Taylor Thorne Novels & Stories

All of it… over. It felt like a miracle. A real one. "Who… who are they?" I finally asked. "The Thorne Foundation? Why would they do this?" "I don't know!" Mrs. Byrne said, throwing her hands up. "The woman on the phone just said they 'like to help the community' and that 'someone told them about Havencrest. Maybe someone we helped? A long time ago? Someone who did well?" She hugged me tight. "It doesn't matter why, my dear. It just matters that it's here. God heard us."

"And he's... not in a good headspace. Be prepared." I nodded even though I had no idea what I was preparing for. Taylor pulled back the tent flap and I stepped inside. Thorne stood with his back to me, studying a map spread across a makeshift table. He was dressed for war—black leather that looked like armor, weapons strapped everywhere. His hair was pulled back and even from behind I could see the tension in his shoulders. "Leave us," he said without turning around. Taylor and Christy withdrew immediately. The tent flap closed and we were alone.

] [Unclaimed Dividend Slot Unlocked. Thorne slowly stood up, brushing a dusting of monster ash from his sleeve. He knelt in front of me, taking my hand—not like a doctor, but like a man pledging fealty to a force of nature. "Breathtaking," Thorne whispered, his thumb tracing the back of my knuckles. "You aren't just surviving this system, Audrey. You're rewriting its parameters."

“Back off, Thorne.” “I wasn’t talking to you.” He shifted fully now, not all the way, but enough. Claws. Height. Wolf features were clear. Not like himself. More... feral. Broken. Riven stepped to Kael’s side. “I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.” “I know exactly what I’m doing,” Thorne snapped. He turned to me again. “You’re the Gateborn.” His words were sharp. Like an accusation. “I’m Rory,” I said. “You saved me. You kissed me. You loved me.”

The file titled: "The Valerius Project." Dark Thorne thought the war was over because he had a ring on her finger. He didn't realize that Izaib Moreno was no longer a law student. She was a Thorne. And Thornes didn't just win wars.

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.

~Grayson I lean back into the chair, looking out at the sunrise seeping through the tree leaves. Sitting outside on the deck in the mornings is a ritual of mine I enjoy. Sleeping isn't something I have needed since I became... Lexia is upstairs, completely wiped out from what I did to her only a few hours ago. I tap my fingers against my leg. I'm glad she is finally opening up to me. And giving her pleasure is something I want to do as much as possible.

Other characters. EXPOSITION: The Thorne family has always been a successful family in the business world of real estate and a force to contend with. Their biggest rival is the Langford family, holding billions in the real estate and branding out into other sectors as well. Mariah, the only child of the Thorne family, learns everything she needs to know about finances related to real estate from her father. She uses this to her advantage as she starts to get investors in her father’s company.

The hallowed halls of St. Jude's University were lined with ancient oak and the stifling scent of dust and tradition, but in Lecture Hall 4, the atmosphere was different. It was electric, charged with a tension that made the skin of twenty-one-year-old Elara Vance prickle every time Professor Gabriel Thorne spoke. Thorne was a legend in the architecture department-not just for his brilliance, but for a cold, aristocratic detachment that seemed to challenge every student who dared to look him in the eye.

“Now, you’ve been holding out. What’s his name? Is he a musician? A grad student? Tell me he’s not some forty-year-old dude who lives in his mom’s basement.” I laughed, a real, shaky, relieved sound that felt foreign and wonderful. “No, not a basement. Definitely not a basement.” I had the opportunity now. I could tell him the rest. He’s my professor, Igor Thorne. He’s twice my age, engaged to Eleanor Vance, and owns half the city.