"Great-grandmother! Forgive your unfilial grandson!" Julian's
voice, raw and cracking with manufactured grief, sliced through the somber
silence of the funeral hall. He clung to the polished coffin as if his legs
would give way, his performance a masterclass in public manipulation. "I
didn't know you were suffering! If only I had known, I would have been by your
side, caring for you day and night..."
He wept without restraint, a picture of utter devotion that stood in
stark contrast to the controlled, solemn expressions of the true Thorne family.
The crowd of Ashbourne's elite ate it up, their whispers weaving a narrative of
Julian's profound loyalty against the cold indifference of Silas and Elara.
But for those listening closely, his words were laced with poison. He
wasn't just mourning; he was accusing. He was painting a picture of being
deliberately shut out, an heir wronged and kept from his beloved grandmother in
her final hours.
Silas's gaze was glacial. A single, almost imperceptible nod to Ethan
was all it took.
Ethan moved with efficient grace, stepping forward to firmly grasp
Julian's arm. "Mr. Cohen," he said, his voice a low, carrying murmur
meant for the nearby mourners. "Your devotion does you credit, and the
matriarch felt your love deeply. But you must compose yourself. Please, allow
me to escort you to your seat."
His grip was like iron, a silent promise of force if necessary. Julian,
wincing in pain disguised as grief, managed one last, longing look at the
ornate urn—the sacred vessel he believed held his last ally's remains—before
being firmly steered away toward the seating area.
The woman in the sleek black dress watched them go, her expression
unreadable behind her dark sunglasses. She turned her head slowly, her gaze
settling on the portrait of the late matriarch. For a long, assessing moment,
she studied the face of the woman whose death had brought her here. Then, she
turned.
Her eyes, hidden behind the tinted lenses, performed a slow, deliberate
sweep of Elara—from the crown of her head down to the subtle, tell-tale curve
of her belly, hidden beneath the elegant flow of her black dress. A subtle,
knowing smile touched her crimson lips as she removed her sunglasses, revealing
sharp, phoenix-like eyes.
"Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne," she said, her voice a warm, honeyed
contrast to her assessing gaze. "My deepest condolences. Please, take care
of yourselves."
Elara's smile was polite but guarded. "Thank you. And you
are…?" She was certain she'd never seen this strikingly beautiful face
before, yet the woman's voice tugged at a distant memory.
Silas spared the woman only a fleeting glance, his disinterest palpable.
The woman's smile widened, perfectly practiced. "We haven't had the
pleasure, Mrs. Thorne. I was the private nurse overseeing Mr. Cohen's
rehabilitation in Oakhaven. My name is Lillian Burns."
Recognition dawned in Elara's eyes. So this is her. The woman who had
caused Vivian such a fit of jealous rage. The voice on the phone.
"Ah, yes. Lillian," Elara repeated, her tone neutral.
Lillian inclined her head. "I should go and ensure Julian is…
managing. If you'll excuse me."
"Of course."
As Lillian walked away, her hips swaying with a confident rhythm, Elara
leaned closer to Silas, her voice dropping to a whisper only he could hear.
"Did you plant her?"
Silas didn't need clarification. His gaze remained fixed on the
retreating figure. "No," he replied, his voice a low rumble.
"The arrangement with Sterling's Hospital ended with his recovery. Any…
continued association is his own doing."
Their eyes met, a world of understanding passing between them in that
single look.
"Then we should find out the nature of their 'association,'"
Elara murmured.
A dark intensity flickered in Silas's eyes. "It's already being
looked into."
The arrival of Robert and Claire Hayes provided a temporary distraction.
Robert, seated in his wheelchair with Claire as his sullen chauffeur, rolled to
a stop before them, his face a mask of paternal concern.
"Elara, my dear. Mr. Thorne. My heart aches for your loss."
His eyes lingered on Elara, devouring the details of her face. "You look
pale, my child. You mustn't let the grief consume you. You need to keep your
strength up, especially in your… condition."
The possessiveness in his gaze made Elara's skin crawl. "Thank you
for your concern, Uncle Robert. Silas ensures I want for nothing."
"Good, that's good," Robert said, his voice oozing false
warmth. "Now that you're back in Ashbourne, the Hayes house is your home.
You must come for a proper family dinner soon."
Elara's smile was a brittle thing. "We'll see."
From behind the wheelchair, Claire suppressed a bitter sneer, her
knuckles white as she gripped the handles.
Silas's arm tightened around Elara's waist, a clear, possessive signal.
His sharp gaze swept over Robert, missing nothing. "If you'll excuse
us," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "There are other
guests who require our attention."
Without waiting for a reply, he guided Elara away, leaving Robert
seething in his wake, the mask of affection crumbling into something dark and
grim.
As the final procession to the cemetery began, the crowd thinned to only
the closest family and associates. Julian, stubborn as a tick, remained.
Though every fibre of his being revolted at the charade, Silas played
his part, leading the somber march to escort the "matriarch's ashes"
to their final resting place.
Due to her pregnancy, Elara remained behind in the car park, the
superstition about expectant mothers in cemeteries providing a welcome excuse.
Leaning against the car door with Brooke, surrounded by a perimeter of watchful
bodyguards, she tried to shake the lingering unease.
The sound of a car door opening and closing broke the quiet. A slender
figure emerged from a sleek black saloon.
Lillian.
"Mrs. Thorne," she called out, her voice smooth as silk as she
approached. "I'm surprised you didn't join them for the final
farewell."
The ring of bodyguards shifted instantly, forming an impenetrable wall
between her and Elara, their postures rigid and warning.
Elara met the woman's gaze over the wall of her protectors, a cool,
unflinching stare that held a silent challenge.