10 An Eavesdropped Favor, A Daughter’s Hurt
Damien Thorne stood in the doorway of his daughter’s bedroom, watching her play with her toys. The divorce papers Elara had served him sat heavily on his desk, unsigned.
“Cora,” he called softly. “Come here, princess.”
The five–year–old looked up from her dolls, her dark curls bouncing as she jumped to her feet. “Yes, Daddy?”
“You’re starting at Westbrook Academy tomorrow.” Damien knelt to her level. “Are you excited?”
Cora nodded enthusiastically. “Will Mommy be there?”
Damien’s jaw tightened slightly. “No. I’ll be dropping you off.”
“Where is Mommy? She didn’t come home last night.” Cora’s eyes were wide with innocent curiosity.
“She’s staying at Great–Grandma Clara’s house for a while,” he explained, the lie coming easily. He had no idea where Elara was staying, but Clara’s seemed the most logical guess.
Cora’s bottom lip pushed out in a pout. “But why?”
Before Damien could answer, his phone rang. He checked the screen and sighed. “I
need to take this. Go back to playing.”
He stepped into the hallway. “Hello, Grandmother.”
“Damien, darling.” Eleanor Thorne’s commanding voice filled his ear. “I’m hosting dinner tomorrow at Thorne Manor. I expect you, Elara, and little Cora to attend.”
“Grandmother, now isn’t a good time—”
“Nonsense. Six o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.” She hung up before he could protest.
Damien cursed under his breath. He’d have to contact Elara. They hadn’t spoken since
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she’d left the penthouse days ago.
He dialed her number, surprised when she answered on the second ring.
“Yes?” Her voice was cool, professional.
“My grandmother is insisting we have dinner at Thorne Manor tomorrow night. All
three of us.”
There was a pause. “I see.”
“Can you be here by five?” he asked.
“No.” Her response was immediate. “I’ll meet you there.”
Damien frowned. “What about Cora? Don’t you want to see her before—”
“I have meetings all day.” Elara’s tone left no room for argument. “I’ll see you both at
dinner.”
The call disconnected, leaving Damien staring at his phone in confusion. The Elara he knew would have dropped everything to spend time with Cora. This distant, detached woman was someone he didn’t recognize.
Back in the bedroom, Cora was arranging her dolls in a circle. She looked up as Damien
entered.
“Daddy, when is Aunt Vivi coming over again?”
“Soon, princess.” He sat on the edge of her bed. “She has that big race this weekend,
remember?”
Cora’s face lit up. “Can we go watch her?”
“Of course.” Damien smiled at her enthusiasm.
“Will Mommy come too?” Cora asked hopefully.
Damien hesitated. “I’m not sure your mother would enjoy that.”
Cora climbed onto his lap, her small face suddenly serious. “Daddy, you can’t tell Mommy about Aunt Vivi’s race.”
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“Why not?”
“Because every time we talk about Aunt Vivi, Mommy gets that sad face.” Cora
demonstrated by pulling her features into an exaggerated frown. “I don’t like when Mommy has that face.”
Something uncomfortable twisted in Damien’s chest. Had his daughter really noticed such things? “I won’t tell her,” he promised.
“Pinky swear?” Cora held out her tiny finger.
“Pinky swear.” He linked his finger with hers.
Satisfied, Cora returned to her dolls, leaving Damien with the unsettling realization that his five–year–old daughter was learning to keep secrets from her mother to avoid causing her pain.
The next day, Elara checked her watch as she approached the Thorne Industries building. She had thirty minutes before her lunch meeting with Clara at the bistro across the street. Enough time to drop off some personal items from her office that she’d forgotten during her hasty departure.
As she entered the lobby, the receptionist’s eyes widened in recognition. “Mrs. Thorne! We weren’t expecting you today.”
“I won’t be long,” Elara assured her, heading for the elevator.
When the doors opened on the executive floor, Elara froze. Standing in the hallway outside Damien’s office were two men – Damien himself and a figure Elara hadn’t seen in years but would recognize anywhere.
Her father, Alistair Dubois.
Instinctively, she stepped back into the elevator alcove, hidden from view but close enough to hear their conversation.
“I can’t thank you enough for your assistance with the Brussels acquisition,” Alistair was saying, his hand clasping Damien’s shoulder. “The board was impressed with your influence.”
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“It was nothing,” Damien replied smoothly. “The partnership benefits both our
companies.”
Alistair lowered his voice, but Elara could still make out his words. “There’s something
else I wanted to discuss. About Vivienne.”
Elara’s heart constricted at the mention of her half–sister’s name.
“Vivienne is here by herself. Her mother and I worry about her.” Alistair’s tone was filled with paternal concern. “Please take good care of her.”
“You have my word,” Damien assured him.
The pain that shot through Elara’s chest was physical, stealing her breath. In all the years since her mother’s death, Alistair had never once asked anyone to look after her. Never shown a fraction of the concern he displayed for Vivienne.
She backed away slowly, abandoning her plan to visit her office. With trembling hands, she texted Clara to reschedule their lunch, then fled the building before anyone could notice her.
By the time Elara arrived at Thorne Manor that evening, she had composed herself. Her hair was perfectly styled, her designer dress immaculate, her makeup concealing any trace of the tears she’d shed earlier.
“Mrs. Thorne, welcome.” The butler greeted her at the door. “The family is gathered in the drawing room.”
Elara nodded her thanks and made her way through the grand foyer. Before she reached the drawing room, a small figure came running toward her.
“Mommy!” Cora launched herself at Elara’s legs.
Despite everything, Elara’s heart swelled with love. She knelt down, gathering her daughter into her arms. “Hello, my darling. I’ve missed you.”
Cora allowed the embrace for a moment before squirming free. “Daddy got me a new dress for school tomorrow. Want to see?”
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“I’d love to,” Elara smiled, rising to her feet.
Cora grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the drawing room. “Great–Grandma Eleanor says I look like a proper Thorne in it.”
Elara’s smile faltered slightly at the words. Cora had always been more Thorne than Vance in appearance, with her dark hair and sharp features so reminiscent of Damien.
In the drawing room, Eleanor Thorne sat regally in her favorite armchair, while Damien stood by the fireplace, drink in hand. Both turned as Elara and Cora entered.
“Elara, dear, there you are.” Eleanor extended her hand. “We were beginning to worry.”
“I apologize for being late.” Elara bent to kiss the elderly woman’s cheek.
Eleanor held her at arm’s length, studying her face. “You look tired. Is everything alright?”
Before Elara could respond, Damien interrupted. “Grandmother, I believe dinner is ready to be served.”
Throughout the meal, Elara maintained a polite façade, answering Eleanor’s questions about her work and Cora’s schooling with practiced case. She avoided looking directly at Damien, focusing instead on her daughter, who chattered excitedly about her new
school.
“And Aunt Vivi promised to help me with my show–and–tell project,” Cora announced
between bites of dessert.
Elara’s fork clattered against her plate. “Show–and–tell?”
“Oops.” Cora’s eyes widened as she glanced guiltily at Damien. “I forgot we weren’t supposed to tell Mommy.”
An awkward silence descended over the table. Eleanor looked between them with confusion, while Damien’s expression remained carefully neutral.
“Why weren’t you supposed to tell me?” Elara asked softly.
Cora squirmed in her seat. “Because you get sad when we talk about Aunt Vivi.”
The simplicity of her daughter’s words struck Elara like a physical blow. She became
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acutely aware of Eleanor’s curious gaze and Damien’s sudden discomfort.
“I see.” Elara placed her napkin beside her plate and stood. “Would you excuse me for a moment?”
She walked with measured steps to the nearest bathroom, locked the door, and leaned heavily against the marble counter. In the ornate mirror, her reflection stared back, composed but hollow–eyed.
Her daughter was keeping secrets from her. About Vivienne. With Damien’s
encouragement.
The conversation she’d overheard earlier replayed in her mind: “Please take good care of Vivienne.” Her father’s words to her husband burned like acid.
A soft knock at the door startled her. “Elara?” It was Damien’s voice. “Are you alright?”
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and opened the door. “Perfectly fine.”
Damien stood too close, his familiar cologne making her heart ache despite herself. “About what Cora said-
“It doesn’t matter.” Elara stepped around him. “I need to speak with you about something more important.”
“What is it?”
She met his eyes directly for the first time that evening. “I want joint custody of Cora, but I think it’s best if she primarily stays with you for now.”
Surprise flickered across Damien’s face. “You’re giving up custody?”
“Not giving up. Sharing.” Elara kept her voice steady despite the pain crushing her chest. “I’m still figuring out my living situation, and Cora has school starting tomorrow. The stability of staying with you will be better for her.”
“Elara-”
“This is what’s best for our daughter.” She turned away before he could see the tears threatening to fall. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the agreement.”
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As Elara walked back toward the dining room, she felt something shift inside her. The last fragile thread of hope she’d been clinging to–that somehow, her family could remain whole–snapped cleanly.
Her father had Vivienne. Damien had Vivienne. Even Cora was beginning to choose
Vivienne.
Elara Vance Thorne stood alone.
