The Thorne Estate had always felt more like a stage than a home.
Everything was calculated for maximum impact — the sweeping marble foyer with its crystal chandeliers, the perfectly manicured gardens visible through floor-to-ceiling windows, the staff who moved like silent shadows, appearing only when needed and vanishing just as quickly. Nothing was left to chance. Not the temperature of the rooms, not the arrangement of the flowers, not the seating at dinner.
And certainly not the family dynamics.
Victor Thorne ruled from the head of every table — literal and figurative. Tall, silver-haired, and impeccably dressed even on casual days, he spoke with the quiet authority of a man who had never lost a negotiation. His word was law. He had built the Thorne empire through ruthless mergers and strategic alliances, and he expected the same cold precision from his only daughter.
