The Hawthorne estate sat like a cathedral of excess at the edge of the city — an empire of marble and silence. Its walls were older than most governments; its chandeliers had outlasted kings. Money didn’t live here. It ruled.
Inside, the night was quiet except for the low hum of the generator beneath the east wing and the rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock that had measured a century of decadence.
Elias stood near the window, his reflection fractured across the glass. The glow of the courtyard lights painted him in gold and shadow. He wasn’t supposed to be nervous — Hawthornes weren’t supposed to feel much of anything — but his hands trembled anyway.
Grandfather sat across from him, old and sharp, his white hair catching the light like snow against coal. The man had built half the city, ruined the other half, and still managed to call it philanthropy.
“They’ll be safe here,” Elias said, his voice low. “Both of them.”
Grandfather studied him, the faintest smile beneath the gravity of his gaze. “You did well, my boy. Sometimes, power isn’t in what you destroy, but what you choose to protect.”
He gestured toward the hallway, where two young women waited with one of the maids. They looked out of place — fragile, quiet things surrounded by marble and gold. Maria held her friend’s hand tightly, her knuckles white, as though letting go might make her disappear again.
Grandfather’s eyes softened. “She’ll stay with you, Elias. You seem to have earned her trust already.” Then, his tone turned deliberate, as if he were passing down law, not suggestion. “The other one… she will be for Adrian.”
Elias looked up. “He doesn’t even know yet.”
“He will,” the old man replied. “And he’ll understand. Whether he likes it or not.”
Adrian Hawthorne was thousands of miles away when the call came.
He stood in a penthouse suite, glass walls overlooking a foreign skyline, the air-conditioned chill of power all around him. A deal worth eight figures was sprawled across his desk — another victory, another empire added to their name.
When his phone buzzed, he saw his brother’s name. He almost ignored it. Elias rarely called unless something had gone wrong.
He answered, voice low, clipped. “What is it?”
The younger brother spoke quickly — too quickly — about what had happened, about the auction, the filth, the two girls. About how Grandfather had intervened. How one of them, Maria, would be under his care. And how the other one… would belong to Adrian’s responsibility.
Silence stretched across continents. Adrian said nothing, his jaw tightening as he looked out at the endless sprawl of lights below.
When he finally spoke, his tone was steady — cold, but not cruel. “You bought them?”
Elias hesitated. “No. We rescued them.”
The older brother’s breath left him in something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You bought them, Elias. You just paid a higher price.”
There was no anger, no mockery — only a weary understanding. He had lived too long in a world where mercy was currency and love was leverage.
“Grandfather said you’d take the other girl when you return,” Elias continued softly. “He thinks it’ll be good for both of you.”
Adrian didn’t answer. He only closed his eyes for a moment, the faint echo of his brother’s words lingering like an aftertaste. Good for both of you.
He’d forgotten what good even meant.
“Fine,” he said at last. “Keep yours. I’ll deal with mine when I get back.”
The line went dead.
Back at the estate, the old man stood by the fireplace, staring into the flames as Elias hung up.
“He didn’t like it,” Elias murmured.
Grandfather’s lips curved into something between pride and sadness. " He never likes anything that reminds him he still has a heart."