The packing for London was not filled with the usual excitement of a getaway. Instead, it felt like preparing for a funeral. Elara moved through her suite with a mechanical precision, folding thick wool coats and heavy boots suitable for the grey, damp fog of the city she had fled five years ago. Every item she touched reminded her of a version of herself she no longer recognized—the girl who believed in hard work and clean blueprints, before she was swallowed by the Thorne legacy. In the nursery, the atmosphere was even heavier. Leo sat on the floor, surrounded by his architectural blocks, but for once, he wasn't building. He was watching the doorway where Beatrice Thorne stood like a statue carved from salt. "You must remember, Leo," Beatrice said, her voice dropping into that smooth, authoritative tone that brooked no argument. "A Thorne does not cry when his parents depart. He observes. He learns. He prepares for the day when he will be the one holding the keys." Elara ste
Last Updated : 2026-05-01 Read more