Tristan
I sit at the head of the polished table in our conference room, reports and projections spread out before me.
Long hours at the office have become routine in the wake of my father’s death, and the decisions ahead will affect the company for years.
As my brothers file in and take their seats, I let the silence settle for a moment before I speak.
“We’ve been operating as separate entities for too long,” I begin, looking around at each of them. “That has to change. If Thorne Enterprises is going to keep its position in the market, we need to start functioning as a single company instead of five fiefdoms.”
Dominic leans back in his chair. “It hasn’t been a problem before.”
“It’s been a problem for years,” I reply evenly. “We just haven’t called it that. Combining our strengths and sharing information is how we outmaneuver our competitors. I don’t want the five of us competing against each other anymore. I want us to win together.”
“Our competitors,” Dominic says. “You mean MediaSphere.”
I keep my tone level. “I mean all of them. There’s been a shift in the industry, and we can’t afford to keep pretending we don’t see it.”
Dominic and Beckett exchange a brief look, but I can’t guess what they’re thinking.
The distance between each of us has grown over the years, as if a gulf separates me from each of my brothers.
I used to be able to read them all pretty well, but now they feel more like strangers sometimes—even Reid, who’s staring at me with a thoughtful expression.
“It makes sense,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “We have a lot to gain from collaborating. And honestly, it’s overdue. The departments shouldn’t have been allowed to splinter the way they have.”
Seated to my right, Gabriel inclines his head. “I agree. We’ve been too fragmented for too long, and it’s ultimately made things harder for all of us. This is the right call.”
I meet his eyes for a beat, acknowledging his words.
I’m grateful he agrees with me, since I respect his opinion a lot.
His daughter Peyton grew up without her mother, and Gabriel has somehow managed single fatherhood alongside everything else our father demanded of him—probably by burning the candle at both ends for years. I admire the hell out of him for it.
“We’ll need open communication channels,” I continue. “Regular meetings to share where each division is, what’s working, what isn’t. No more silos. We move as a unit.”
The room is quiet for a moment as I wait to see if the others will agree to this. Dominic lets out a breath, his posture shifting. He’s the one I’m most worried about in this, since he’s always been more rebellious, the one who pushed back hardest against our father.
But I’m not Julian Thorne.
“You’re the CEO,” Dom says. “Your word is law now, isn’t it?”
“That’s exactly what I don’t want.” I shake my head. “I’m not Dad. We’re going to do things differently from here on out.”
Something shifts in Dominic’s expression. A flicker of respect, maybe. “Yeah. I know you’re not. And different can be good.”
“There’s logic in unity.” Reid chuckles humorlessly. “Most companies operate this way. The only reason Thorne Enterprises doesn’t is because of our family’s baggage.”
That makes Beckett laugh, then our youngest brother nods. “I’m in.”
I nod, grinning as something eases in my chest. “Alright. Let’s get into it, then. Gabriel, you’ve got Eclipse Studios coming down the pipeline. Where are you with content?”
As Gabriel begins outlining potential strategies for Eclipse Studios, my mind drifts briefly to Peyton. I haven’t seen my niece in far too long, and the realization makes me wince.
Peyton is the only niece I have, and she’s the sweetest six-year-old in the world.
She deserves more than intermittent meetings and the occasional family gathering.
We’ve all gotten too out of touch. It’s time to bridge the gap and rebuild the connections we’ve let erode, not just in this conference room, but in our lives.
As the meeting concludes and the plans for a Thorne family reunion take shape, the atmosphere in the room lightens. I know that this won’t be simple. We can’t just flick a switch and erase decades of strain and tension. But if we want to do it, we need to start now.
Just as we’re wrapping up, a message buzzes on my phone, and I glance at it. It’s from my assistant. “Chloe’s outside,” I tell my brothers. “Apparently she wants to discuss wedding plans.”
Dominic smirks, Beckett raises an eyebrow, and Reid chuckles under his breath. Distant though we may be, we’re still brothers. They can’t resist the urge to make fun of me whenever they get the chance.
I roll my eyes at them, pointing toward the door. “Sorry to cut this short. Everyone out, please.”
As they file out, each offering a sly remark or knowing look, I exhale and prepare myself for whatever discussion my future wife has in store. Once they’re gone, I open the door for her. “Chloe, come in.”
She strides into the room, the door closing behind her.
She wears a fitted, sleeveless black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places.
Gold accents, delicate but striking, trace the neckline and hem, adding a touch of opulence.
The dress flares slightly at the hips, creating a subtle sway with each step she takes.
A thin gold belt cinches her waist, highlighting the elegant symmetry of her figure. Her black heels click against the floor as she approaches, and her hair, styled in loose waves, cascades gracefully over her shoulders.
I only have a few moments to take in her appearance before those cold gray eyes are locked on mine. Suddenly, it’s as if all of the air has been vacuumed from the room. I motion for her to take a seat at the table, and as she does, a faint scent of her subtle perfume lingers in the air.
“So, what brings you to my domain?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
She straightens her posture, her eyes meeting mine with a cool, professional demeanor. “Figured I’d ensure you’re not trying to pull a last-minute stunt like changing the color scheme to neon, or something.”
I chuckle, attempting to break through the formality. “Neon has its charms. But don’t worry, no drastic changes here. Everything’s on track for the Thorne-Dawson extravaganza.”
She raises an eyebrow, maintaining her poised demeanor. “Extravaganza, huh? I was going for elegance. If you planned for any pyrotechnics, those are out.”
“You never know,” I tease. I want to crack that cool facade, if I can. Make her smile. See those dimples. “Fireworks could add that extra oomph. Imagine the grand entrance.”
Her mouth twitches for an instant, like she’s struggling with her composure. Then she breathes in through her nose and says, “The baker called my mother yesterday. Marble or vanilla?”
“For the cake?”
She fixes me with a disdainful look. “No, for the flowers.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, I shrug one shoulder. “I think we’d landed on marble at the taste test. It shouldn’t matter, though, as long as we have other flavors in the extras.”
“Sounds good.” Chloe types something into her phone, her eyes on the screen.
“It’s not too late to add a surprise element to this wedding, you know,” I say, hoping to provoke a reaction. “Something non-traditional, maybe. I mean… everything we have planned is pretty sterile, don’t you think?”
She snorts, not looking up at me. “Sterile? This is a four-million-dollar wedding. It’s going to be flawless.”
“Flawless, sure. But don’t you think it could be a bit less… boring?”
“My dress cost a hundred grand,” she snips in reply. “The floral arrangements are being handled by the same designer who did the royal wedding a few years ago. So, no. I don’t think it’ll be boring.”
“You could stand to loosen up a little.”
Finally, she looks up from her phone, her eyes flashing. “Loosen up?” she repeats. “Listen, Tristan. I get that you’re just joking, but—”
“I’m not joking.”
“Surprise elements are disasters waiting to happen. Let’s keep this on the rails, shall we?”
“Always in control. Sometimes you need to let go,” I say, perhaps a bit more pointedly than I intended.
Her gaze sharpens, and I detect a flicker of something beneath the composed exterior. “Control ensures things go smoothly. And in the business world and weddings, smooth is good.”
Before I can press further, my phone buzzes, interrupting the conversation. I check the caller ID. Elysium Art Sales.
Interesting. I haven’t ordered a piece from them in at least three years. I hold up a finger to pause my conversation with Chloe, taking the call.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Thorne,” the man says. “It’s Gerald Lasota from Elysium. I just wanted to confirm the acquisition of that exquisite piece by Reynard. It’s an extraordinary investment.”
“Reynard?” I repeat, bemused.
“Yes, sir. Your fiancée was in the gallery yesterday to reserve it. I wanted to be sure you were aware. A million dollars is not an insignificant sum. We appreciate your patronage, but wanted to be certain this purchase was… intentional.”
I glance at Chloe, raising an eyebrow at the revelation. She maintains an almost serene expression, although her gray eyes betray a hint of smug amusement. Instead of expressing surprise or frustration, I lean back in my chair, pursing my lips.
“I appreciate your diligence, Gerald. And yes, it’s entirely intentional. My fiancée is doing a bit of decorating.”
“Ah. Glad to hear it, sir. It’s truly a remarkable piece.”
Chloe’s eyebrows jerk upward a little, surprise flickering in her gaze. I’m not sure how much she can hear of what Gerald is saying, but she’s definitely figured out what this call is about, and I know my response has caught her off guard.
“Thank you,” I say into the phone. Then a sudden impulse strikes me, and I add, “By the way, I’ve had a change of heart. I want every piece by Reynard in your collection, not just the one my future wife selected.”
At that, Chloe’s mouth drops open. Satisfaction curls in my chest—there’s the reaction I was looking for.