To Hate and To Hold

Julian Thorne was lying on the floor. The fancy ballroom floor was hard and cold against his back. He wasn't looking at the chandeliers or the art. He was staring at a crack in the ceiling. A little white line in the old plaster. He couldn't look away.In his hand was a piece of thick, expensive paper. It felt heavy. It felt hot. The words on it were still burning behind his eyes: "unstable... unfit..."That's what the trust committee thought of him. That he was somehow broken. Not the right kind of person to look after his own family's money, his own house.He sat up slowly, his back aching from the cold floor. He didn't bother dusting off his suit pants. He just opened the paper and read the awful line again. The quiet in the huge, empty room was so loud it hummed in his ears.The housekeeper had gone home hours ago. The place was just... empty. It was a beautiful, perfect, dead thing. He got up and walked to the window. The gardens outside were like a picture from a magazine. Every

“I don’t want to talk to him.”Elena stared at the business card on her nightstand. She spoke to her sister, Chloe, who was sitting on the edge of the bed. The morning light felt too bright, too normal, for the conversation they were having.“You don’t have to talk to anyone,” Chloe said softly. She was twisting the hem of her sunflower-patterned shirt. Her usual bright energy was gone, replaced by a nervous stillness.“But Dad thinks I should at least listen.” Elena shook her head. She felt a hard knot of anger in her stomach. “Listen to what? The details of my own… sale?”“He’s scared, Elena. We all are.” Chloe looked at her, eyes wide and serious. “Maybe just hearing it makes it less scary. Or maybe it makes it worse. But not knowing is eating him alive.”Elena knew she was right. The silence in the house the past two days had been heavy. Her father moved like a ghost. Her mother jumped at every phone ring. The vineyard outside the window no longer looked like a promise. It looked

The envelope was thick and heavy. It felt expensive. Elena carried it up to her bedroom like it might burn her. She shut the door and leaned against it. The house was quiet downstairs.She sat on the edge of her bed and just looked at it. Her name was printed on the front in a clean, sharp type. Ms. Elena Vega. There was no return address. She took a deep breath and slid her finger under the flap. The paper inside was a thick, creamy parchment.The first page had a title in bold letters: MATRIMONIAL AGREEMENT FOR STRATEGIC ALLIANCE. The words were so cold. She began to read. The language was dense, full of legal terms. Her eyes skipped ahead, looking for the details that mattered.Section 4: Cohabitation Requirements. Her heart thumped. The Second Party shall reside at the Primary Estate (Thorne Manor) for a period of no less than twelve (12) consecutive months… Separate residential suites shall be maintained… Joint presence in common areas may be scheduled as necessary for the verifi

The car ride was silent. The seats were made of soft, cold leather. Elena watched the city lights blur past the tinted window. She clutched her single suitcase on her lap. It held her clothes, a few books, and a photograph of her family in the vineyard.Julian sat beside her, but he felt a mile away. He was looking at his phone, the blue light illuminating his sharp profile. He hadn't spoken since they got in the car. He hadn't even looked at her.The city gradually gave way to trees and darker roads. They passed through a tall, iron gate that swung open silently. The driveway seemed to go on forever. It was lined with old, skeletal trees. Finally, the house appeared.It wasn't a house. It was a manor. A great, stone beast of a building with dozens of windows. Most of them were dark. A single light burned above a massive front door. The car rolled to a stop on the gravel.Julian put his phone away. "Henderson will show you in. I have work to finish." He got out without another word. H

At exactly eight in the morning, someone knocked on her door. Three hard knocks. Elena opened it and saw a woman who looked about forty with short blonde hair and a huge suitcase."Elena? I'm Clara." The woman smiled quickly. "I'm here to get you ready for the photos." She didn't wait—just pushed past Elena with her suitcase.Elena barely closed the door before Clara was staring at her face. "Did you sleep? Your eyes look puffy. Don't worry, I'll fix it." She pulled out a wipe from her bag. "Clean your face with this." She paused, rubbing her own temple. "God, I need coffee. Started at five this morning across town."For the next hour, Clara worked on her face. She rubbed cream on Elena's skin, then makeup, then more makeup on her eyes. "Look up. Look down. Press your lips on this tissue—but don't smush them together."Then Clara curled her hair into soft waves. "Today's look is 'relaxed weekend,'" she said. "You and Julian are at home, comfortable." She opened her giant suitcase and