Chapter 6 Dinner with the King

The Thorne dining room was a marvel of old world power and polished elegance. Tall windows framed the velvet dusk settling over New York City. The chandelier above cast a golden halo over the long mahogany table, where silverware gleamed and place settings sat perfectly measured precisely as Damien Thorne liked it. Every chair had been filled, and the prelude of laughter and wine had quieted the moment his footstep walked in.

"You shouldn't be here, you are not a Thorne." Loraine stated. Her jaw tightening. He was spared the need to answer when Damien Thorne was wheeled into the room.

Everyone stood.

Damien settled in, sitting tall, sharp-suited, with silver temples and a face that knew power like a priest knew prayer. Behind him trailed silence, like a loyal dog. Every movement, every glance he gave, was a wordless command.

"Sit," he said.

They obeyed.

His eyes, hawkish and unreadable, roved over the table like a monarch surveying his court.

"Well, then," he began in that gravelly voice that still sounded like it smoked cigars and crushed empires in boardrooms. "Let's begin, shall we?"

As tradition demanded, Damien started with gratitude. "I am thankful," he said slowly, "for loyalty. And hard work. And for young blood with sharp minds." His eyes slid to Nathan. "I am especially thankful for Nathan."

Nathan gave a polite nod, unsure whether to brace or exhale. It didn't matter. The compliments were merely appetizers before the real meal: criticism.

"And now," Damien said, lifting his wine glass. "Let's trim the fat."

His eyes dropped like a blade on little Lola, seated between Loraine and Michael. "Napkin in your lap, not on the table like a peasant," he said in a clipped tone. Lola froze, then corrected herself hastily. Loraine's hand settled gently on her shoulder.

"I taught her that," Loraine said calmly.

"You clearly need to teach it again."

Then came Camille, managing a fashion brand funded by the family trust. A way to finance Lola's upbringing.

"How's the house of rags doing?" Damien asked.

Camille blinked. "House of Elegance has grown, is growing. Our Instagram engagement is by-"

"I asked about profits, not popularity," Damien cut her off. "Are you running a business or a high end lemonade stand?"

Camille's voice faltered. "I... we're improving..."

He waved her away like the fumes of something unpleasant.

"Loraine, sort that out will you." Loraine gave a terse nod. Eyes willing Camille to relax.

Then, like a blade dragged across soft skin, he turned to Rachael.

Nathan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was her first dinner. She sat beside Derek, nervously straightening her fork, her lashes lowered.

"So," Damien said. "You're the new addition."

Rachael looked up and smiled politely. "It's an honor to be here, Mr. Thorne."

"Is it?" Damien smiled back, all teeth. "Tell me. Do you consider your... history with the male species an asset?"

Rachael paled. "Excuse me?"

"Well, what do you bring to the table, escorting. It's a career. Of sorts. But it's not something people usually list under philanthropy experience on their resume, is it?"

"Dad..." Derek interjected.

"Silence," Damien snapped. "You brought her here. I'll evaluate her. She has no rich daddy, no pedigree, no education worth mentioning-just charm, I suppose. And a willingness to... entertain."

"Mr. Thorne," Rachael said, her voice barely steady, "I'm no longer in that line of work."

He raised a brow. "Yet here you are. Still selling dreams, just to a different class of men."

Rachael blinked rapidly, her confidence draining before everyone's eyes. Loraine, for a moment, felt a flicker of pity-but it disappeared quickly. She remembered how fast girls like Rachel could grow claws once welcomed in.

"Let's move on," Damien said, tossing the final bone. "Derek."

Derek's jaw tensed.

"Lost the oil contract. Again. Remind me, are you allergic to success or just determined to bankrupt my legacy?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you are indeed a Thorne. Too bad your mother isn't here to answer to her sins."

Derek kept silent. That was the safest option.

Then, like a sudden warm breeze, Damien's expression softened, just slightly as he turned to Michael Kane.

"At least someone here understands the value of calculated effort," he said. "Michael, I've read your proposal. Thorough, strong, decisive. You were the right choice for my daughter."

Michael inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, sir."

Loraine smiled at him-grateful, appreciative. They shared a soft look, fingers brushing near their wine glasses.

Nathan noticed. He'd noticed everything about Loraine since he entered this house. The way she wore her power like perfume soft, subtle, lethal. The way she listened intently, back straight like royalty. The way she shifted her body toward Michael, like gravity tethered them.

Lola looked up at them, her little hands folded, the picture of perfect familial unity.

Nathan hated how that made him feel.

But Damien wasn't done.

"Though I must ask," he said, swirling his wine. "Four years, no ring. What are we waiting for? Do we need a divine prophecy to move things forward? Meanwhile, your brother beds anything with silicone and a pulse."

The insult hit Derek and Rachael again double edged.

Loraine set down her fork. "We're taking our time, Grandfather."

"Well, I don't have time. I want to see your child, Loraine. Before I die."

Michael offered a tight-lipped smile. "We'll work on it, sir."

Laughter broke around the table. But Nathan didn't laugh.

He watched Loraine closely. Her cheeks flushed faintly. Michael whispered something in her ear, and she laughed softly, intimately.

Nathan took a slow sip of water, though his throat was dry with something hotter than thirst.

Damien then pivoted again, sharp as ever. "Your deal with Noah Kingston... Bold. But you could've gotten a cleaner margin. Next time, be more cutthroat. You have it in you, make your competition bleed."

Loraine nodded. "Noted."

And then... Nathan's turn.

"Son," Damien said, voice dipped in steel. "How's your new role treating you?"

Nathan sat straighter. "It's been an engaging transition, sir."

"And Sicily?"

"We're strategizing a long-term solution. My team..."

Damien held up a hand.

"The head of Sicily called me this morning. Said the matter was already resolved."

Nathan's brow furrowed. "Resolved?"

All eyes turned to him. Loraine's wineglass hit the table gently.

"I handled it," she said, gaze unbothered. "The head reached out to me. I didn't want to bother Nathan seeing as he is stretched thin with this new role. It's been handled. I forwarded the decision to your office."

Nathan stiffened.

Damien raised a brow. "In the future, communicate. We don't do shadow leadership here."

"Understood," she said.

Nathan forced a nod.

The conversation moved on. Lola performed a short song she'd learned in school, making Damien chuckle deeply and whisper that she had the Thorne lungs. Michael whispered again to Loraine. She smiled. Nathan looked away.

Then Damien clapped his hands once.

"Well, don't make babies at the table," he said dryly. "Wait until dessert, at least."

The table laughed again.

And for a moment, things almost felt whole. Almost.

But Nathan sat with a stone in his chest. Watching the empire he'd walked into, watching the woman he couldn't read, watching the man beside her who could touch her without permission and make her laugh like that.

And Nathan wondered, was his family destroyed by one that was near normal?

And just how deep is he willing to go to ensure Damien got what he deserved.