Kael returned in exactly twenty minutes, as promised. He found her curled on the sofa pretending to read, and something in his expression softened when he saw her—like coming home to find her waiting was a pleasure he hadn't expected to feel.
He looks relieved. The king of criminals looks relieved that I'm here.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, loosening his tie with one hand.
"Too wired." Not entirely a lie. "How was business?"
"Profitable." He moved to the bar, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey. "Lucien's retreat left several territories vulnerable. We've secured three shipping contracts and two distribution networks that were previously contested."
Distribution networks. He means drug routes or weapons shipments or whatever criminal enterprises he controls.
"Just like that? He runs away and you take everything?"
His smile was sharp as broken glass. "Nature abhors a vacuum, angel. In my world, weakness is an invitation."
His world. The underworld. Where human suffering is just market opportunity.
He settled into the chair across from her, whiskey in hand, looking for all the world like a businessman discussing mergers instead of a crime lord consolidating power. The dichotomy was dizzying—expensive suit and perfect manners wrapped around casual discussion of illegal operations.
"You should try to sleep," he said after a moment. "Tomorrow we're having lunch with my mother."
His mother. Right. The performance continues.
"Is she..." Elara struggled for the right words. "Does she know what you really do?"
Something complicated crossed his face. "My mother knows I'm a businessman. She chooses not to look too deeply into the details."
Willful blindness. Like me, for the first few weeks.
"That must be convenient."
"It's survival." He took a long drink, his dark eyes never leaving her face. "Knowing what I am would put her in danger. Ignorance keeps her safe."
But knowing what he is puts me in danger. Because I'm valuable enough to be worth protecting and threatening.
They sat in companionable silence for a while, the kind of quiet that felt almost normal if you ignored the context of captivity and crime. Eventually, Kael finished his drink and stood.
"Get some rest," he said, moving toward his office. "I have calls to make. Europe is waking up."
Europe. Where Lucien fled. Where Kael is probably coordinating with other criminals.
"Kael?" She stopped him at the doorway.
He turned back, and something in his expression made her breath catch. Not the cold control or calculated possession, but something softer—almost vulnerable.
"Thank you for coming back," she said quietly. "When I texted."
His smile was gentle and devastating. "Always, angel. No matter what I'm doing, if you need me—I come back."
The promise followed her to bed, where she lay awake for hours thinking about crime lords who came running when their captives admitted to loneliness.
Morning brought coffee and awkward distance. Kael left early for meetings, kissing her forehead in passing like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they were a real couple instead of captor and captive engaged in an increasingly complicated dance.
He kissed my forehead. Casually. Like it meant nothing and everything.
Alone in the penthouse, Elara found herself at loose ends. She'd read all the books that interested her, watched enough television to rot her brain, and exhausted the possibilities of staring at expensive art.
I need something to do. Something to occupy my mind before I go insane.
The laptop sat on the desk in the library—sleek, expensive, probably worth more than her old car. She'd used it before for practical things: checking news, reading articles, pretending she was still connected to the normal world.
But I've never actually researched him. Never looked beyond what he's told me.
The thought took root with the persistence of weeds. He'd admitted to being the king of the underworld, but what did that actually mean? What was his real name—his full name that people whispered in fear?
You shouldn't. This is a violation of whatever trust exists between you.
But curiosity had always been her weakness.
She opened the laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard as she weighed the impulse against better judgment. Kael probably had monitoring software, probably knew every website she visited, every search she made.
But he also said I could use the internet. And he didn't say I couldn't research him.
Her fingers found the keys before her conscience could stop her.
Kael Thorne
The results loaded instantly—high-speed internet that was probably faster than most people's—and displayed page after page of perfectly curated information.
Forbes profile: "Kael Thorne, 34, CEO of Thorne Industries, estimated net worth $4.2 billion."
Business Insider: "Rising Star: How Kael Thorne Revolutionized Import/Export."
Wall Street Journal: "Thorne Industries Announces Merger with Swiss Pharmaceutical Group."
All perfectly legitimate. All carefully constructed to show exactly what he wants the world to see.
She scrolled through pages of press releases, charity announcements, business acquisitions. Kael photographed at galas looking every inch the respectable billionaire. Kael speaking at conferences about global economics. Kael donating millions to cancer research—probably the same foundation funding her mother's treatments.
It's too clean. Too perfect. Like someone scrubbed away anything inconvenient.
She added search terms: Kael Thorne criminal
The results shifted slightly, but only to legitimate articles: "Thorne Industries Fights Criminal Counterfeiting in Supply Chain." "CEO Testifies Before Senate Committee on Organized Crime Prevention."
He testified about organized crime. The king of criminals testified about preventing organized crime. The audacity.
Kael Thorne investigation
"Thorne Industries Cleared in Tax Investigation."
"SEC Closes Inquiry into Thorne Holdings with No Charges Filed."
"Federal Prosecutors Drop Case Against Thorne Subsidiary."
Cleared, closed, dropped. Every investigation ends without consequences.
Kael Thorne connections
More legitimate business networks—board memberships, advisory positions, partnerships with Fortune 500 companies. Nothing about criminal enterprises or underworld connections or the empire he'd admitted to controlling.
He's sanitized his entire digital presence. Everything inconvenient has been erased or buried.
She sat back, frustrated. This wasn't investigation—it was looking at a carefully constructed mask designed to hide everything real.
There has to be something. Somewhere. People who know the truth.
Her fingers found the keyboard again, this time searching for the spaces where official information ended and unofficial whispers began.
Kael Thorne reddit
Kael Thorne conspiracy
Kael Thorne underworld
Nothing. Or rather, nothing but breathless admiration from people who thought billionaires were automatically impressive.
I need to go deeper. Past the surface web where everything is monitored and controlled.
She'd heard about the dark web in college—encrypted spaces where illegal activity flourished and information flowed outside normal channels. She'd never had reason to access it before, but surely there were forums, discussion boards, places where people who knew the truth talked about men like Kael.
This is a bad idea. If he's monitoring my internet usage, this will definitely get his attention.
But the need to know was stronger than fear of consequences.
Twenty minutes of searching led her to encrypted browsers and access points. Another thirty minutes navigating unfamiliar interfaces brought her to forums that existed in the gray spaces between legal and criminal.
I shouldn't be here. This is where bad people discuss bad things.
But she was already scrolling through discussions about money laundering, corrupt officials, criminal enterprises operating under legitimate business fronts. The language was coded, careful, designed to avoid direct admission of anything illegal.
Then she found it—a subforum buried three levels deep, requiring passwords and verification she shouldn't have been able to obtain but somehow did through a combination of luck and persistence.
Shadow Economy Discussion
The threads were disturbing in their casual discussion of violence: "Best ways to launder casino profits," "How to disappear a rival without traces," "Corrupt judges by district."
These are criminals. Real criminals discussing real crimes.
She almost closed the laptop, disgusted and frightened by what she was seeing. But then a thread title caught her eye.
Is Kael Thorne the Ghost of the Syndicate?
Her blood turned to ice water.
Ghost of the Syndicate. What does that mean?
She clicked before rational thought could stop her, and the thread loaded with dozens of comments from anonymous users debating a question she hadn't known needed asking.
User_7362: No way. Thorne is too visible. The Ghost operates from shadows.
Anonymous_Wolf: That's exactly the point. Hiding in plain sight as a billionaire businessman. Perfect cover.
DarkMarket88: Has anyone actually MET Thorne? Like, in person, doing business?
User_7362: I have a cousin who works shipping at Port Authority. Says Thorne's people move containers nobody questions. The kind of weight that comes with serious backing.
Anonymous_Wolf: The Ghost supposedly controls 80% of the East Coast operations. If that's true, and if Thorne is the Ghost, then he's not just A player. He's THE player.
Eighty percent. He controls eighty percent of the East Coast criminal operations.
She scrolled faster, her heart hammering as the anonymous users debated evidence she could barely comprehend.
ShadowRunner13: My associate tried to move product through Brooklyn last year. Got a visit from Thorne's people saying the territory was "under management." Didn't even know Thorne HAD people until then.
User_7362: Everyone has people. Question is whether Thorne IS the Ghost or just works FOR the Ghost.
Anonymous_Wolf: Think about the timeline. Ghost appears roughly 5 years ago. Thorne Industries explodes from mid-tier to billion-dollar empire in same timeframe. Coincidence?
Five years. He said five years of building the power. Five years since she—whoever she was—died.
DarkMarket88: I heard the Ghost got his name because of how he handles problems. One day you're operating, next day you're gone. No body, no evidence, just... gone. Like you never existed.
ShadowRunner13: That's the point. He doesn't just kill rivals. He erases them. Their businesses, their associates, their entire existence.
Erases them. Like Marcus Walsh, who nobody would remember except as another statistic.
Anonymous_Wolf: If Thorne IS the Ghost, that means he's connected to the Five Families, the Russian Bratva, the Triads—everyone. You don't control 80% of the East Coast without serious alliances or serious firepower.
User_7362: Or both. The Ghost supposedly brokers peace between factions. Makes everyone money, keeps them cooperating instead of warring. It's brilliant if you think about it.
Peace through profit. Control through making everyone depend on you.
She kept scrolling, watching anonymous criminals debate whether the man whose bed she shared was a myth made flesh.
DarkMarket88: I'm telling you, Thorne is just a businessman who pays protection money like everyone else. The Ghost is someone we've never heard of.
Anonymous_Wolf: Then explain how Thorne's operations NEVER get hit. Not by cops, not by rivals, not by federal investigations. He's untouchable. That's Ghost-level protection.
ShadowRunner13: I heard a rumor about what happened to Mercier. Supposedly the Ghost personally ordered the dock operation burned. Sent a message nobody could misunderstand.
Personally ordered. Because I danced with Lucien. Because bullets came close to killing me.
User_7362: If the rumors are true and Mercier touched something the Ghost values, then yeah—burning docks is merciful compared to what could've happened.
Anonymous_Wolf: The Ghost doesn't have relationships. Doesn't have weaknesses. That's how he stays in power. So if Mercier DID touch something valuable...
DarkMarket88: Then Thorne isn't the Ghost. Ghost wouldn't risk exposure for a woman.
Anonymous_Wolf: Unless that's EXACTLY what he'd do. Make everyone think he's too smart to have weaknesses, then hide his biggest weakness in plain sight.
His biggest weakness. That's what I am. His vulnerability disguised as trophy.
The thread continued for pages—speculation, rumors, coded discussions about operations she didn't fully understand. But the picture emerging was clear: whether officially confirmed or widely suspected, the people who operated in the shadows believed Kael Thorne was the Ghost of the Syndicate.
The king of the underworld.
The man who controlled enough criminal enterprise to broker peace between warring factions.
The myth who erased problems so completely they might never have existed.
And I'm engaged to him. Wearing his ring. Sharing his bed. Becoming his biggest weakness.
She was about to close the laptop when one final comment caught her eye.
Anonymous_Wolf: Want proof? Look into the Isabella Moretti case from five years ago. The Ghost's origin story, if the rumors are true. If you can stomach what happens when someone makes him human.
Isabella Moretti. That's the woman in the photograph. That's who died five years ago.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, but searching for Isabella Moretti yielded nothing useful—a few social media profiles of women with similar names, none matching the photograph she'd seen.
He erased her. Completely. Like she never existed.
The laptop's screen suddenly went black.
Then, slowly, text appeared in white letters against the darkness:
Did you find what you were looking for?
Elara's blood turned to ice. She tried to close the laptop, but it wouldn't respond. Tried to turn it off, but nothing happened.
More text appeared:
You're accessing monitored networks. Multiple security protocols triggered. Location: Penthouse_Master. User: Elara_Chen.
Alerting: K.Thorne
Oh God. Oh God, he knows. He knows I was searching for him.
The screen stayed black for what felt like an eternity. Then, finally, it returned to normal—browser closed, history cleared, like her entire investigation had been erased.
But her phone buzzed with a text message.
Kael: Curious?
Her hands shook as she typed back.
Elara: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—
Kael: Don't apologize for wanting to know what you're dealing with. Smart, actually. Did you find what you were looking for?
Did I? I found out you're not just a crime lord. You're THE crime lord. The Ghost. The myth.
Elara: I don't know what I found.
Three dots appeared, then:
Kael: We'll discuss it when I get home. Don't search for Isabella. That door is closed.
Isabella. So it WAS her. And he knows I know.
Elara: I understand.
Kael: Do you? We'll see. I'll be home in an hour. And Elara?
Elara: Yes?
Kael: I appreciate the intelligence. Most people are too scared to look. You looked. That takes courage.
Courage. He thinks researching him behind his back is courage.
Elara: Or stupidity.
Kael: With you, I'm never sure which it is. That's what makes you interesting.
The phone went quiet, and Elara sat in the library surrounded by expensive books and art, staring at a laptop that had betrayed her investigation to the very person she'd been investigating.
The Ghost of the Syndicate. That's who I belong to. Not just a crime lord, but the puppet master who makes entire criminal empires dance.
And now he was coming home to "discuss" her curiosity about his past, his power, his control over the city's underworld.
I found a thread. About the Ghost. About you.
Is Kael Thorne the Ghost of the Syndicate?
She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what "discussion" meant in the vocabulary of a man who erased problems so completely they might never have existed.
And wondered if her curiosity had just made her a problem that needed erasing.