Mr Thorne Novels & Stories

Silas hissed, though his left eye began to flicker—the telltale sign of a system glitch. "Don't you? Let's look at the foundation." Caspian held up the page. "The Ledger says the Thorne heir died in 1996. A fever. A quiet burial. And then, suddenly, a 'recovered' grandson appears three years later. A boy with no childhood photos. A boy who speaks five languages but can't remember the name of his primary school teacher."

Everything screams Thorne, intense, brooding, commanding, and extra. I spy double doors at the end of the hall and as I push them open, I'm hit with the best smell ever, breakfast. And there he is. Thorne Wintermere. At the stove. Flipping bacon and eggs like it's just another day in his absurdly perfect life. Totally. Fucking. Shirtless.

I stepped inside—and stopped. He was standing at the far end of the main room with a tablet in one hand and a frown already in place, like he had arranged himself specifically to be the first thing I encountered and had chosen disapproval as his opening statement. Matthias Thorne. Forty years old, dressed in a plain dark shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, looking like the kind of man who had never wasted a single day of his life and was quietly contemptuous of anyone who had. The years had been outrageously, unfairly good to him.

He didn't have the leverage to demand an update, and he knew that out here, any show of aristocratic entitlement was met with an immediate reduction in rations. The heavy steel door of the valve house hissed open, and Thorne stepped out onto the walkway, his face lined with dark circles but his eyes bright with a manic, triumphant energy. He was carrying a fresh stack of printed teletype sheets with the ink still damp from the regional shortwave receiver.

Now, last night is something I will never be able to share with her. I spent my entire night stalking him. Alexander Joel Thorne. The CEO of Thorne Electronics. 32 years of age and 6’3 tall. Millions of followers on I*, but all he posts are pictures of the night sky, beautiful buildings, art, expensive places, and his view from his penthouse—I know this because I’ve been inside his home twice now. Not even one photo of himself. He only follows Thorne Electronics on all his social media accounts. Not his friends. Not even Dimitri, which I think is weird because they’re good friends and Dimitri follows him.

Thorne: It had been five years since the death of his mom and abduction of his mate, and just as he had spent every evening since her funeral, Thorne stood before at the tree planted where his mother was buried, in her honor. The tree, a sturdy silver oak, stands tall and proud, its bark shimmering with a soft, ethereal glow. Despite being only five years old, it has grown remarkably fast, its branches stretching towards the sky like outstretched arms, providing a canopy of shade and comfort. The leaves, a vibrant green, rustle softly in the breeze, releasing a gentle whisper of wisdom and peace.

I saw Ackleth Mason for the first time during the new year orientation week held by the school management. While in other schools, the first week of resumption was for students to catch up on everything that missed during the break, circulate the latest gists and rumours, flaunt the new gears and wears they got over the breaks and also participate in cleaning the school environment, In Brixden, the orientation was an old tradition and the first week of resumption was always packed with lots of activities ranging from commissioning of new projects by the alumni association to sorting of class schedules.

Callie just gave her a wide doggy smile. After cleaning up, they pulled out Rose’s futon and curled up together. Although the sex was amazing, Seth had to admit he liked this part almost as much. Which meant he was turning into a total sap. He could just imagine what Max would’ve said: Watch out. You’re not getting out of that trap anytime soon, man. Seth moved his hand under his pillow, only to find a book there. He pulled it out. North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell. “Oh, I’d forgotten I’d put that there.” Rose took the book from him, smiling. “This is one of my favorites.” Her eyes widened. “The hero’s name is Mr. Thornton, actually. John Thornton.”

“No, not me, only because you’ll murder me in my sleep. I like being alive, thank you very much. Besides, I’m tired of men. I’m on a man-Sabbatical.” Megan knew vaguely that Abby had had a boyfriend, but nothing about the particulars. She almost asked her what had happened, when the front door bell rang and in walked not just one, but three Thornton men: Harrison, Caleb, and another brother who Megan had only seen a handful of times. Mark Thornton? She thought that was his name.