Chapter 14

Elena’s breath hitched, though she forced a laugh to cover it. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am.” His gaze burned, unyielding. “Because in this game, Elena, the house always wins. And I am the house.”

The car swerved slightly as the driver glanced nervously in the mirror, catching the heat between them. Roman’s eyes snapped forward, his tone sharp. “Eyes on the road.”

The driver jerked his gaze away, throat bobbing.

The silence that followed was electric. Elena crossed her legs deliberately, her skirt sliding higher, as though to remind Roman that she wasn’t one to be caged.

He noticed. Oh, he noticed. His jaw tightened, his hands clenching against his thighs. But he didn’t touch her. 

The Thorne tower loomed closer, its glass façade glittering in the late afternoon sun, a monument to his empire.

Roman leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth and final.

“Get ready, Elena. Because once you step into that office, there’s no turning back.”

Her smirk returned, though her pulse raced. “Then maybe you should be the one preparing yourself.”

The car slid to a stop, the chauffeur opening the door.

Roman stepped out first, his hand extended, not as a gentleman, but as a man staking claim.

Elena placed her hand in his, her touch light, mocking. “Careful, Roman. The sweet ones bite the hardest.”

Roman’s lips curved in a dangerous smile as he led her into his world. “Then let’s see how sharp your teeth are.”

The Thorne Tower’s marble lobby gleamed under the golden lights, its glass walls catching the late afternoon sun.

The steady hum of employees moving about halted, like the entire building had taken a collective breath.

Roman Thorne had returned.

But it wasn’t just his presence that froze the air, it was the woman at his side.

Elena Sinclair.

Her heels clicked rhythmically against the polished floor, her hand resting delicately in Roman’s grip.

Not dragged, not forced, placed there as though she belonged.

As though she had always belonged.

Her glossy hair cascaded down her shoulders, her lips painted in a shade that screamed decadence, her chin tilted at the perfect angle of arrogance.

Gasps, whispers, and subtle glances trailed behind them like shadows.

“Is that.. her?”

“Sinclair’s bratty daughter?”

“Impossible. Mr. Thorne never... never...”

“Since when does he hold hands?”

The disbelief rippled through the crowd.

Elena caught every whisper, every glance. And she reveled in it.

She tilted her head slightly toward Roman, her voice a silken thread meant only for him. “Your people don’t seem too happy to see me. Maybe they were expecting someone more… obedient?”

Roman’s grip on her hand tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching. “They’ll learn,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “I decide what’s mine.”

Her lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile. “Ah. So I’m yours now?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The way he walked, tall and unyielding, dragging every gaze in the building, was an answer in itself.

The elevator doors slid open, and he guided her inside.

As soon as the doors shut, cutting off the stares, Elena exhaled softly, her amusement spilling into a laugh.

“Quite the show,” she teased, leaning against the mirrored wall. “I almost felt like royalty walking through there. You sure you don’t secretly enjoy parading me around?”

Roman turned his head, his gaze locking onto hers. “Don’t flatter yourself. I only hold what’s mine so no one else dares look at it.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her lip as though considering. “And here I thought you wanted to keep me hidden, locked away like some dirty little secret.”

Roman stepped closer, his hand braced against the wall beside her head. His proximity stole the space, his scent, sharp, clean, intoxicating, pressing into her senses.

“Secrets are for men who are afraid,” he murmured. “I’m not afraid, Elena. I’m making sure the world knows exactly who belongs to me.”

Her smile faltered for the briefest second, her pulse skipping at his sheer audacity. But Elena was Elena, spoilt, stubborn, impossible to tame. She tilted her chin, her voice dripping with mockery.

“Funny,” she whispered, “because I don’t recall agreeing to belong to anyone.”

The elevator chimed. The doors slid open onto the executive floor, saving the moment from combustion.

Roman straightened, his expression wiped clean of any softness it may have betrayed.

He seized her hand again, leading her down the corridor.

Employees froze, pretending to work while their eyes darted to the sight, Roman Thorne, untouchable, untamable Roman, striding with Elena Sinclair like a king with his queen.

“Good afternoon, sir,” someone stammered, bowing quickly.

Roman didn’t reply. His eyes were set straight ahead, his aura commanding silence.

Elena, however, turned her head, giving the poor employee a dazzling smile that made them choke. “Good afternoon,” she said sweetly, like honey dripping over venom.

Roman’s grip on her tightened again.

“Stop toying with my people,” he muttered under his breath.

“But they love me,” she countered with a wicked grin. “Can’t you hear their hearts breaking?”

He didn’t answer, but the flare in his eyes was answer enough.

Finally, they reached the massive double doors at the end of the hall.

Roman pushed them open, revealing his office, an empire in itself.

Floor to ceiling windows framed the skyline, a mahogany desk sprawled with contracts, and a power so thick in the air it was suffocating.

The lawyer stood nervously at the edge of the desk, documents already prepared, his hands shaking slightly.

“Everything is ready, Mr. Thorne,” he said quickly, bowing his head. “As per your latest… additions.” His eyes flicked to Elena, betraying his confusion.