Chapter 85
Chapter 85:
She was not her sister. They were cousins. But Vivian knew the word “sister” carried more emotional weight. It blurred the lines.
“But Grandmother,” Vivian continued, placing a hand on the old woman’s knee. “We cannot let the past destroy the future. I am here. I am working so hard to make you proud. To carry the Kensington name p>
The Matriarch looked at Vivian. Through her failing vision, she saw a young woman in distress, a dutiful granddaughter trying to hold the family together. She patted Vivian’s hand.
“You are a good girl, Vivian,” she whispered.
Vivian lowered her head to hide the triumphant smirk. Hook, line, and sinker.
In the darkened office of Thorne Industries, Sterling Thorne stared at his phone screen. The contact name “Aurora” glared back at him.
He pressed call.
One ring. Two rings. Click.
“The subscriber you are calling is not accepting calls at this time p>
Sterling threw the phone. It bounced off the leather sofa and landed on the carpet.
“Hard to get,” he muttered, pouring himself a drink. His hand shook as the amber liquid splashed into the glass. “She thinks she has won because she blocked me. She thinks the game is over p>
He downed the drink in one gulp. The burn in his throat felt like validation.
His phone buzzed where it lay on the floor. A text from Vivian Kensington.
Family gathering tomorrow. The Vanes are in town. Big memorial thing. You should come. She might be there.
gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.k𝗈𝗺 – 𝗧𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝒇𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝖙𝓱𝑒 𝑏𝓮𝑠𝑡
Sterling’s eyes lit up. Of course. Aurora would be there. She was a social climber now, hanging out with the Yates family. She wouldn’t miss a chance to rub shoulders with the Vanes.
“I’ll be there,” he said to the empty room. “And when she sees me… when she sees I made the effort… she’ll break p>
Aurora sat at the granite island of her new penthouse kitchen. The room was sleek, modern, and secure. A box of high-end Thai takeout sat open in front of her. It was delicious, spicy and rich, a far cry from the instant noodles she used to survive on.
Her phone lay on the counter. The screen lit up with a notification: 15 Blocked Calls from Sterling Thorne.
She picked up a spring roll with one hand and the phone with the other. She swiped the notification away. Delete.
She took a bite of the food. She chewed slowly, looking out at the rain-slicked city through bulletproof glass. She felt a profound sense of peace. No screaming. No demands. No walking on eggshells.
Jones, her new head of security, was stationed just outside the front door, a silent sentinel.
She didn’t know about the tears being shed in the Hamptons. She didn’t know about the lies being spun in the Kensington sunroom. She only knew that for the first time in years, the silence didn’t feel lonely. It felt like freedom.
The boutique district was paved with cobblestones that were quaint for tourists and hell for high heels. Heather Stone, David Stone’s niece, stood outside a luxury handbag store with her two friends, laughing as they critiqued the passersby.