Chapter 81
Chapter 81:
“Rory?” Arthur’s voice cracked. He looked at her, really looked at her, seeing not just his granddaughter, but the force of nature that had just bought his freedom.
Aurora crossed the floor, the heels of her boots clicking a steady rhythm—the sound of ownership. She stopped in front of him, her eyes softening from steel to warmth. She gently reached out and adjusted the lapel of his new suit.
“No more sweeping, Grandpa,” she whispered. “It’s over p>
“What is happening?” Arthur asked, looking around the lobby he had scrubbed on his hands and knees a thousand times. “That man… Mr. King… he treats me like I own the place p>
“Because in a way, you do,” Aurora said firmly. She took his calloused hands in hers. “I bought the building, Grandpa. I bought the management firm. I bought the ground we are standing on. We are the landlords now p>
Arthur stared at her, his mind struggling to process the magnitude of her words. “You… but… the money? The Sterlings p>
“My money,” she said, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “Clean money. Smart money. I told you I would fix this. Nobody will ever bully you again. Nobody will ever make you feel small again p>
She guided him toward the leather bench near the window—a bench Zack had forbidden Arthur from ever sitting on because he claimed Arthur’s clothes were ‘dirty.’ Arthur hesitated.
“Sit,” Aurora commanded gently.
Arthur sat. The leather was soft. He looked at his granddaughter, seeing the Phoenix rising from the ashes of their old life.
“It’s ours?” he whispered.
“It’s ours,” she confirmed.
Arthur Vance looked out the window at the city streets where Zack Lane was likely still gathering his scattered belongings. A single tear tracked through the wrinkles on his cheek. He squeezed Aurora’s hand.
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“My little Phoenix,” he breathed.
Aurora’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. For this moment, the world of corporate warfare and revenge didn’t exist. There was only the warmth of her grandfather’s hand and the sweet, clean silence of a lobby cleared of trash.
The office was a shrine to minimalism. Glass, steel, and white leather. The air conditioner hummed a low, sterile note that matched the temperature of Elias Thorne’s eyes as he stared at the quarterly report on his desk.
The door burst open. Elias didn’t look up. Only one person entered without knocking.
“Cousin,” Elias said, his voice flat. “If you are here to ask about the merger, read the brief. If you are here to ask about my weekend, leave p>
Leo Thorne walked in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. As the family’s black sheep and one of Elias’s few tolerated relatives, he had a knack for being annoying. He held a book in his hand—a hardcover with a bright pink and orange cover that looked like a neon stain against the monochrome room.
“Neither,” Leo said, dropping the book on the pristine glass desk with a heavy thud. “I’m here to save your life p>
Elias looked at the book. The title was embossed in gold, curly script: The Art of Courtship: A Modern Guide to Emotional Connection.
Elias raised a single eyebrow. “Has the stress finally cracked your brain? Do you need a referral to a psychiatric facility p>