No one had seen Loren Price in over a year. He used to be Vincent Thorne's right-hand man; with sharp suits and smarter words, he was always two steps ahead of any deal. If Vincent made a move, Loren was the one who laid the ground first.
But after the Thorne deal collapsed, and the media storm hit, Loren vanished. No statements, no press, nobody, just silence.
Some said Vincent sent him away to cover up loose ends.
Others whispered that Loren had dirt on the family and disappeared before anyone could shut him up.
But today, he came back.
Not to the press.
Not to the boardroom.
Not to Vincent.
To Maxwell Hale.
The knock on Maxwell's private door was soft but steady. He was still standing in front of the glass shelf, watching the last bit of ash settle in a crystal bowl.
He didn't expect anyone. His staff didn't knock like that.
He opened the door.
And there he was.
Loren Price.
His once-perfect suit was wrinkled, his tie was missing.
He looked thinner, and older, like someone who hadn't slept well in months.
He didn't say hello.
He didn't step inside.
He simply held up a flash drive between two fingers.
"You'll want to see what Vincent left behind," Loren said, his voice quiet but sure.
Maxwell didn't speak, he just took the drive.
For a second, their eyes met.
Then Loren walked away just as calmly as he came.
Maxwell didn't move right away.
He stood at the door, staring at the small flash drive in his hand.
It felt too light to hold anything important. But he knew better.
Anything coming from Vincent Thorne was never simple.
He shut the door.
The study was quiet. Only the ticking of the wall clock broke the silence.
Maxwell walked over to the desk, opened his laptop and plugged the drive in.
He watched the loading bar crawl across the screen like it owed him something.
A folder appeared, one file, no label.
The video had low resolution, but the voice came clear. It was familiar, too familiar.
"If you're watching this, then the arrangement has gone through. She's already in place. I hope you'll understand why I did what I did.."
Maxwell watched until the end, then he shut the lid of his laptop slowly.
No visible reaction, no sounds, no words
Just a long moment of silence before he rose and reached for his watch.
"Game on," he murmured.
The morning sun barely touched the edges of the Thorne estate garden. Selene stood near the fountain, her fingers lightly touching the edges. She heard the soft click of heels before Elena appeared from the stone path, perfectly dressed in pale silk, not a hair out of place.
Elena Thorne, Vincent's wife, was regal, distant, and unreadable. Most people in the house avoided her, not because she yelled. But because she never had to.
Selene straightened. "Mum…"
"Don't call me that "Elena said flatly, not even looking at her. "We both know better."
Elena stepped closer, her eyes scanning the roses instead of Selene. "Vincent is out of the country; he told me to tell you. You'll be moving into Maxwell Hale's home today."
Selene's chest tightened. "Today?"
Elena finally looked at her. "Yes. Everything has been arranged."
"Why didn't he tell me himself?"
"He trusted I would handle it," Elena said simply, then turned towards the path again. "Don't make him regret it."
Selene stayed quiet, she wanted to ask more. But she knew better. With Elena, silence was safer.
As Elena walked away, Selene stared at the flowers, her mind racing. Move in with Maxwell Hale just like that. She took a breath, steadying herself .
"I can do this," she whispered to herself.
The car pulled up to the Hale estate, sleek lines, cold stone, gates that looked like they never opened for just anyone.
Selene stepped out without waiting for the driver. She didn't hesitate. One hand on the door, one step on the gravel.
Maxwell stood at the entrance, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, he wasn't smiling, he was just watching.
She stopped a few feet away.
"You asked me to move in?" she asked.
"I did," he replied.
"Before the wedding."
"Yes."
Her gaze didn't shift. "Why?"
Maxwell didn't pause. "People talk. We let them see what we want them to see. Moving in now makes the arrangement look natural"
"Strategic," she said.
"Necessary."
There was a second of silence, none of them blinked.
"Then I guess I'm here," she said in a neutral tone.
He stepped aside, hand on the door. "Come in."
She walked past him without flinching, the click of her heels echoing in the marble hallway.
Inside, the house was expensive, minimal, and distant. It felt like him.
Maxwell followed at a distance. " Your room is upstairs. The first door is on the left. The staff have been informed."
"I'll manage," she said.
She didn't look back, she didn't need to.
He watched her go, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
Upstairs, Selene entered the room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
It was quiet, the kind of silence that made the walls feel like they were listening.
The room was large and perfectly arranged, but cold, like no one ever lived here.
She stood still for a moment, taking it all in.
Then she let out a slow breath, one she didn't realize she was holding.
Not from fear but from pressure.
She'd been holding herself together since the car ride, since Elena's cold delivery, since stepping in front of Maxwell Hale.
Fragments of herself had been straining beneath the surface: panic, doubt, anger, but she didn't let any of them show. Not in front of them and most definitely not in front of him.
But now, behind this closed door, she exhaled.
Just once.
Not to break. But to remind herself that she hadn't.
She crossed the room, set her small bag on the bed, and eased down into the bed.