Page 93
“You’ve got a nerve showing your face down here.”
I stop dead at the entrance to the sprawling kitchen. My father is standing near the marble island, a cup of coffee on the countertop in front of him. He looks immaculate for eight in the morning. It’s pretty ridiculous. He’s in a tailored crisp white shirt, sharp trousers, and silk tie, as if he hasn’t spent the night playing host to half of New York’s elite.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say flatly, keeping my posture relaxed as I bypass him toward the espresso machine.
“You disrespected me last night, Julian,” Alistair says, his voice dropping to the usual venomous tone he uses when he is furious. “You disappeared early, you were insufferably rude to the board members, and you made an absolute embarrassment of this family.”
I pause at the machine, turning around slowly to look at him.
“Family?” I let out a harsh huff. “What family, Alistair? This isn’t a family. It’s a fucking business enterprise, and I’m done playing your games.”
“Don’t you talk to me like that.” His eyes narrow, his jaw tightening into a razor-sharp line. “… boy.”
“Boy?” I repeat, tilting my head as a cold laugh bubbles up in my throat. “Really? That’s what we’re going with today?”
“And that girl.” He sneers, the disgust in his voice making my blood instantly boil. “What trash did you drag into my house? Where is she even from? She is not the kind of woman who belongs on a Thorne’s arm.”
My jaw tightens, every muscle in my body coiling tight. “Don't fucking speak about her like that.”
It’s a warning.
“It’s a fact,” he counters. “She lacks standing, and she certainly doesn’t come from the right sort of background. Where is she from? Elinor?”
“It’s Ellise, actually, and I'm from Mystic, Connecticut, if you must know.”
Her voice is soft, clear, and cuts through the heavy toxicity in the air.
We both turn instantly to look at her standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She is wearing one of my oversized New York Knicks t-shirts that falls past her thighs, her bare feet anchoring her to the cold tiled floor. Her hair is still damp and messy, but her posture is rising into that unshakeable, quiet strength I’ve come to know.
Alistair turns his cold, calculating gaze onto her, sweeping his eyes down her frame with utter disdain.
“Yes,” he says, his tone dripping with condescension. “But who are you?”
What the actual fuck.
I step directly between them, blocking his line of sight, forcing him to look at me instead.
“She just told you who she was. Or are you deaf now?”
Alistair’s jaw flexes, his eyes flashing with a dangerous dark heat.
“You think you’re being clever, Julian? Bringing her into my home to make some pathetic point? You were supposed to bring the blonde girl.”
“I’m not supposed to do anything.” I say, my blood boiling to new heights. “I refuse to take orders from you anymore.”
Alistair huffs at me, looking around my shoulder at Ellise.
“Let me give you a piece of advice, girl. Julian doesn’t keep things like you around. You’re a temporary distraction before he falls back in line.”
Absolute. Fucking. Arsehole.
“That’s enough,” I growl, stepping directly into his personal space until I’m towering over him, my bare chest practically touching his. The air between us goes suffocatingly quiet. “Say one more word to her, Alistair. I fucking dare you.”
For a fraction of a second, his arrogant mask slips, and I catch a rare flicker of genuine surprise in my father’s eyes. He isn’t used to me standing my ground like this—not with this level of fury. Not for anyone.
Then a warm sensation touches the small of my bare back. Ellise steps up right behind me, her palm resting against my skin. The simple touch instantly grounds the volatile rage humming through my veins.
There she is.
