Chapter 21
We were brought to a sitting room where the silence was heavy.
Then he entered. Every inch of him radiated control.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Richard said.
I stood too. “The invitation was a mistake. I wanted to apologize personally.”
Thorne looked at me. At first, coldly. But something shifted. His eyes narrowed-not in suspicion, but in
recognition.
His brows knit together, then relaxed. “Sit,” he said quietly.
We did.
Richard leaned forward slightly, his voice steady. “First, I want to apologize for the confusion our invitation may have caused,” he said. “It was never meant to suggest a political alliance or pressure you into making any public statement.”
Thorne raised an eyebrow, skeptical but silent.
“The event itself is a fundraiser,” Richard continued. “Focused on supporting orphaned children and retired warriors-especially those with injuries or limited access to care. It’s not campaign-branded. No speeches. No party banners.”
He glanced at me briefly, then back at the elder. “It’s just about service. And visibility for those too often forgotten.”
Thorne’s eyes stayed sharp. “That’s a convenient line during campaign season.’
“It’s also the truth,” Richard said.
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I watched him as he spoke. There was no gloss to his words. He didn’t try to dress it up.
“We don’t expect endorsement. Only support for those often overlooked.”
Thorne tapped his fingers once on the armrest, then looked back at me.
“You look familiar,” he murmured. “Have we met before?”
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“I-no,” I said quickly. “I don’t think so”.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “How old are you, child?”
I blinked. “I’m-uh…”
The answer caught in my throat. But before I could get the words out, he waved a hand gently, as if dismissing
the question.
“No matter,” he said, almost to himself. His expression had shifted-just a flicker-but enough to make me
feel like he’d already figured something out. Something I didn’t know I was part of. He didn’t press. But something in his posture softened.
Richard finished the pitch by promising transparency and reiterating the event’s goals.
Thorne was silent for a long moment. He tapped his fingers slowly against the armrest, eyes fixed on a distant spot like he was weighing every consequence. The air stretched between us.
Then finally, he exhaled through his nose sitting back slightly. “Your clarity is… refreshing,” he said. His gaze
flicked to me, unreadable. “And I respect those who take ownership of their missteps.’
Another pause.
“I will attend,” he said at last, his tone more like a decision handed down than a casual agreement.
I almost didn’t believe it.
The next few days flew by. The tension around the office dropped a bit. Even Jason kept a wide berth. I buried myself in work until, finally, things slowed down just enough to breathe.
There’s just one thing-I happened to overhear someone talking about the “mysterious woman” seen in Richard’s lounge, speculating about who she was and what she meant to him. I needed to move out as soon as
possible. I couldn’t bring Richard any more trouble.
I found a small apartment nearby-too affordable, too perfect. The landlady acted strangely, almost like she’d
been expecting me.
e
Still, I knew staying in the lounge any longer would raise eyebrows. So I packed up quietly before dawn and
moved out.
Hours later, as I unpacked, I realized I’d left something behind.
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wetween the cusnions. It was the only thing I had left from my parents -nothing fancy, just worn silver and quiet sentiment, but it mattered more than almost anything I owned.
During my lunch break, I doubled back. The hall was mostly empty, the lounge door unlocked.
I slipped inside, walked to the couch, crouched, and pulled back the cushions.
There it was.
As I reached out, the door banged open.
“Well, well, well,” came a voice.
I jumped.
Jenny stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, a smirk tugging at her mouth.
“Caught you.”
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