"Honestly, while Vivian was no saint, having parents like that is
just a curse," the colleague sighed, shaking her head. "Even the most
despicable people have their pitiful sides. Her parents clearly didn't care
about her well-being—they just came for their monthly allowance. They didn't
even know she was pregnant or married. I think Vivian just wanted to escape
them for good."
"...Probably," Elara replied, her expression unmoved.
She could easily imagine the kind of people Vivian's parents were. Their
daughter had strategically befriended her, always playing the victim—the poor
girl from a backward family, mistreated by her parents since childhood, forced
to work through university while sending money home to fund her brothers'
lives. She'd spun tales of blatant favouritism, of a home that never valued
her.
It was that very manufactured sympathy Vivian had exploited so skilfully.
"Anyway, enough about her," Elara said, gently patting her
colleague's shoulder and effectively ending the conversation.
By the time the morning break rolled around at half-past eleven, the
office was buzzing with the lunchtime rush. Her colleague had intended to
invite her to eat, but upon learning Mr. Silas Thorne himself was waiting
downstairs, she quickly reconsidered. Stealing the boss's wife for lunch felt
like a fast track to unemployment.
As Elara descended the stairs, she was met with warm greetings from
numerous colleagues. The familiar, energetic corporate atmosphere wrapped
around her like a comfortable old coat, and a genuine smile found its way to
her lips.
Silas's car was still parked under the spreading oak where she'd left
him. Having likely grown tired of waiting inside, the man now leaned against
the vehicle, soaking in the midday sun. His impeccably tailored white shirt,
with the top button undone, revealed a sharp Adam's apple. The shirt was tucked
into dark, perfectly fitted suit trousers that accentuated his lean waist and
powerful legs.
He stood with a relaxed, unconscious grace—one long leg bent, the other
stretched out, radiating the effortless, commanding ease of a man completely
secure in his own skin. Combined with his devastatingly handsome, aristocratic
features, he and the luxury car formed a mesmerising tableau.
Pedestrians couldn't help but steal glances, captivated by his arresting
presence. A group of bolder schoolgirls even dared to snap photos from a
distance. When his sharp, assessing gaze swept over them, they immediately
fumbled with their phones and scurried away, flustered.
Elara approached, a playful smile gracing her lips. "Hey there,
handsome. Fancy getting some lunch?"
Silas reached for her bag, a glint of amusement in his deep-set eyes as
he played along. "What did you have in mind, beautiful?"
"The cafeteria next to the Aeternum building," she declared,
her eyes lighting up. "I haven't been in ages. I'm suddenly craving their
food—the pickled green beans with minced pork, the spicy chilli beef salad...
and oh, a burrito!"
Just the thought made her mouth water.
Silas's brow furrowed slightly, his tone softening with concern.
"Darling, have you noticed all your cravings are for rather... intense flavours?"
Her morning sickness had only recently subsided, and her diet had been
strictly bland until now. Jumping straight into such heavy, spicy food seemed
risky.
Elara's face fell for a second before she brightened again, patting her
stomach. "You're right. But I'm craving it so badly I can almost taste it.
And I don't think it's just me—I'm pretty sure the two little ones are the ones
demanding it."
Now safely into her second trimester, her appetite had returned with a
vengeance, and her cravings were becoming increasingly specific and powerful.
Hearing her use their unborn children as a shield for her indulgences,
Silas couldn't help but chuckle. He reached out and ruffled the hair at the
crown of her high ponytail.
"If you're craving it, then we'll have it."
The food at the Aeternum cafeteria was genuinely excellent. During her
internship, she and Chloe had been regulars, especially after gruelling client
meetings or late nights working overtime. After she started accepting Julian's
dinner invitations to maintain her cover, she'd been forced to endure stuffy,
upmarket restaurants to keep up appearances.
Finding an empty table at this peak hour was a challenge. Silas, with
his height and sharp eyes, quickly spotted a free spot in the corner. After
settling Elara, he joined the queue like any other employee, his commanding
presence causing a subtle ripple through the crowd.
Elara propped her chin in her hands, watching his tall, distinguished
figure. Employees around him were stealing glances, a few even offering to let
him cut the line. He declined them all with a subtle, almost imperceptible
shake of his head, his expression coolly indifferent. I've got this, his
posture seemed to say. Watching him stand there, sleeves rolled up, carefully
balancing two trays amidst the jostling crowd, stirred a complex emotion within
her—a mix of novelty and a tinge of guilt. This was the king of a corporate
empire, and here he was, queuing for cafeteria food.
But then she mentally shrugged. He's my husband. He can handle a little
queue.
Having reassured herself, she watched him again, a wave of sweetness
washing over her. The other employees eventually went back to their own
business, the novelty of seeing their CEO in the wild wearing off.
In the queue, Silas remained oblivious to his wife's internal monologue.
This was a uniquely mundane experience for him. But for his wife and children?
He'd walk through fire. He remained utterly composed, unfazed by the lingering
stares.
Elara was surprised at how quickly he returned, steadily carrying two
laden trays. "That was fast!"
"Perhaps my aura is too intimidating," he murmured with a soft
chuckle, setting the trays down. "The person ahead of me insisted I go
first."
Elara snorted playfully. "I totally believe that. Now, let's eat.
I'm starving."
"Eat slowly," he said, already picking the choicest pieces of
beef from his own plate and placing them onto hers. "After lunch, we're
going home for a proper nap. You need to be well-rested for your work this
afternoon."
Hearing him slip back into his overprotective mode, Elara stifled a
laugh. "Yes, dear."
They took their time, Elara eating at her leisurely pace, chewing
thoroughly. By the time they left the dining hall, a full thirty minutes had
passed.
As they stepped out, they unexpectedly encountered a middle-aged couple
asking for directions. Their swarthy complexions, unkempt clothes, and the
man's particularly shifty demeanour put Elara on edge. Then she faintly
overheard the woman's question—it sounded like she was asking for someone by
her name.
Silas heard it too, his expression instantly turning to ice. He
tightened his arm around Elara, steering her past them.
But the woman's gaze snapped to Elara, her eyes widening in recognition.
"Elara! Don't go!"
The man spun around, and both rushed to block their path.
"Elara? You must be Vivian's friend, Elara! I've seen your
photo!" the woman declared, her eyes raking over Elara with a calculating,
avaricious gleam.
Elara's blood ran cold. These were undoubtedly Vivian's parents.
"How did you get my photo?" she asked, her voice cold as
steel. Beside her, Silas's gaze had narrowed into twin shards of frost, fixed
on the disreputable couple.
"Heh heh, Vivian sent it, of course!" the woman grinned, a
predatory sight. "She said you helped her all the time at university, that
you were her best friend. She sent us your picture, said you were from a
wealthy family, so we wouldn't worry about her."
Elara's face could have frozen water. "I am no longer connected to
her."
She gripped Silas's arm, attempting to push past them.
Unexpectedly, the woman lunged forward, her grimy hand reaching out to
grab Elara's arm. Silas's expression darkened violently. In a blur of motion,
his arm shot out, shoving the woman back with controlled force. She staggered
several steps, nearly crashing to the ground.
"Don't you dare touch her," Silas's voice was low, a deadly
whisper that promised violence, his body a protective shield in front of his
wife. The air around them crackled with sudden, dangerous tension.