The Hearthstone Café was quiet at 10:00 AM. Elara sat in their now-usual booth, her hands folded on the polished wood table. She was fifteen minutes early, her mind a whirlwind. Over the past two weeks, Cassian had revealed the Thorne family's deepest secret: Aris was not Samuel's biological son. The revelation had been staggering, reframing everything she knew about the family's dynamics and Cassian's cold demeanor.
He wants to take back the shares meant for Aris, she thought, sipping her water. But how can I help with that? I'm an architect, not a corporate raider. And this money… The five-million-dollar settlement felt both like a fortune and a burden. What was she supposed to do with it? It was blood money from a broken dream, yet Cassian had called it a "seed."
She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't notice the gentle clink of porcelain until a warm voice broke through.
"Two cups of hot chocolate, ma'am."
Elara blinked, looking up at the smiling waitress. "But… I didn't order this."
"Yes, I know," the waitress said cheerfully. "But your husband did."
"Husband?" The word sent a jolt through her. Her eyes darted to the opposite side of the booth, where Cassian Thorne now sat, watching her with an expression she'd never seen on him before—a faint, playful smirk.
"It's 10:15," he stated, his voice a low rumble. "You were so absorbed I had time to review the café's entire menu and place our order. I was beginning to admire the depth of your concentration."
Elara felt a flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks, quickly followed by a spark of irritation. "You could have called my name instead of waiting fifteen minutes."
"And miss the show? You were a million miles away. Let's just get to the point." The playful glint vanished as quickly as it appeared, his face settling back into its familiar, serious lines. That brief, teasing moment was now a relic of history.
"Fine," Elara said, pulling the hot chocolate toward her. "The divorce is final. What's the next step? How does me having this 'seed' help you secure your empire from a man who isn't even a real Thorne?"
Cassian took a slow sip of his drink. "The next step is the most crucial one. It requires absolute trust and a formal, public alliance." He paused, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "We need to get married."
Elara nearly choked on her hot chocolate. "Married? Have you lost your mind? Why on earth would we need to do that?"
"Three reasons," he said, utterly calm. "First, control. To legally challenge Aris's inheritance, I need to place a significant portion of shares in a name he cannot touch. That name will be yours. As my wife, such a transfer is logical. As my ex-niece-in-law, it would raise immediate red flags and a legal battle we can't afford yet."
He continued before she could interject. "Second, positioning. Aris forced you to resign from Foster & Grey because your success threatened his fragile ego. As my wife, you will not only reclaim your career, you will surpass it. I am giving you a seat on the Thorne Group board and placing you in charge of our new global architectural division. You will be his superior."
The audacity of the plan left her speechless. He was offering her a throne.
"And third," he said, his voice dropping. "Power. This marriage gives you the ultimate platform to reclaim your life. You will no longer be the jilted bride. You will be the woman who ascended to the heart of the very family that scorned her. It is the most profound revenge possible."
Elara's mind raced. "And the money from the settlement? The five million?"
"Use it," he said simply. "Invest it in yourself. Start your own design firm under the umbrella of the Thorne Group. Hire the best. Be a silent partner, a venture capitalist. That money isn't compensation for your pain, Elara. It is your initial war chest. It is proof that you don't need their money, but you will use it to build something they can never tear down."
The logic was cold, brilliant, and terrifying. "This is a business arrangement," she confirmed, her voice steady.
"Absolutely," Cassian nodded. "A marriage of convenience. We support each other's goals. I secure my brother's legacy. You build an unshakeable life. The wedding will be quiet, at the city courthouse. This Friday. Is that acceptable?"
Elara looked at the man across from her—this formidable, calculating strategist who saw not a victim, but a partner. She took a deep breath. "Yes. Friday is acceptable."
---
Later that evening, Elara returned home, mentally exhausted. She planned to slip straight upstairs, but the sound of laughter from the living room made her pause. Peeking in, she saw her parents, Lena, and Aris lounging together, a bottle of champagne open on the table. It was a perfect, happy picture she had no place in.
She turned to leave, but Lena's sharp eyes caught the movement.
"Elara! Elara, don't go! I was looking for you!" Lena rushed over, her voice a syrupy sweet melody laced with mock concern.
"Why?" Elara asked, her tone flat.
"I… actually…" Lena put on a pout. "I want you to wear the maid of honour dress in my wedding… just like I did for you." She then switched to a sad, pleading tone. "If you don't want to, then…"
"Of course she will!" their mother chimed in, her voice gratingly bright. "You will, won't you, Elara? I didn't raise you to be bitter, did I?"
Before anyone could add another word, Elara cut in. "When is the wedding?"
"Two weeks from today," Aris announced smugly from the couch.
"Will you come, sister?" Lena asked, her eyes wide with fake hope.
Elara gave a long, weary sigh. Then, she stepped forward and patted Lena's shoulder, a cold, tight smile on her lips. "As long as I am only a sister and a daughter, I will."
She pressed the word "only" just enough. Lena's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a flicker of unease in her eyes. She had noticed that only Elara's lips were smiling; her eyes remained a stormy, unreadable grey.
Elara didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked upstairs, the sound of their strained celebration fading behind her.
In the quiet of her room, her phone buzzed. Seeing Cassian's name on the screen, an unconscious, small smile touched her lips. "A siren's call indeed," she murmured to the empty room.
She answered. "Hello?"
There was a two-second silence, a habit of his she was starting to recognize. Then, his voice, all business. "Your wedding dress. I can have the designers take measurements from your old one, but is there a specific colour or design you want?"
The question stunned her. No one had ever asked for her preference. Not for her first wedding dress, not for anything. After a long pause, her voice was soft but clear. "A black one. Minimalist design."
"Okay," he replied, no trace of judgment in his tone. "See you there."
"Okay." The call ended, and with it, the only light which had shined in her dark room closed. She had just agreed to a marriage of convenience, and her only request was a black wedding dress. The symbolism was not lost on her. This was not a new beginning. It was an armistice, signed in black.