Chapter 10: The Breakfast Table

Aurelia's POV

The main conservatory was bathed in a pale, damp morning light.

Floor-to-ceiling glass panels looked out over the misty expanse of the back lawn, which sloped steeply down toward the dark, churning waters of Lake Michigan. Five years ago, I used to sit in this exact room with my father every Sunday morning, drinking orange juice while he read the financial papers.

Now, the colorful orchids my mother loved had been removed, replaced by sleek, sculptural black vases filled with stark white lilies.

Thorne was already seated at the head of the long glass table when I stepped through the arched doorway.

He wore a crisp charcoal suit, his dark tie tied perfectly against a stark white collar. A crystal glass of iced water sat to his right, alongside an open tablet displaying real-time stock ticker updates. He looked every bit the impenetrable corporate titan, a stark contrast to the man who had held me on the library floor in the dark just twelve hours ago.

"You're two minutes early, Miss Cole," Thorne said without raising his eyes from his tablet.

"I prefer not to keep people waiting," I replied, keeping my posture relaxed as I pulled out a chair at the far end of the table, deliberately placing as much distance between us as possible.

Thorne paused. He slowly set his tablet down against the linen tablecloth and raised his head. His grey eyes locked onto mine, tracking my movement with effortless authority.

"Sit closer," he ordered quietly. "I don't enjoy shouting across a room to have a conversation."

I held his gaze for a second, testing his resolve, but the silent power radiating from him was unyielding. With a faint, resigned sigh, I stood up and moved to the seat directly to his left.

A maid in a black-and-white uniform immediately stepped forward, placing a porcelain plate of poached eggs, sliced avocado, and black coffee in front of me before retreating without a word.

"How is your hand?" Thorne asked, his voice dropping into a smoother, lower register.

"It's fine," I said, glancing down at the fresh, neat bandage Marcus had delivered the night before. "The medical kit was not necessary, but thank you."

"Marcus said you didn't touch the tea," Thorne noted, picking up his cup of coffee.

My heart did a subtle, nervous flutter. He checks everything.

"I don't drink tea late at night," I lied smoothly, picking up my fork. "It keeps me awake."

"Is that why you were awake until two in the morning?"

I froze, my fork hovering half an inch above my plate. I looked over at him, forcing my expression to remain entirely blank.

"Excuse me?"

Thorne took a slow sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim of the cup. "The smart sensors in the guest cottage track light usage. The living room light stayed on until 2:14 AM."

A cold spike of annoyance rushed through my blood, overriding my caution.

"Are you monitoring my sleep schedule now, Mr. Kingsley? Is that standard protocol for your contractors?"

"It is standard protocol for anyone staying on my perimeter during a high-risk week," Thorne corrected calmly, setting his cup down with a light clink. "The Kingsley Group annual shareholder gala is this Friday evening. High-profile guests, international press, and board members will be present at this estate. Security is tight for a reason."

The shareholder gala.

My mind raced. The gala was the biggest event of the year for the Kingsley empire. Every major investor, lawyer, and trustee, including Helena, would be under this roof. The security protocols would focus on the main ballroom and the public reception grounds, which meant the executive wing would operate on a ghost crew.

It was the perfect distraction to access the main office terminal and pull up Account 409.

"I see," I said, taking a small bite of toast to keep my hands busy. "Well, you don't need to worry about me. I'll stay out of sight in the guest cottage during your party."

"No," Thorne said flatly.

I looked up, frowning. "No?"

"You won't be in the cottage," Thorne stated, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "You will attend the gala."

A sudden, sharp panic slammed into my ribs.

"Absurd. I am a restorer, Mr. Kingsley. I don't belong at a high-society corporate gala, and I certainly don't have the wardrobe for it."

"You belong wherever I put you," Thorne replied, his deep voice carrying an absolute, unshakeable finality. "Helena is hosting the charity auction portion of the night. She intends to feature the restored 19th-century grandfather clock from your shop as the centerpiece of the historic collection."

He leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table, closing the distance between us until I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his grey eyes.

"She wants to speak to the conservator who restored it," Thorne murmured, his eyes searching my face with terrifying intensity. "And I want to see how you act when you stand in a room full of people who used to know Aurelia Kingsley."

My throat went dry.

He was setting a trap. He was intentionally throwing me into the lion's den with Helena and the board to see if my cover would break under pressure.

"I am an artisan, sir," I said, keeping my voice raspy, quiet, and firm. "Not a pawn in whatever game you are playing with your stepmother."

"It isn't a game, Aurelia," Thorne whispered, his voice turning rough and dark. "It's a trial. And on Friday night, we're going to see who burns."

He stood up abruptly, buttoning his suit jacket in one smooth, practiced motion. He looked down at me one last time, his dark silhouette towering over my chair.

"A tailor will arrive at the guest cottage at three o'clock today to measure you for a dress," Thorne added as he turned toward the door. "Make sure you're there."

I sat in absolute silence, watching him walk out of the conservatory.

My hands were shaking, but beneath the fear, a cold, calculated rage began to bloom inside my chest.

He thought he was setting a trap for me. He thought he was using me as bait to test Helena.

Fine, I thought, staring out at the grey, misty waters of the lake where I had almost lost my life five years ago.

Bring on the gala, Thorne. Because while you're watching me, I'm going to take everything you built.