Chapter 142:
Finally, it was done.
He ladled a small amount into a spoon. He blew on it. He tasted it.
It was… edible. Bland. Watery. But edible.
He leaned against the counter, exhausted. He had negotiated billion-dollar deals without breaking a sweat. Cooking soup had nearly defeated him.
“Tomorrow,” he vowed to the empty kitchen. “Tomorrow, I will add salt.”
“The Hamptons?”
Aurora looked up from her laptop. Harper was standing in the living room of their apartment, holding a beach bag.
“Yes! My aunt has a cottage. It’s free. It’s near the beach. We need a break. You’ve been fighting academic wars, and I’ve been… well, watching you fight academic wars. It’s exhausting.”
Aurora smiled. “A weekend away sounds nice. No Sterling. No drama.”
“Exactly. Just us, the ocean, and maybe some wine.”
Aurora’s phone rang. It was Elias.
“Hello?”
“I heard you are going to the Hamptons,” Elias said. His voice was tight.
Aurora looked at Harper. “How do you know that? Are you bugging my apartment?”
“I have… alerts set for travel logistics involving key personnel,” Elias deflected. “The trains are unreliable. I will drive you.”
“No,” Aurora said firmly. “Harper and I are taking the train. It’s a girls’ trip. No billionaires allowed.”
“I can send a car. A separate car. You won’t even know it’s mine.”
𝓣𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓽𝓸 ⲅ𝓪𝓁𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝓈⧸𝓬𝓸𝓶
“Elias. No. We’ll be fine.”
There was a pause.
“Fine,” Elias said. “But be careful. The weather forecast predicts storms.”
“I’ll bring an umbrella. Bye, Elias.”
She hung up.
Harper wiggled her eyebrows. “He is so into you. ‘Travel logistics alerts’? That’s stalker-speak for ‘I track your phone’.”
“He’s just… protective,” Aurora said, blushing slightly. “He’s polite.”
“Polite is holding the door. Offering a private fleet of cars is obsessed.”
Cut to: Thorne Estate, Hamptons.
The kitchen was filled with smoke.
Elias was coughing. He was attempting to sear a steak. The recipe said “high heat.” It did not mention the smoke alarm.
He waved a towel at the sensor.
The back door opened.
Leo Thorne walked in, carrying a gym bag and wearing sunglasses.
“Eli?” Leo called out. “Why does it smell like a burnt offering in here?”
Leo walked into the kitchen. He stopped dead.
.
.
.