The woman—Lillian—flinched, a perfectly performed picture of startled
innocence. Her gentle face melted into an apology as she turned fully to Elara.
"My deepest apologies, Mrs. Thorne. I didn't mean to disturb your
peace." Her voice was a soft, placating murmur. "I meant no harm. I
simply saw you standing here and thought I'd take the opportunity to introduce
myself properly."
She offered a small, awkward smile, a masterclass in feigned
vulnerability. "Julian felt it was his duty to witness the matriarch's
final interment. He asked me to accompany him here for moral support, and I
couldn't refuse."
Elara's expression remained a polite mask. She knew Julian had gone in
not out of duty, but to scavenge for any last shred of advantage or sympathy.
With a barely perceptible flick of her wrist, she signalled the bodyguards.
They stepped back, but their imposing presence remained, a human fortress on
either side of her.
"It's quite all right," Elara said, her voice cool and
measured. "You said your name is Lillian Burns, correct?"
Lillian, sensing the unspoken boundaries, took two precise, measured
steps forward, closing the distance but maintaining a respectful three paces
between them. A calculated move.
"Yes, Mrs. Thorne. Please, call me Lillian." Her smile
widened, making her phoenix eyes crinkle into gentle crescents. Everything
about her demeanour was warm, approachable, and utterly disarming.
"Very well, Lillian," Elara replied, her smile not quite
reaching her eyes. Then, she struck, her question delivered with a deceptive
softness. "If you don't mind my asking, what exactly is your relationship
with Julian? You were a nurse at a Winslow hospital, were you not? His injuries
should be long healed by now..."
Lillian let out a soft, tinkling laugh, as if Elara had said something
charmingly naive. "Oh, Mrs. Thorne, you misunderstand. I see Julian as
nothing more than a younger brother. He reminds me so much of my own brother,
whom I haven't seen in many years. That's the only reason I've taken a special
interest in his well-being."
She paused, her gaze sincere. "My visit to Ashbourne this time is
actually to bid him farewell. I've resigned from the hospital. I plan to pursue
further studies abroad."
"Congratulations," Elara said, expertly masking her surprise.
"Studying abroad is a splendid opportunity." Her instincts screamed
that this was a lie, too neat, too convenient.
"Thank you, Mrs. Thorne," Lillian said, her eyes drifting down
to Elara's abdomen with an unsettling focus. "And may I offer my blessings
to you? May you and Mr. Thorne be blessed with a son soon, and grow old
together in happiness."
The words were traditional, a common well-wishing. But the way she said
them, the way her gaze lingered on Elara's belly, felt like a cold, damp
caress. It wasn't a blessing; it felt like a claiming, a sinister promise that
made the fine hairs on Elara's arms stand up.
Elara's hand instinctively moved to cover her stomach, a protective
gesture. "Thank you for your well-wishes, Miss Burns. Please, excuse me. I
should return to the car to rest." The politeness was now a thin veneer
over her desire to escape this woman's presence.
Lillian's smile only deepened, becoming something more knowing, more
intimate. "Of course. Rest well, Mrs. Thorne. Perhaps we shall meet again
someday." Her phoenix eyes glinted. "From our very first encounter, I
felt we shared a certain... affinity."
"Is that so?" Elara's lips curved in a faint, dismissive
smile, her disbelief clear.
Unfazed, Lillian simply studied her for one long, intense moment, as if memorising
every detail. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away, her
slender figure moving with a grace that was both feminine and unnervingly
agile, like a predator retreating into the shadows.
Elara watched until the woman disappeared from view, the sense of unease
clinging to her like a shroud before she finally retreated to the safety of the
car.
Shortly after, the somber procession returned from the cemetery. The old
lady Thorne's "ashes" had been laid to rest, but not without a final,
pathetic scene from Julian.
Ben, from the passenger seat of the Rolls-Royce, turned to face Silas,
his expression grim. "BOSS, all attendees at today's funeral were
registered and cross-checked against the guest list. No suspicious individuals
were identified."
Silas's gaze was like shards of ice. "Have you traced that number
from the old lady's phone?"
Ben's jaw tightened. "It's an old, untraceable overseas number. No
identity information. There's no message history with the old lady's phone
either—only call records. The earliest one we can trace... was twenty years
ago."
"Twenty years ago," Elara breathed out, turning to Silas, her
eyes wide with realisation. "So she knew about Julian's origins all the
way back then. But who told her?" Her mind raced, piecing together the
twisted puzzle. "It couldn't have been Steven Cohen... he always believed
Julian was your biological son."
She spoke her deductions aloud, the pieces clicking into a terrifying
picture. "There must have been someone else from the Cohen family, someone
who slipped through the net. A ghost, waiting in the shadows all this
time."
Silas's piercing gaze grew impossibly colder, a storm of fury and lethal
intent. "But our surveillance showed no one made contact with Julian after
his fall from grace," Elara added, her heart beginning to pound with a
new, chilling fear. "Silas... could this 'ghost' be the one who saved
Steven?"
Seeing the anxiety flash in her eyes, Silas's heart clenched. He
captured her hand in his, his large, warm palm enveloping hers completely. A
silent anchor in the rising storm.
"Ethan and Ben have already located and dismantled Steven Cohen's
last remaining bases overseas," he said, his voice a low, reassuring
rumble. "Even if he drew his last breath in some gutter, he is no longer a
threat to us."
He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a firm, possessive kiss to her
knuckles. "As for the ghost lurking in the shadows... his entire plan was
to use the matriarch to position Julian as the heir to the Thorne and Winslow
fortunes. That plan is in ashes. With the old lady dead, he will be forced to
retreat, to lick his wounds."
His sharply defined features hardened, transforming him into the
formidable predator that ruled his empire. "But he made one mistake. He
contacted her. He left a trail. And now, I will follow that trail until I hunt
him down. He will be flushed out, and when he is, I will tear him apart."
The raw, vicious promise in his words should have frightened her.
Instead, it filled her with a fierce sense of safety. He was her shield and her
sword.
Her smile was like the sun breaking through storm clouds, sweet and full
of unwavering faith. "I believe you."
That smile, so full of trust and love, finally shattered the heavy gloom
that had filled the car. Silas's brow relaxed, and his thumb began to gently
stroke the back of her hand, a soft, repetitive motion that spoke of a devotion
deeper than words. He looked at her, at the woman who shouldered his burdens
without hesitation, and knew he would spend a lifetime repaying the debt of her
love.
"Mrs. Thorne, this is the file on Lillian Burns from Ben."
Shortly after they returned to the ancestral home, Brooke handed Elara a
tablet, her expression neutral.
"You found it so quickly," Elara remarked, impressed by the
efficiency as she took the device and began to read.
"Lillian Burns, 33 years old?" Elara murmured, surprised. The
woman had seemed much younger, only a few years her senior.
The CV that unfolded was nothing short of impeccable. Born in Oakhaven,
her parents divorced when she was twelve, after which she emigrated to Britain
with her mother. She graduated from a world-renowned medical school, blazing
through her master's and doctorate consecutively. She had participated in
numerous high-profile medical research projects, with several papers published
in top-tier international journals.
A woman of such stellar credentials should have been pioneering research
in London or Geneva. Yet, three years ago, she had returned to Oakhaven
specifically to work as a nurse at the Winslow family hospital. The demotion
was staggering.
According to hospital colleagues, she was "exceptionally
gentle," "always helpful," and "never lost her
temper." The official story was a classic trope: a broken heart abroad,
prompting a desire for a quiet, simple life back home. It was when Ethan was
selecting a carer for Julian that her impeccable demeanour made her the staff's
unanimous recommendation.
On paper, her relationship with Julian was exactly as she claimed—a
nurturing, sisterly bond. Records confirmed she did have a younger brother who
had left the country with their father over a decade ago, and with whom she had
lost contact.
"Nothing seems amiss," Elara murmured to herself, yet the
feeling of wrongness persisted, a knot in her stomach that the flawless data
couldn't untangle.
"What's not unusual?"
Silas's voice came from behind her. He had washed away the lingering
gloom of the cemetery and changed into fresh, dark clothes. He looked more like
himself again—the powerful CEO, not the grieving grandson. He took the tablet
from her hands, his sharp eyes scanning the information with ruthless speed.
His brow furrowed slightly.
"Her background is a little too clean," he stated, his voice a
low growl. "A woman with this CV doesn't become a nurse for a broken
heart. She's hiding something."
He handed the tablet back to Brooke, his gaze settling on Elara, dark
and protective. "And until we find out what it is, you are not to be alone
with her. Is that clear?"
Elara nodded, the memory of Lillian's serpentine smile and lingering
gaze sending a fresh chill down her spine.