Julian's quiet acceptance hung in the air, a stark contrast
to the matriarch's fury.
Old Lady Thorne's face darkened like a thunderhead. "What
foolishness are you spouting?" she snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. "I
have raised you under this roof for over twenty years. Your blood is Thorne
blood. You will not be leaving this family."
Julian offered her a bitter, twisted smile but held his
tongue. There was no point.
Silas acted as if he hadn't heard her, his focus shifting to
the bespectacled doctor waiting patiently. "Doctor, we require two tests," he
stated, his voice devoid of all warmth. "A paternity test between Julian and
myself. And since the Matriarch questions the results," his gaze flickered to
the old woman, cold and challenging, "a kinship test between her and Julian as
well."
Without ceremony, he plucked a single hair from his own
head.
"Of course, Mr. Thorne." The doctor adjusted his glasses,
taking the hair and sealing it in a sterile bag. He then looked expectantly at
Julian and the fuming matriarch.
"Silas Thorne, this is an utter farce!" the old lady
erupted, her composure shattering.
But before she could launch into another tirade, Ben stepped
forward. With an efficiency that brooked no argument, he swiftly and gently
plucked a grey hair from her head.
She gasped, her hand flying to the spot. Rage turned her
face a mottled purple as she glared at her grandson, her chest heaving.
A flicker of understanding passed through Julian's eyes. He
remembered now—a family dinner at the Thorne mansion, Ethan bumping into him, a
hand briefly brushing his head. It had seemed accidental. Now, he knew it was
the moment his fate was stolen, a single hair sealing it.
The confirmation, delivered so brutally by Silas last night,
had been a shock, yet it resonated with a deep, secret part of himself that had
always doubted. The finality of it bred not surprise, but a profound, weary
bitterness.
Wordlessly, he reached up, pulled a strand of his own hair,
and handed it to the doctor.
"The results will be ready in six hours, Mr. Thorne. I'll
take my leave." The doctor secured the samples and departed swiftly, the tense
atmosphere clinging to him as he went.
"Well, Grandmother," Silas said, his detached gaze meeting
her livid one. "We will await the results. You are… fatigued. Return home and
rest. I will have the results delivered to you personally." A cynical smile
touched his lips. "Unless you'd prefer to stand over the technician's shoulder
and watch? To ensure there is no… trickery?"
His perceptive, dark eyes seemed to see right through her,
making her heart stutter with a strange, unplaceable fear.
"That will not be necessary!" she spat, rising shakily to
her feet, her knuckles white on the head of her cane. "Julian, we are leaving."
Julian hesitated, his complex gaze lingering on Silas,
searching for something—anger, pity, anything—but finding only an impenetrable
wall.
"Go," Silas said, the single word a quiet command.
Only then did Julian turn and follow the stiff-backed
matriarch out of the room.
Silas watched them go, his intense gaze not wavering until
the door clicked shut behind them. The room fell into a heavy silence.
Ben stepped forward, his usually stoic, doll-like face
etched with rare hesitation.
"Out with it," Silas commanded, not looking at him as he
rolled up the cuffs of his black shirt, revealing powerful forearms.
"It's about Ethan, Boss," Ben began, his voice low. "He
didn't mean for you to come to harm. His loyalty has never been in question."
They had been brothers-in-arms for over a decade. Ben
couldn't stand by and do nothing.
Since Silas had carried Elara from the beach, Ethan had been
effectively exiled—all his duties reassigned, his presence ignored. The reason
was crystal clear to everyone in their inner circle.
When the Boss was prepared to trade his life for his wife's,
Ethan had spoken up to stop him. That single moment of questioning, even if
born from concern, was an unforgivable sin in Silas's world.
Silas finally turned, his gaze boring into Ben. "What is the
one thing I have always demanded of you?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
Ben stood straighter, answering without hesitation.
"Absolute obedience."
It was the first and only non-negotiable rule the Boss had
laid down when he'd chosen them from the training base all those years ago.
"Hmm," Silas let out a low, acknowledging hum. His large
hand came down on Ben's shoulder, the grip firm, almost painful. "Then remind
him. It appears he has forgotten."
Absolute obedience. It meant no questions. No defiance. Even
if the order was to stand by and watch him walk to his death. His will was
their command.
Ben stood rooted to the spot as Silas turned and pushed open
the door to the inner ward, disappearing inside. The soft click of the latch
felt final. Thinking of Ethan, waiting uselessly outside the hospital for a
word of forgiveness, Ben could only sigh, his eyes filled with grim
resignation.
At the quiet nurses' station, two young nurses leaned
against the counter, stealing a moment for gossip.
"Did you see Mr. Thorne from the VIP suite? The way he looks
at his wife… I think I'd faint on the spot if he looked at me like that," one
whispered, fanning her face dramatically.
"Tell me about it," the other sighed, green with envy. "She
just needs bed rest, but he treats her like she's made of glass. Won't let her
lift a finger. I even saw him carry her to the bathroom himself. He's a
billionaire who acts like a devoted nurse. It's not fair."
"They say older men are more nurturing. She's so young, and
he's… well, he's Silas Thorne. That combination of power, experience, and
devotion… it's every woman's dream."
In the corridor, Old Lady Thorne, her expression stern as
she walked with Julian, overheard the conversation and stopped dead. Her face
underwent a subtle transformation, the anger melting into a mask of
grandmotherly concern as she approached the counter.
"Pardon me," she said, her voice softening unnaturally. "I
am Silas's grandmother. I couldn't help but overhear… did you say my
granddaughter-in-law has suffered a miscarriage?"
The two nurses froze, their faces flushing with
embarrassment at being caught. After a flustered moment, one quickly corrected
her.
"Oh! Mrs. Thorne, our apologies! No, no, it's not a
miscarriage. Mrs. Elara Thorne is experiencing some complications and needs hospitalisation
for foetal protection. The baby is still perfectly safe."
The old lady's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. So, the
girl was pregnant. And the family had kept it from her. A cold fury began to
simmer beneath her carefully constructed calm.
"The child is safe? What a relief," she cooed, layering on
the concern. "But the foetus must be so fragile at this stage… are the doctors
certain it can be saved?"
"Please don't worry, Madam," the other nurse chimed in,
eager to reassure the powerful matriarch. "Mrs. Thorne is just over two months
along. Dr. Miller is confident that with proper bed rest through the first
trimester, the pregnancy will be secure. She's young and healthy. There should
be no problem at all."
"I see. Thank you, dears. You've set an old woman's heart at
ease."
With a gracious nod, the Old Lady Thorne turned away. The
moment her back was to the nurses, all pretence of warmth vanished from her
face, replaced by a calculating coldness. She met Julian's troubled gaze, her
own eyes clouded with dark, unreadable thoughts.
They walked the rest of the way to the elevators in heavy
silence.
"Come," she finally said, her voice clipped and sharp as the
elevator doors pinged open. "Let us go and see that woman, Vivian Grays."