The Thorne Heiress Unveiling Shadow novel Chapter 7

The Thorne family study was the heart of the estate, a room paneled in rich, dark mahogany and lined with books from floor to ceiling. It smelled of old leather, woodsmoke from the cold fireplace, and power.

Seated in a plush leather armchair, Evelyn was a picture of calm, a stark contrast to the man pacing nervously in front of the massive oak desk.

Mr. Davis was the Thorne Corporation's Chief Financial Advisor, a man whose life was governed by the neat, predictable logic of spreadsheets and Harvard Business School case studies. The Thornes' behavior was giving him an aneurysm.

"Chase, with all due respect," Mr. Davis said, adjusting his tie for the third time. "You can't simply 'gift' a 51% controlling stake of a subsidiary to an unregistered party. The Starbright AI venture is projected to be worth nine figures within the year. There are fiduciary duties to our shareholders, procedural bylaws, SEC filings..."

Chase, leaning casually against the desk, cut him off with a raised hand. He smiled, a disarmingly charming expression that did nothing to hide the steel in his voice.

"Mr. Davis, you misunderstand," he said smoothly. "My sister is not an 'unregistered party.' She is a Thorne. And as for our shareholders, they'll soon learn what I already know." He turned his warm gaze to Evelyn. "My sister is our greatest shareholder value."

Mr. Davis opened his mouth, then closed it again, utterly floored by the sheer audacity. This wasn't business; it was a monarchy.

As if on cue, Arthur Thorne slid a slim, impossibly sleek black card across the desk toward Evelyn. It was made of anodized titanium, bearing no number, only her name: Evelyn Thorne. The American Express Centurion Card. The legendary "black card."

Evelyn looked at the 51% share certificate and the black card on the table in front of her. She felt no giddy rush, no thrill of acquisition. The Suttons had taught her that gifts were transactions, debts to be repaid with obedience.

But this... this was different. This wasn't about the money. She saw the fierce love in her brother's eyes, the quiet devotion in her father's. These weren't gifts. They were apologies. They were promises. They were their way of trying to fill the eighteen-year-long hole in her life with everything they had.

She met her father's gaze and gave him a small, genuine smile. "Thank you," she said softly.

And in that moment, the shell-shocked Mr. Davis finally understood. This quiet, unassuming girl held more power in this room than he ever would.