Chapter 5 5

The storm hadn't ended.

Rain still whispered against the windows, rhythmic and haunting, as if the house itself were trying to remember something it had long forgotten. Thunder rolled lazily in the distance, and lightning cracked occasionally, illuminating the walls of the estate in silver-blue flashes.

Liana didn't return to her room.

She stayed in the shadow of the forbidden room, leaning against the doorway after Blaise had disappeared again-retreating to wherever he went when emotion got too close. She should've left. She should've followed the rules.

But she didn't.

Instead, she wandered.

Not aimlessly, not recklessly. With purpose. With quiet rebellion.

She found herself in the library. Again.

It had become a sort of middle ground between them-neutral territory where the past and present blurred, and his voice seemed to soften just enough to let her in.

The fire was already lit when she arrived.

She didn't light it.

Which meant... he'd been here.

She stood for a long moment, unsure if he was hiding again behind the curtain. It hung still, untouched by wind, draped like a stage prop between two truths: his and hers.

"Are you there?" she asked softly.

Silence.

She walked to the hearth and sat cross-legged on the fur rug. The heat warmed her bare arms. Her nightgown clung to her skin, and the silk robe she'd thrown over it felt too thin. She should have changed.

Should have pretended none of tonight happened.

But she couldn't.

Not after seeing that room.

Not after hearing the break in his voice.

And not after feeling something so sharp bloom in her chest when he said her name like it meant something.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said to the fire.

The curtain still didn't move.

"I think you want me to run. I think you think you're doing me a favor by staying hidden. But you're not. You're just... alone. And dragging me into your loneliness like it's some kind of favor."

Still, nothing.

Liana laughed-dry and humorless. "Wow. Great monologue. Maybe next time I should try smoke signals."

She stood and turned-only to freeze mid-step.

Because he was there.

Standing behind her.

Not behind the curtain.

But in the shadows.

Not close enough to see his face, not yet. But close enough that she could feel the shift in the air, the pulse of something raw and electric between them.

"You're not supposed to be in this part of the house alone," he said.

Liana slowly turned back to the fire. "You're not supposed to care."

A pause.

Then: "I care."

Her heart stuttered.

He stepped closer, just enough to join her in the firelight-still cloaked in darkness, his face hidden by the dimness, but no longer separated by silk.

"You keep saying you're hiding from me," she said. "But I think you're hiding from yourself."

"I'm not the man I used to be."

"Good," she said without hesitation.

That stopped him.

"Why?"

She looked at him-at the silhouette of him. Strong. Tall. Rigid with pain he wouldn't name.

"Because the man you used to be surrounded himself with people who left him. Who hurt him. Who took and never gave back. And this version of you? He knows better."

He said nothing.

The fire crackled.

"You're not a monster, Blaise."

He stepped closer.

She didn't back away.

"I'm scarred, Liana."

"So am I."

His breath hitched. "Not like me."

She turned fully to him. Her voice was a whisper. "Then show me."

His body tensed. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because once you see me, really see me, you'll leave."

"Try me."

A beat.

Then he did something that surprised them both.

He stepped into the light.

Not fully.

Just enough for the fire to catch the edge of his face-sharp cheekbone, stubble-dark jaw, the suggestion of an old scar trailing from temple to jawline. But his eyes stayed in the shadows. His mouth, the same.

It was barely a glimpse.

But it was real.

And it was him.

Liana didn't gasp. Didn't look away. Didn't move.

She just said, "Okay."

He blinked.

"That's it?" he asked.

"What did you expect?"

"Pity. Disgust. Horror."

She stepped forward, slow and steady, closing the final space between them. Close enough now to feel the warmth of him-not just the fire, but him.

"I don't feel any of those," she said. "You want to know what I feel?"

He said nothing.

She lifted her hand-slowly-and placed it against his chest.

His breath caught.

Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt. She could feel his heart thudding beneath her palm, steady but uncertain. As if it, too, was asking what the hell she was doing.

"I feel like I've been holding my breath since I got here," she whispered.

"And?"

"I finally exhaled."

He closed his eyes.

She didn't kiss him.

She didn't need to.

Her touch said enough.

So did his.

Because then, slowly, he lifted his hand to hers and held it over his heart.

The silence that followed wasn't heavy-it was sacred.

Time passed. She didn't know how much.

Eventually, he said, "Would you stay here tonight?"

Her heart skipped. "In this room?"

"In the library. With me. I won't cross a line. I just... I don't want to be alone."

Neither did she.

She nodded.

And for the first time since their strange marriage began, they spent the night in the same room.

Not touching.

Not sleeping.

Just two shadows beside a fire, warming each other without words.

The next morning, she awoke on the couch with a blanket draped over her and a note beside her pillow.

You make the silence quieter.

– B.

Liana didn't realize she was smiling until she saw her reflection in the mirror.

Later that day, the staff acted different around her.

Not colder-just...watchful.

They saw her now not just as the fake wife, the girl with the contract.

They saw her as his person.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

Clara called her to the study just after noon.

"There's a meeting tonight," she said. "Shareholders. They'll call in virtually, but Mr. Thorne expects you present."

"Do they know about me?"

"Some do. Some will be surprised."

Liana raised a brow. "And what do I do?"

"Sit. Smile. Nod when needed. Be calm. Be confident. Don't flinch if they attack."

"Sounds like war."

Clara only smiled.

"It is."

That evening, Liana wore a black suit dress-tailored, sleek, and more powerful than anything she'd worn before. Blaise didn't join her in the office at first. She sat alone at the head of the table as the screens came to life one by one-twelve cold, calculating faces blinking into existence.

They didn't say hello.

They evaluated.

One of the older men leaned forward. "So. This is the wife."

Liana smiled, poised. "Mrs. Thorne. It's a pleasure."

"Where is Blaise?"

"He'll join shortly."

"And until then, you'll speak for him?"

"I'll represent him, yes."

Another woman arched a brow. "Do you even know how to speak in board terms, Mrs. Thorne?"

Liana leaned forward. "I know enough to recognize vultures in suits. Is that close enough?"

There was a long pause.

And then-laughter.

Just a chuckle. From two of the board members. The rest remained stern.

The screen flickered.

And then Blaise's voice came through the speaker system.

"Apologies for the delay."

All heads turned.

His camera was off-only his voice filled the room.

But he continued.

"Mrs. Thorne is present today because she has earned the right to be. Her insights are valuable. Her instincts, sharper than most of yours. She's not just a formality. She's a choice. My choice. And that should mean something."

Liana's throat tightened.

They continued the meeting-contracts, mergers, quarterly performance, projections.

But no one questioned her again.

Not after that.

That night, back in the library, Blaise sat on the floor beside the fire. No curtain. No hiding. Still mostly in shadow, but closer than ever before.

"You were incredible today," he said.

"I winged it."

"You held your own. They don't respect easily."

"I noticed."

He looked at her then, though she still couldn't quite see his face. The flicker of firelight kept him partially hidden.

But she didn't need light.

She could feel it now.

The heat between them. The ache that had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with being seen for the first time.

"I want to ask you something," he said quietly.

"Ask."

"If I showed you everything... if I let you see what the world broke in me... would you stay?"

She didn't hesitate.

"Yes."

His voice cracked. "Why?"

"Because I think broken people build the strongest homes."

He reached out.

Not to pull her closer.

But to touch her wrist, soft and slow, like she was something sacred.

"You undo me," he said.

She smiled. "That's what love does."

He froze.

Then whispered, "Don't say that word."

"Why not?"

"Because if you mean it... it changes everything."

She leaned closer, brushing her forehead against his in the darkness.

"Then let it."