The week at the Thorne compound passed in a whirlwind of family activities that Elara would have genuinely enjoyed, if not for the secret weighing on her soul. She participated in tea ceremonies, learned the names of all the children, and even found herself laughing during a chaotic game of charades with the cousins. They had welcomed her with open arms, their initial teasing giving way to genuine warmth and camaraderie.
But beneath the surface, a cold dread coiled in her stomach. The cryptic comment about a "family decree" regarding pregnancy echoed in her mind, a haunting refrain that colored every pleasant moment. She smiled at Aunt Patricia across the dining table, but her mind was screaming, What did you mean? She laughed at Uncle Robert's jokes, but her heart was pounding, What hasn't Cassian told me? The joy was real, but it was a layer of frosting on a cake of anxiety. She carried the knowledge of her pregnancy like a hidden, precious, yet potentially dangerous, treasure.
Finally, the morning of Lady Theodora's birthday dawned. The main dining hall, a vast space with sliding doors open to the serene garden, was filled with the entire clan, chattering excitedly. Elara sat at the long, low table, her eyes constantly darting toward the entrance. Her knee bounced with a nervous energy she couldn't suppress.
Where is he? His flight should have landed hours ago. What if something happened? What if he's not coming?
Just as a knot of panic was tightening in her chest, the paper screen door slid open with a soft whoosh. Amelia burst in, her face alight with excitement, practically skidding to a halt in front of Elara.
"Sis! Sis in law! He's here! Your grumpy, workaholic, painfully handsome husband is finally here!" she announced, her voice a delighted shriek that cut through the morning chatter.
And there he was. Cassian Thorne stood in the doorway, looking slightly travel-worn but every bit the formidable patriarch. In his hands were two large carry bags bulging with brightly wrapped boxes. His expression was its usual stern mask, but his eyes, the moment they found Elara, softened imperceptibly.
He strode into the room, his presence commanding a respectful hush. He bowed slightly to his grandmother. "Good morning, Grandmother. Happy birthday to you." His voice was a little rough from travel, but it held a soft, easy quality that was reserved only for family. "I brought back a few things from Singapore. Gifts for everyone."
One of his aunts, Elizabeth, chuckled. "Oh, Cassian, you remembered all your cousins, but what about the birthday girl herself? Did you forget your own grandmother?"
A ripple of laughter went around the table. And then, something miraculous happened. Cassian's lips quirked. A faint, but undeniable, smirk touched his mouth. "He smirked! He actually smirked!" Clara whispered loudly to Daniel, who grinned.
"Your birthday gift," Cassian announced, his proud gaze shifting to Elara, "was chosen personally by my wife, Elara. I trusted her impeccable taste over my own."
Every eye in the room swiveled to Elara. The pressure was immense. Cassian himself sat down beside her, his thigh brushing against hers under the table, his expression one of open curiosity and anticipation.
As the other family members began presenting their gifts—fine silks, rare teas, a beautiful jade sculpture—Cassian and Elara created their own little bubble of whispered conversation.
He leaned in close, his breath ghosting her ear, his voice a low, teasing murmur. "Wifey~ How have you been? Did you miss me?"
Elara kept her gaze forward, a slight frown on her face. "Tch. Don't even think about starting that. I couldn't even reach your phone this whole week. It was either switched off or busy."
"Wifey~~" he crooned, unrepentant. He found her hand under the table, his fingers lacing through hers. "Are you mad at me? Don't be mad. I was cleaning up our mess."
She tried to pull her hand away, but he held fast. Her voice dropped to a whisper, laced with both amusement and warning. "Warlord, your grandmother is sitting less than six feet away. What if she sees her iron-fisted, notoriously unemotional grandson being all… affectionate and clingy? The shock might be too much. Her ninety-fifth birthday could become her last."
Cassian let out a soft huff of laughter, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "Don't worry about her. She's still strong enough to handle the sight of her grandson being happy with his wife."
Their private moment was broken as Michael and his wife, the last before them, presented their gift—an exquisite porcelain vase crafted by a Korean master in the late 1700s. Theodora praised it graciously.
Then, it was their turn.
All eyes were on them once more. Elara took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of Cassian's expectant gaze. She slowly stood up and retrieved a large, carefully rolled parchment from a protective tube beside her seat.
"Grandmother Theodora," she began, her voice clear and steady, though her heart was hammering. She unrolled the painting on a cleared space of the table. "This is a piece I found for you. It is from the long-lost Marble series, one of the oldest surviving examples."
The painting revealed was a serene depiction of Lord Krishna playing his flute under a ancient tree. It was beautiful, but some in the room looked politely intrigued, perhaps expecting something more flashy.
"The true magic of this piece," Elara continued, picking up a small pitcher of water, "is hidden." With a steady hand, she gently trickled a small amount of water onto the surface of the painting.
A collective gasp filled the room. As the water touched the parchment, the colors seemed to awaken. The greens of the tree deepened to an emerald vibrancy, the brown of Krishna's skin gained a warm, lifelike glow, and the blue of his robe became as brilliant as a tropical sea. The entire image transformed from a simple ancient artifact into a breathtaking, luminous masterpiece.
The silence was profound, broken only by Theodora's soft, awed whisper. "Magnificent."
Cassian was staring, not at the painting, but at his wife. His chest swelled with a pride so fierce it felt like a physical force. His stoic expression had melted into one of pure, unadulterated admiration. If the phrase 'proud husband' had a face, it would have been his in that moment.
Theodora looked from the painting to Elara, her ancient eyes shining. "Elara, my dear child. You have a gift that goes beyond mere knowledge. You have the sight to see the soul of things. This is… the most thoughtful, the most extraordinary gift I have received in many, many years. Thank you."
Applause erupted, genuine and warm. Elara's cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and happiness.
After the celebration wound down, the family began to disperse—some to their rooms, others to explore the grounds before the evening's grand ball. Elara felt a surge of relief. Finally, she would have a moment alone with Cassian. She could tell him her secret, and she could ask him about the decree.
Cassian clearly had the same idea, a plan forming behind his eyes as he took her hand. "Shall we—" he began.
But he was instantly surrounded.
"Whoa there, cousin!" Clara said, stepping directly into his path, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Already trying to steal her away for a private moment? Sorry, no can do! We have plans for her."
Amelia latched onto Elara's other arm. "Yeah, brother! You just got back from a boring business trip. You're probably all grumpy and tired. I don't think our lovely sister Elara wants to be cooped up with you right now." She grinned up at Elara. "Right, sis?"
Before Elara could even form a response, a chorus of agreement rose from the other cousins. Daniel, Thomas, and their spouses formed a playful human wall between her and Cassian.
"Come on, Elara! We're going shopping in the city! Clara needs a new obsession, and Amelia needs to be stopped from buying everything pink," Daniel said, laughing.
"Hey!" Amelia protested, but she was already pulling Elara toward the door.
Cassian stood frozen, his plans crumbling before his eyes. "Now, wait just a minute—"
Amelia called over her shoulder, "Mikey! Are you coming or not? We're leaving!"
Michael, who had been watching the scene with amusement, clapped a sympathetic hand on Cassian's shoulder. "Don't worry, Cassian," he said, his voice full of mock-seriousness. "We're just borrowing your wife for a few hours. We'll have her returned to you, safe and sound, at the Hotel Luxé before the party starts. I promise." With a final wink, he followed the boisterous group out, leaving Cassian standing alone in the suddenly vast and empty room.
He stared at the doorway, completely dumbfounded. A look of utter confusion and betrayal settled on his face.
"Hey... I'm your cousin too... right?" he muttered to the empty air. "Then why am I the only one being left out of this?? I just got back! I thought I would finally spend some time with my wife! How dare they just… steal her from me?" He ran a hand through his hair, the picture of a thwarted, grumpy man. "Poor me..." His whole plan—a quiet afternoon talking, perhaps convincing her to skip the stuffy ball for a private dinner—had spectacularly flopped.
---
The scene shifted to the opulent 'Hotel Luxé,' a Thorne property that glittered like a diamond in the heart of the city. While the grand ballroom below was being prepared and guests began to arrive, in a lavish suite on the top floor, a different kind of preparation was underway.
Amelia and Clara, already resplendent in their own gowns, were putting the finishing touches on their masterpiece: Elara Thorne.
They had spent the afternoon on a glorious, chaotic shopping spree, and the result was breathtaking. Elara stood before a full-length mirror, wearing a long, flowing gown of silver. The color was a perfect match for her stormy grey eyes. It was an off-shoulder design with a delicate, floral lace overlay that shimmered with every slight movement. Her jewelry was minimalist but exquisite—a single diamond teardrop necklace and matching earrings. Her makeup was subtle yet transformative, highlighting her high cheekbones and the determined set of her jaw.
Clara clasped her hands together, her eyes wide. "Oh my god. Oh. My. God. Elara, you are not a person, you are a diva! A goddess! Sis, I can't even!"
Amelia bounced on her heels, beaming. "I can't believe we did it! We took our already stunning sister-in-law and turned her into… into this! You are just breathtaking! Cassian is going to have a heart attack. I'm serious. We might need to have a medic on standby."
Elara looked at her reflection, a stranger of immense elegance and power staring back. She felt a blush creep up her neck. "T-thank you… Clara, Amelia. Really. This is all… too much."
"Nothing is too much for you!" Clara declared. After a few more minutes of excited chatter, Elara's thoughts inevitably drifted.
"Where… where is Cassian?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
Clara exchanged a smug, knowing look with Amelia. "Mmm… he's supposed to be in suite number 111," she said, drawing out the words. "Probably brooding and waiting for you, of course~"
"Oh. Okay," Elara said, her heart giving a little flutter. "Then, let me go and check on him before the party begins."
She made her way through the plush corridors of the hotel to suite 111. Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly.
"Come in," a familiar, deep voice called from within.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The suite was dimly lit, the curtains drawn against the evening sky. Cassian was sitting at a desk, his sharp profile illuminated by the cool blue light of his laptop screen. He was still in his travel clothes, his tie loosened. Handsome… she thought, her breath catching.
He looked up, and the moment his eyes landed on her, the world stopped.
Cassian's breath hitched. His heart slammed against his ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm that stole the air from his lungs. The stern lines of his face melted away, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. Beautiful… The word echoed in his mind, inadequate and small. She wasn't just beautiful. She was an eternal goddess who had descended to the mortal realm by some glorious mistake. The silver of her dress seemed to emit its own light, and her grey eyes held the depth of a twilight sky. A faint, pink blush colored his own cheeks.
The silence stretched, thick and charged.
Breaking it, her voice was a soft melody. "Cassian?"
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Controlling the tremor in his voice took immense effort. "H-hm?"
She took a tentative step further into the room. "Are you… are you attending the party?"
Cassian's gaze swept over her, from the silver tips of her heels to the stormy grey of her eyes. "Stunning," he finally said, the single word laden with a depth that made her blush deepen. He stood, closing his laptop with a definitive click. "But I suppose grandma didn't tell you the truth about this particular party."
Elara tilted her head. "What truth?"
He walked toward her, his movements slow and deliberate. "That it's not just a celebration. It's a judicial show. A venomous gathering disguised with shining diamonds and whispered, unknown deals. Every smile is a calculation, every handshake a potential pact."
Understanding dawned on her face. "I see," she said, her voice calm. "I know some of the people here still see me as a mere tool. The convenient instrument used to erase Aris from the family ledger. A quiet, disposable pawn." She met his gaze, her own steady and unyielding. "But I couldn't care less about their opinions. So, please," she continued, stepping right up to him until they were mere inches apart, her voice dropping to a whisper, "go on. Let's go down there. And show them all what your wife truly is."
The air between them crackled, the ice of his warning meeting the fire of her defiance. A slow, knowing smile spread across Cassian's face, a rare and genuine expression of admiration and shared purpose. "Alright," he agreed, his voice a low rumble. "Let's give them a show they won't forget."
Arm in arm, they descended the grand staircase into the glittering ballroom. A hush fell, not sudden, but a slow, rolling wave of silence that followed their progress. All eyes were on them—the formidable Cassian Thorne and his enigmatic, radiant wife. They first paid their respects to Lady Theodora, who watched them with a glint of profound satisfaction in her ancient eyes. Then, they moved through the crowd, a united front. Cassian's greetings were terse and powerful; Elara's were graceful and impeccably polite, her smile a perfectly crafted shield.
After a while, as the orchestra struck up a waltz and couples began to drift onto the dance floor, Cassian looked down at her.
"Care to have a dance with me?" he asked, the formality of the question belying the intensity in his eyes.
Elara looked up at him, a playful glint in her stormy gaze. She tilted her head slightly. "Since I am already here," she said, her tone light yet laced with meaning, "why not enjoy myself a bit?"
He led her to the center of the floor, and the space around them seemed to clear, as if by unspoken command. The music swelled, a classic waltz that was both elegant and intensely structured. Cassian took her in his arms, his hand a firm, warm weight on the small of her back, his other hand enveloping hers. It was not a gentle hold; it was a statement of possession, a claim.
They began to move, and it was immediately clear this was no ordinary dance. Elara moved with a fluid, innate grace that was both soft and sharply precise. Cassian was her perfect counterpoint, his steps powerful and calculated, each movement a testament to his control, as strategic as a battlefield maneuver.
"Your skill is unexpected for a mere architectural designer," Cassian remarked, his voice a low murmur meant only for her as he guided her into a sweeping turn.
Elara met his gaze, her smile a subtle, knowing curve. "And your lead is surprisingly rigid for a man who professes to enjoy the dance," she countered, her voice just as quiet. "Are you always so intent on dominating your partner, warlord?"
A spark of challenge ignited in his eyes. He spun her out, the motion swift and sudden, the silk of her gown whispering a protest. As he pulled her back, their bodies closer than before, he replied, "I lead as I live. With purpose. Chaos is for the unprepared."
"Chaos can also be freedom," Elara breathed. And in that moment, she subtly shifted her weight, suggesting a different, more intricate step—a direct, graceful challenge to his absolute control.
For a single, taut heartbeat, he resisted, his powerful frame an unyielding wall. Then, a flicker of something dangerous, something intrigued and admiring, lit his cool gaze. He yielded, his own stride adapting seamlessly to match her innovation.
The dance transformed. It was no longer a simple leader and follower, but a conversation, a duel in motion. Elara's movements became more expressive, her turns sharper, her dips deeper, infused with a confidence that was entirely her own. She wasn't just following the steps; she was rewriting them, her every motion a testament to a spirit he could not fully tame.
Cassian, for his part, matched her flawlessly. His rigid posture softened into a predatory, responsive grace. He anticipated her challenges, his own steps becoming a complex, powerful counterpoint to hers. It was a breathtaking display of synergy, of two formidable forces meeting as equals.
As the music built to a passionate crescendo, he lifted her. It wasn't an ostentatious show of force, but an act of effortless power, so smooth it seemed a natural extension of the dance. For a suspended moment, she was airborne, held aloft by his strength, her gaze locked with his, a universe of unspoken understanding and shared secrets passing between them.
And in that moment of weightlessness, the reality of her own secret—the life growing within her—crashed over her with dizzying force. The music, the lights, Cassian's intense gaze—it all sharpened into a painful, beautiful clarity. He doesn't know.
As he set her down with the same effortless control, the final notes of the waltz hung in the air. They were close, barely a breath apart, the heat from their bodies a tangible force.
He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a husky whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. "You were thinking of something else just now, while dancing with me. Something that took you away from me." He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "I find myself on the verge of getting jealous."
"Eh?" she breathed, her mind still reeling, her carefully constructed composure fraying at the edges.
He didn't give her time to recover. His hand tightened at her waist, a silent promise and a question. The polite applause of the audience sounded distant, muffled by the thunder of her own heart.
"You are a vortex of contradictions, Elara," Cassian said, his voice quieter now, stripped of its earlier teasing, raw with an emotion that made her chest ache. "And I find I like it more than I ever thought possible."
Elara, her chest rising and falling with the exertion and emotion of their duel, offered him a genuine, slightly weary smile. The moment of truth was approaching, and the weight of it was immense. "And you, warlord," she replied, her voice soft but clear, "are exactly as you appear." She held his gaze, her own filled with a sudden, profound seriousness. "For now."
She dipped into a flawless, final curtsy, breaking the intense spell between them. He gave a shallow, equally perfect bow, his eyes never leaving hers. The space around them began to fill again with the murmuring, impressed crowd, but the memory of their dance—a battle, a conversation, a confession—remained, vivid and unresolved, hanging in the charged air between them. The party continued around them, but for Cassian and Elara, the real conversation was only just beginning..