LOGINA crisp, heavy envelope arrived, bearing the elegant letterhead of the Museum of Modern Art. It was addressed to both of them. Elara opened it, her brows furrowing as she read."They want to host a retrospective," she said, her voice a mix of awe and apprehension. "A dual exhibition. My 'Fortress' and 'Convergence' series, alongside a curated selection of pieces from the Sterling family collection. They're calling it 'Legacy & Vision'."Kaelan came to read over her shoulder. It was a monumental honor, a cementing of Elara's status in the art world. But the title was a landmine. Legacy. The word was now inextricably linked to the Thornes, to the very conflict they were trying to move past."It's your decision," Kaelan said softly. "Entirely. If you think it's too soon, or if the theme is too fraught, we decline. No questions asked."Elara stared at the invitation. A public exhibition, intertwining her journey of independence and
The weeks following Julian Thorne’s arrest were a study in surreal normalcy. Headlines screamed, legal analysts dissected the fall of a dynasty, but within the walls of the penthouse, a fragile peace settled. The constant, humming threat was gone, leaving behind a silence that was both a relief and a void.Kaelan was determined to fill that void with something new. He cleared his schedule, delegating the corporate fallout to Marcus. His focus was singular: Elara.He didn’t smother her with questions or empty reassurances. Instead, he showed up. He attended every prenatal appointment, his large hand always finding hers. He read pregnancy books with the same intensity he once reserved for financial reports, his brow furrowed in concentration over diagrams of fetal development.One evening, he came home with a bag from a hardware store.“What’s that for?” Elara asked, looking up from the sofa where she was sketching.“Th
The man with the flowers pushed open the boutique door, a cheap delivery cap pulled low over his brow. The cheerful bell jingled, a stark contrast to the sudden, frozen silence that fell over the room. All pretense of a party vanished. Lena subtly shifted her stance, her hand moving toward the concealed weapon at her back.The deliveryman’s eyes, a cold, flat grey, scanned the room and locked onto Elara. A slow, triumphant smirk twisted his features. It was him. Julian Thorne.“A gift for the happy mother,” he said, his voice a silken threat. He held out the massive bouquet of white lilies, their funereal scent filling the air.Kaelan stepped forward, placing his body squarely between Julian and Elara. “It’s over, Julian.”Julian’s smirk didn’t falter. He ignored Kaelan, his gaze burning into Elara. “My father sends his regards from his six-by-eight-foot cell. He wanted you to have these. He always said lilies were for
Their new, defiantly public life was a carefully choreographed dance. They were photographed leaving a prenatal appointment, Kaelan’s hand a protective shield on her back. They attended a charity luncheon for an arts charity, Elara radiant in flowing blue silk. Each appearance was a broadcast to Julian: We are not afraid. We are here.And with each broadcast, Marcus’s digital net tightened. They weren't just waiting for an attack; they were analyzing the data their visibility created—increased dark web chatter, suspicious financial movements, patterns in the digital noise.It was Elara who saw it.She was in the studio, reviewing the data streams Marcus had given her access to, her artist’s mind seeking shapes in the chaos. She cross-referenced the dates of their public appearances with a log of attempted cyber-incursions on Sterling Holdings’ servers.“He’s not random,” she said, calling Kaelan and Marcus to her scr
The gala was a failure. A spectacular, humiliating failure.Back in the penthouse, the silence was deafening. Marcus stood before them, his face ashen. “He was a last-minute replacement for a sick waiter. His credentials were perfect, right down to the digital fingerprints. He was inside our perimeter for forty-seven minutes. We have him on camera, but he never made a threatening move. He just… observed.”“He was sending a message,” Elara said, her voice hollow. She stood by the window, still in her crimson gown, her arms wrapped around herself. “He wasn’t there to attack. He was there to demonstrate his power. To show us that all our planning, all our security, means nothing to him.”Kaelan was pacing, a caged animal. The fear he had tried to lock away was now a living thing in the room, feeding on his helplessness. “He looked at you. He singled you out.”“He did,” Elara confirmed, turning to face him. Her eyes were not sc
The trap was Elara’s idea, a move of breathtaking audacity that left Kaelan equal parts terrified and awestruck.“The ‘Future of Innovation’ Gala is in three weeks,” she said, standing before a whiteboard she’d erected in the studio. It was covered in her fluid script—timelines, motives, potential moves. “It’s the most public stage we have. We use it.”“Absolutely not,” Kaelan said, his voice tight. “It’s a security nightmare. You, visibly pregnant, in a room with hundreds of people? It’s exactly what he wants.”“That’s why it’s perfect,” she countered, her gaze steady. “He’s been attacking from the shadows. We force him into the light. We make the event so secure, so high-profile, that any move he makes will be caught on camera and witnessed by the entire city. He wants a spectacle? We’ll give him one.”She turned to the board and wrote a single word in the center: BAIT.“I’m the bait,” she said, tapping the word. “He wants







