The elevator descended with a soft hum, the digital display
ticking down the floors. Julian pressed the button for the 19th, his movement
mechanical.
"That woman, Elara… she's pregnant!" Old Lady
Thorne seethed, her voice a low, venomous hiss in the confined space.
"They all treat me like a fool, keeping this from me. She has no respect
for me, none at all!"
She turned her sharp, bird-like gaze to Julian, her eyes
narrowing. "Over two months along… Is the child yours?"
Julian met her stare for a long, tense moment before his
lips twisted into a grim line. "I never slept with her."
The old lady let out a short, harsh bark of laughter.
"Useless," she spat. "You chased her for over two years, dated
her for one, and you never even managed to get her into bed? You claimed to
love her to death, and in the end, your own father was the one to claim
her."
"I asked you before—why didn't you just take what you
wanted when you had the chance?"
Julian's smile was brittle, a crack in his carefully
constructed composure. "I have my pride."
"Pride?" she scoffed, the sound dripping with
contempt. "If you had any real pride, you wouldn't have let a mere girl
slip through your fingers and become your stepmother."
A shadow passed over Julian's eyes. He pressed his lips
together, changing the subject to the elephant in the room. "And you? You
have no thoughts about the fact that I'm not a Thorne? That I have no blood
connection to this family at all?"
The old lady had always been a fanatic about bloodlines. Her
reaction—this fierce, almost desperate defence of him—was entirely out of
character.
Her drooping, heavily lidded eyes narrowed to slits.
"What would you prefer?" she countered, her voice a low, meaningful
rasp. "That I cast you out onto the street, penniless and alone?"
"And what if you did?" Julian's self-mocking smile
returned. "Do I have any real choice in any of this?"
From the shattered pieces of conversation between Silas and
Steven Cohen, he had already pieced together the ugly picture. He was a pawn, a
bastard of unknown origin, used by the Cohen family as a weapon of revenge
against Silas.
What he couldn't figure out was what role this old woman had
carved out for him in her own twisted game.
"Once the test results come out and the truth is
undeniable, you'll have to accept it," Julian stated flatly.
The Old Lady Thorne fixed him with a piercing, unwavering
stare. "You foolish boy," she said, her voice dropping to a
conspiratorial whisper. "As long as I acknowledge you, you will remain a
Thorne."
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Julian
watched the old woman shuffle out, her cane tapping a determined rhythm on the
polished floor. His thoughtful gaze lingered on her retreating back, a deep
unease settling in his gut.
When Ben had fetched Julian earlier, Vivian was still
unconscious. Now, returning to her ward with the old lady, they found her
awake—and hysterical. She had apparently learned her full diagnosis from a
nurse.
"Get out! Get the doctor! I demand to see the doctor
right now!" she shrieked, her voice raw and breaking. "How dare they
take my womb?! Who gave them the right?!"
A terrified nurse, clutching a pillow Vivian had hurled at
her, cowered near the door. Seeing Julian and the matriarch, she scurried out
without a word, relief plain on her face.
Vivian lay panting on the bed, her face ashen. Every slight
movement sent a fresh wave of agony from her abdomen, and a dizzying weakness
threatened to pull her back into oblivion. Spotting Julian, she stretched a
trembling hand toward him, tears streaming down her face.
"Julian… our baby is gone," she sobbed, the sound
wretched and broken. "You have to make them pay… And that butcher! How
could he remove my womb? Who does he think he is…?"
Julian approached the bedside, his expression unreadable as
he looked down at her. "I authorised it," he said, his voice cold and
flat.
Vivian's sobs cut off as if a switch had been flipped. Her
eyes widened in horrified disbelief. "You? Why?! It was just the baby! I
could have had more! How could you be so cruel… so heartless…?"
"Without the hysterectomy, you would have bled to
death," he explained, his tone clinical, offering no comfort.
"No! That's a lie! It was just a gunshot wound! They
didn't have to take it! They're trying to ruin me! It has to be… it has to be
her…" Vivian rambled, her mind spiralling into paranoia.
Waking up to learn she had not only lost her child but her
very womanhood… it was a fate worse than death. How could she ever hold onto
Julian now?
"It was Elara! This is all her fault!" Vivian
cried, latching onto the familiar target with venomous desperation. "If
she hadn't dragged me out with her, that madman would never have shot me! She
did this to me!"
Julian's frown deepened. "Stop this. You need to focus
on recovering."
A sharp, calculating gleam flashed in Old Lady Thorne's eyes
as she stepped closer to the bed.
"Did you know," the old woman began, her voice
deceptively gentle, "that Elara is already over two months pregnant?"
Pregnant? Elara is pregnant? Over two months?
The words slammed into Vivian's fractured psyche. Her glazed
eyes blinked, and then she suddenly clawed at Julian's sleeve, her grip
surprisingly strong.
"She got herself pregnant and then used me as a pawn!
She set me up to get rid of my baby!" she hissed, her voice trembling with
a dawning, horrific conviction. "That surgeon… he was one of hers, wasn't
he? She arranged it all!"
"Vivian, that's enough," Julian said, his tone
hardening. "You're delirious. Focus on getting better. Elara nearly lost
her own child and is on strict bed rest."
His words, meant to be rational, sounded to Vivian like a
shield protecting her rival. A fresh, corrosive hatred bloomed in her heart, so
potent she could taste it.
Old Lady Thorne observed the transformation on Vivian's face
with a subtle, satisfied curl of her lips.
Then, her own expression sharpened into one of stern
disapproval. "Vivian, I warned you," she chided, her voice laced with
false sympathy. "If anything happened to this child, I would not be
merciful."
"How is this my fault?!" Vivian shrieked, turning
her fury on the old woman.
"I told you, it was Elara! She set a trap for me! I
almost died! If you want to blame someone, blame her! Why are you attacking
me?!"
"Hmph! It still speaks to your own incompetence!"
the matriarch retorted with a contemptuous sweep of her hand. "Since the
child is gone, you will divorce Julian promptly. Do not cling to a position you
can no longer fulfil."
Vivian reeled as if struck. The blood drained from her face,
leaving her dizzy and gasping for air.
The wretched old crone had no heart at all.
"Vivian, don't think me cruel," Old Lady Thorne
continued, her tone softening into a manipulative croon. "You can never
bear children again. You cannot selfishly hold Julian back from having an
heir."
"If you must blame anyone, blame your own misfortune
for being caught in last night's chaos. Though Elara showed signs of
miscarriage, she narrowly escaped and managed to keep her child."
"Rest assured, you were once Julian's wife and carried
his child. If you agree to a clean divorce and cease being a burden, I will
ensure you are well compensated. You will want for nothing for the rest of your
life."
Vivian didn't hear the promise of money. Her mind was a
roaring vortex, consumed by one burning, unbearable fact: Elara had saved her
baby. Elara was perfectly fine.
Back in Elara's sunlit hospital room, the atmosphere was a
world away.
The moment Silas entered, Ingrid rose from her chair, a cold
sneer on her lips. "The old bat still refuses to believe the truth?"
"Mm," Silas grunted in affirmation before heading
into the bathroom to wash his hands.
"Stubborn old fool," Ingrid muttered under her
breath. "Just wait until those results come back. Let's see what excuses
she has then."
Silas returned and settled himself beside Elara's bed, his
entire demeanour shifting to one of soft concern. "How are you feeling?
Are your limbs still sore? Should I massage them for you?"
Elara quickly shook her head, a faint blush colouring her
cheeks. "No, it's alright. I'm much better now." With Ingrid
watching, the intimacy of him tending to her so meticulously was deeply
embarrassing.
Ingrid noticed the subtle blush and the soft, flustered tone
in Elara's voice. She cleared her throat, realising she was intruding.
"Silas, let's be practical," she said, adopting a
more pragmatic tone. "You're hardly an expert at this. Given Elara's
delicate condition, you might not know the proper way to care for her. We
should hire a professional nurse."
It wasn't that she doubted his devotion; she genuinely
feared his inexperience might cause Elara discomfort.
"No," Silas refused without a moment's hesitation,
his tone leaving no room for argument. "I will look after her
myself."
"For the time being, Arthur can manage the company. My
assistant will liaise directly with him."
The meaning was clear: as long as Elara was confined to this
hospital bed, he would be confined here with her, CEO duties be damned.
Ingrid sighed in exasperation. "It's not that he can't
handle it, but you can't just abandon your responsibilities entirely. He is
getting on in years…"
Silas shot her a look that was both challenging and faintly
amused. "So you feel sorry for your husband, but not for your own
nephew?"
"He's just past sixty. That's still well below the
latest statutory retirement age."
The two swift retorts left Ingrid momentarily speechless,
caught between frustration and a begrudging smile. It was impossible to win an
argument with him when his mind was set, especially when it came to Elara.