Chapter 5: The Glass House**

The laptop screen glowed in the dark room, casting a pale blue light on my face. It was 2:00 AM. The penthouse was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant wail of a siren far below.

I rubbed my tired eyes. I had been scrolling through news articles, financial reports, and gossip blogs for hours. My head throbbed, but I couldn’t stop. Information was power. And right now, I had none.

*Thorne Industries.* The name appeared everywhere. Real estate. Tech. Media. Pharmaceuticals. They owned half the city. Damian wasn’t just rich; he was untouchable.

But every empire has cracks.

I clicked on an article from three years ago. *“Thorne Industries Faces SEC Investigation.”* It was old news, buried under newer scandals. The investigation had been dropped quietly. No charges filed. But the article mentioned a key witness who had disappeared before testifying.

A man named Arthur Vance.

My father.

My breath hitched. I scrolled down, my heart pounding against my ribs. The article didn’t name him directly, calling him only “a former mid-level accountant.” But the dates matched. The department matched.

Had my father’s gambling debt been a coincidence? Or had Damian’s family used his weakness to silence him? To keep him quiet about whatever he had seen?

A cold knot formed in my stomach. If that was true, then this marriage wasn’t just about revenge. It was about control. Damian hadn’t just bought my loyalty; he had bought my silence.

I closed the laptop abruptly. The screen went black, reflecting my own terrified face.

I couldn’t think about that tonight. If I started pulling at that thread, the whole sweater might unravel. And I wasn’t ready to see what was underneath.

I stood up and walked to the window. The city lights twinkled like stars, indifferent to my turmoil. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.

*Survive,* I told myself. *Just survive.*

***

The next morning, the sun was bright. Too bright. It felt mocking after the darkness of my thoughts.

I woke up late. My alarm hadn’t gone off. Panic spiked in my chest as I checked the time. 9:30 AM.

Damian had left for work hours ago.

I rushed out of bed, throwing on the first clothes I could find—jeans and a simple white blouse. I ran to the kitchen, expecting to find another cold note.

Instead, I found breakfast.

Pancakes. Bacon. Fresh fruit. A pot of coffee.

And a note.

*“Eat. You look thin. – D”*

I stared at the note. My hands trembled slightly. Was this a trick? A peace offering? Or just another way to assert control?

I sat down and ate. The food was warm. Delicious. For a moment, I allowed myself to pretend. To pretend that I was a normal wife, waking up to a husband who cared.

But the illusion shattered when my phone rang.

It was Victoria Sterling.

I stared at the name on the screen. Why was she calling me?

I answered cautiously. “Hello?”

“Elara,” her voice was sweet. Too sweet. Like poisoned honey. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“What do you want, Victoria?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said. “For yesterday. I was… out of line. I was jealous. Stupid, really.”

I frowned. Victoria Sterling didn’t apologize. She attacked.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Apology accepted.”

“Good,” she purred. “Because I have a proposition for you. Meet me for lunch. Today. At The Ivy. One o’clock. Just us girls.”

“I don’t think—”

“Oh, come on, Elara,” she interrupted. “Don’t be shy. We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other. Damian and I go way back. I know things about him. Things you might want to know. Like why he really married you.”

My grip on the phone tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Meet me,” she said. “And I’ll tell you everything. Including where your father’s money really went.”

She hung up.

I sat there, stunned. The pancakes turned to ash in my mouth.

Was it a trap? Probably. Did I care? Yes. Because if there was even a chance she knew something about my father’s involvement with Thorne Industries, I had to know.

***

The Ivy was exclusive. Expensive. Filled with people who looked like they had never worked a day in their lives.

I arrived at 12:55 PM, wearing the emerald dress from last night’s party. It was the only thing I owned that fit the venue. I felt exposed. Vulnerable.

Victoria was already there, sitting at a corner table. She wore a white suit that screamed wealth. She smiled when she saw me, but her eyes were sharp.

“Elara! You look lovely,” she said, standing up to hug me. It was a stiff, awkward embrace.

“Thanks,” I said, sitting down. “You said you had information.”

Victoria signaled the waiter. “Champagne. Two glasses.”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” I said. “What do you know?”

Victoria leaned in, lowering her voice. “You think Damian married you for revenge, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

She laughed softly. “Oh, sweetheart. Revenge is part of it. But it’s not the whole story.”

She took a sip of her champagne. “Damian’s board is restless. They think he’s too aggressive. Too unpredictable. They’ve been looking for a reason to replace him. A scandal. A weakness.”

She paused, letting the words sink in.

“Marrying you was a masterstroke. It made him look stable. Committed. Human. It silenced the board. At least for now.”

“So I’m a PR stunt,” I said, my voice flat.

“You’re a shield,” Victoria corrected. “And shields get battered. Broken. Discarded when they’re no longer useful.”

“And my father?” I asked. “What does he have to do with it?”

Victoria’s expression softened, almost pityingly. “Your father didn’t steal from Thorne Industries, Elara. He was framed.”

My blood ran cold. “What?”

“Damian’s uncle, Julian Thorne, has been trying to take over the company for years. He needed leverage against Damian’s father. So he planted evidence in your father’s accounts. Made it look like embezzlement. Your father took the fall to protect himself from prison. But Julian kept the money.”

I shook my head. “No. That’s… that’s insane. Why would Damian marry me if his uncle did it?”

“Because Damian doesn’t know,” Victoria said. “Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s using you to get close to Julian. To find the proof.”

She reached across the table and touched my hand. Her fingers were ice cold.

“Be careful, Elara. You’re not just playing house with a broken heart. You’re walking into a war zone. And Julian Thorne doesn’t play fair.”

Before I could respond, a shadow fell over the table.

“Victoria,” a deep voice said. “I didn’t realize you were friends with my wife.”

I looked up. Damian was standing there. His face was unreadable. But his eyes were blazing with fury.

Victoria pulled her hand away quickly, smiling innocently. “Damian! We were just catching up. Elara was telling me how much she loves the city.”

Damian didn’t look at her. He looked at me.

“Get up,” he said.

“Damian, I—”

“Get. Up.”

I stood, my legs shaking.

Damian turned to Victoria. “If I ever see you near my wife again, I will buy your family’s company and dismantle it piece by piece. Do we understand each other?”

Victoria’s smile vanished. She nodded, pale and trembling.

Damian grabbed my arm. Not gently. Firmly. He pulled me out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares of the other patrons.

We didn’t speak until we were in the car.

“What were you doing?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“She called me,” I said. “She said she had information about my father.”

“And you believed her?” he snapped. “Victoria Sterling is a viper, Elara. She lies for sport.”

“Maybe,” I said, meeting his gaze. “But what if she’s telling the truth? What if my father was framed? What if your uncle did it?”

Damian froze. The air in the car turned icy.

“Who told you that?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“Does it matter?” I asked. “Is it true?”

Damian looked away, staring out the window. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching.

“Drop it, Elara,” he said finally. “Some truths are better left buried.”

“But—”

“I said drop it!” he shouted, slamming his hand against the dashboard.

I flinched, shrinking back into the seat.

He took a deep breath, calming himself. When he spoke again, his voice was cold. Detached.

“We’re going home. And you are not leaving the penthouse again without my permission. Is that clear?”

I nodded, tears stinging my eyes.

As the car drove back toward the tower, I realized Victoria was right.

I wasn’t just a shield.

I was bait.

And the sharks were circling.