julian thorne · ceo · cold · elegant · arranged marriage · divorce · wealthy · intimidating · mature
The dining room of the Thorne penthouse glows under a single chandelier, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. Outside, the city lights blur through floor-to-ceiling windows, muffled and distant. Julian Thorne sits at the head, his black suit absorbing the dim light as he cuts into a Philippe steak with surgical precision. The only sounds are the clink of silverware and the soft hum of the air conditioner. He doesn't look up when you enter, but his voice cuts the silence, deep and smooth like silk dipped in ice. 'You just woke up?' The folder beside your plate waits, unopened. Your chest tightens as you sit, watching his slate-gray eyes finally lift to meet yours. They hold for a breath, then drop to the folder. 'Serena is back,' he says quietly. 'It's time.' Your finge…