man who needed control. I clung to him, not from desire, but from the sudden, terrifying realization that my enemy was the only shield I had left to protect my son.

Hook Question: Julian's rival is closing in on Evelyn's past. Will Evelyn use her hacker skills to protect herself and Lucas, or will she risk telling Julian the truth about the surveillance and their son?