Prologue

The Past Never Really Lets Go

The silence in the Thornhill mansion was not one of peace. It was the kind that lingered after a storm—after slamming doors, after muffled arguments behind closed rooms, after goodbye wasn’t said loud enough to be heard.

Victor Thornhill sat alone in the dim glow of his study. Dust floated like ghosts in the air, catching the last of the golden evening light. His fingers traced the rim of his glass, long emptied. The photograph on the table—framed in brushed silver—showed a woman with a kind smile and two young boys clinging to her sides.

She was gone now.

And somehow, in all the years since, so were they.

Not gone in the literal sense. His sons were very much alive. Thriving, in fact. But they weren’t here. Not anymore.

Victor had built an empire from nothing but steel nerves and raw instinct. He was used to things falling into place because he willed them to. But no amount of wealth or power could bring back a woman taken too soon—or close the distance between a father and his grown sons.

And so, the mansion remained quiet. Beautiful, large, and cold. Like him, some days.

But something had to change.

And it would.

---

Victor's POV

It used to be easier, didn’t it?

Victor Thornhill leaned against the grand window of his estate’s west wing, watching the sunrise melt over the hills like honey. His hands were steady, clasped behind his back, but his chest ached in that familiar way. The ache that came from missing what used to be—a laugh echoing through the halls, the scent of cinnamon his wife used to wear, the sound of tiny feet chasing each other in the garden.

He had built this empire with blistered hands and an iron will. And when Margaret died… he didn’t let himself break. He couldn’t. The boys needed him. Damien had been ten. Luca only seven.

He raised them alone. Well, as alone as a billionaire could. There were nannies, tutors, chauffeurs. But when it came to the big things—the discipline, the decisions, the expectations—it was always him. Victor made sure they were never weak. That they grew into leaders, not followers.

And they did.

But somewhere in the process, he’d lost them too.

They visited. They called. They sent extravagant gifts for holidays. But they didn’t stay.

Damien, the eldest, was a mirror of himself. Ruthless. Brilliant. A tactician in business and a shadow in all else. He ran the Thornhill conglomerate now, with a precision that even Victor had to admire. But he had no softness. No patience. He ruled with facts and numbers, not people.

And Luca… Luca was another story entirely.

---

Luca’s POV

The camera flash was blinding, even through the tinted glass of the black SUV. Luca Thornhill tilted his head, gave the crowd a lazy smile, and lowered his sunglasses just enough for the paparazzi to catch the glint in his eye.

Showtime.

The driver opened his door, and he stepped out onto the red carpet of another charity gala he didn’t remember agreeing to attend. But attendance was power. And Luca Thornhill knew how to hold attention.

He wasn’t just a CEO—though technically, he still held that title over Thornhill Media. He was a face, a brand. Magazine covers, high-profile interviews, viral moments on social media. He moved through the public like silk through fingers—effortless, irresistible.

But it was all noise.

All of it.

Behind the tailored suits and easy grins, Luca knew the truth. Fame was addictive, but isolating. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him and didn’t see opportunity. Or money. Or fame.

Family? That was even more complicated.

He hadn’t visited the mansion in over six months. The guilt of it crept in sometimes, late at night. His father was growing older. And the silence in his calls… it said more than words could.

But Damien would say something if it got serious. Right?

Still, as he shook hands and posed for cameras, something tugged at him.

Maybe it was time. Maybe he should go home.

---

Damien’s POV

He hated delays.

Damien Thornhill stood in the top-floor conference room of the Thornhill International building, eyes fixed on the board in front of him. Twenty minutes past the hour and the last two execs had only just entered the room.

He didn’t bother to hide the disgust on his face.

“Time is a currency,” he said flatly, “and you’ve just bankrupted yourselves.”

Silence. Nervous shuffling. Damien didn’t need to shout to control a room—his presence alone did that. He was tall, sharp, composed, with a stare that made men twice his age fold under pressure.

He had no interest in celebrity, like Luca. No need for flashbulbs or fans. His success came from control. From intelligence. From refusing to accept anything less than perfection.

And yet, the one thing he couldn’t fix—his father.

Victor was still strong, yes. But he was aging. Slower. Less present in the day-to-day operations. Damien had suggested, more than once, a live-in nurse or care manager. But the old man refused.

Now, word had reached him through the estate manager that someone new had been hired.

Without their consent. Without discussion.

He didn’t like that.

He didn’t trust anyone who managed to slip into their father’s inner circle so quietly.

---

Victor's POV

The sun had fully risen now, painting the Thornhill estate in pale gold. But Victor felt the same—older than the house he’d built, heavier than the crown he still wore.

He glanced toward the hallway, listening to the silence.

They’d come back, eventually.

They always did.

But this time, he wasn’t going to wait around in loneliness.

This time, he was making a change.

And that change had already arrived.

Even if his sons didn’t know it yet

Victor's POV

Victor sat in the parlor, an untouched cup of black coffee steaming at his side, the clock ticking steadily on the mantel. He rarely used this room. It was Margaret’s favorite once—before it grew too quiet.

But today wasn’t like every other day.

Today, someone new stood beside him.

“Elena,” he said, nodding toward the open archway that led to the marble foyer, “come in. No need to hover.”

The girl—no, woman—stepped in hesitantly, her hands clasped in front of her like she wasn’t sure where to put them. She looked young—mid-twenties, perhaps—but composed, her dark hair pinned back, posture straight. There was a softness in her that reminded him of a time long past.

“I’m not expecting miracles,” Victor said gently, watching the way her gaze flicked up to him, startled. “I’m just expecting you to be here. That’s more than I’ve had from most people lately.”

“Yes, Mr. Thornhill,” she replied, her voice low, respectful. “I understand.”

No, she didn’t. Not yet. But she would.

He had interviewed more than a dozen people. All qualified, polished, robotic. Elena had been different. Not because her résumé was perfect—it wasn’t. But because she looked at him without trying to see a fortune. Because when she heard he’d lost his wife and lived in a mansion alone, she didn’t smile politely. Her eyes softened.

That’s what convinced him.

She had no idea what she was walking into. But then again, neither did his sons.

---

Luca's POV

The second Luca read the message, he didn’t finish the call he was on. He didn’t wait for his assistant to ask questions. He just muttered, “Cancel everything,” threw on his jacket, and walked out of the studio.

It was ridiculous. Infuriating, even.

Dad hired someone?

No warning. No heads-up. Just a note from the estate manager saying a “new assistant” had moved in this morning.

A live-in personal assistant.

Luca pressed harder on the gas as he veered onto the private road leading up to the Thornhill mansion. The thought alone made his blood boil. His father wasn’t that fragile. Sure, he’d aged, slowed a bit—but he didn’t need a stranger taking over the house, wandering the halls, worming into his life.

This was their family. Their home.

He had a right to know who this woman was.

He pulled up to the circular drive at the same time another car did.

Of course.

Damien.

---

Damien's POV

He hadn’t even closed the final tab on his computer. The minute the estate manager’s text popped up, he stood from his desk and ordered the helicopter to be ready.

He arrived at the mansion by car—he wanted time to think. And because he didn’t want the staff to see him rattled.

Because he was rattled.

Victor never acted impulsively. Every move was calculated. Strategic. So what the hell was this?

Damien’s jaw clenched as he stepped out of the car, just in time to see Luca slamming his own door and stalking toward the entrance.

Perfect.

They didn’t even greet each other as they stormed into the foyer. The same thought raced through both minds:

Who the hell did he let into their house?

---

Elena's POV

She heard them before she saw them.

Heavy, purposeful footsteps on marble floors. The sound of expensive shoes moving like gunshots. And then—

Raised voices. Sharp, curt, male.

Her fingers tightened on the folder in her hands. Her chest fluttered—not from excitement, but from the sting of fear she couldn’t hide.

Victor had told her about his sons. That they were busy. That they might be skeptical. But nothing could have prepared her for the two men who burst into the room like twin hurricanes.

The first one—tall, dark-haired, with a face too perfect for reality—fixed his gaze on her like a weapon. Luca.

The second—slightly older, colder, sharper in every way—barely looked at her at all. He looked past her, to Victor.

“You hired someone without telling us?” Damien’s voice was thunder in the room.

“She’s not staying.” Luca’s tone was fast, dismissive, cutting. “Whatever this is, it ends today.”

Elena swallowed hard, heart pounding. She suddenly felt much too small in this mansion. In this family.

---

Victor's POV

He stood calmly, watching his sons implode across the parlor. Elena, to her credit, hadn’t run. Yet.

“I hired her,” Victor said simply. “Because I wanted someone who would be here. Unlike either of you.”

That shut them up for a beat.

“She’s not family,” Damien snapped. “You don’t know anything about her.”

“I know enough.”

“She could be anyone,” Luca added. “A gold-digger, a social climber—Dad, come on. This is insane.”

Victor stepped forward. His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to.

“You both left me here, alone. You both chose work, fame, control—over this home, over me. I asked for nothing. Until now.”

He turned toward Elena, who flinched just slightly beneath his gaze.

“I asked her to be here. And she accepted.”

---

Elena's POV

She could hardly breathe. These men—Damien and Luca—were overwhelming in every sense. Their presence sucked the oxygen out of the room. Their stares felt like judgment carved in steel.

She wanted to speak. To say she wasn’t here for money. That she hadn’t even known who Victor was until he contacted her. That she only wanted to help.

But her throat was too tight.

“I…” she tried. The sound was small. Embarrassing.

Victor placed a hand gently on her shoulder, steadying.

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” he said, looking at his sons instead. “Not to them. Not today.”

Damien looked ready to argue. Luca looked stunned. But neither said another word.

Not yet.

---

Damien's POV

She looked scared.

Damien wasn’t sure why that affected him—but it did. Only for a second.

The way she clutched the folder to her chest like a shield. The way her eyes darted between them, like prey waiting for the lion to pounce.

He didn’t trust her. Not for a second.

But something in him hated the way his father had protected her just now. Like she had earned that right.

Not them.

---

Luca's POV

She was beautiful. That much, he noticed immediately—though he hadn’t wanted to.

But it wasn’t the beauty that threw him.

It was how out of place she looked. Like a wild animal caged in crystal.

She didn’t speak back. Didn’t defend herself. Didn’t argue. And somehow, that made it worse.

He was used to people demanding things, lying, pushing. But she looked like she just wanted to disappear.

And maybe, just maybe… that meant she wasn’t like the rest.

---

Victor's POV

He watched the war begin silently.

They didn’t realize it yet.

But it had already started.

Elena’s POV

The mansion had far more rooms than she could ever count. Long hallways that echoed when she walked alone. Chandeliers that dripped like starlight from vaulted ceilings. Polished floors that clicked under her heels as she moved from one task to the next.

It had been three days since Elena arrived at Thornhill Estate, and every moment still felt unreal.

She rose before dawn and slept after midnight. If Victor needed something, she was there. If a message had to be relayed, she delivered it. Groceries? She arranged them. Appointments? She scheduled. It was quiet work—thoughtful, often invisible—but Victor always noticed.

“You have a good mind, Elena,” he said once, when she reminded him about his medication. “And a good heart. That’s rarer than anything.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. So she only nodded, offering a small smile, and continued scribbling into the leather-bound planner she kept close like a shield.

Victor never asked for much. But somehow, she sensed he appreciated the company more than the assistance. He’d grown used to being alone. She knew the feeling.

But today wasn’t quiet. Today, Thornhill Mansion would be full of voices again.

Tonight, Victor was hosting a formal dinner—not one of the galas the family was known for, but an intimate gathering with longtime associates. Friends from his decades of empire-building. He wanted his sons to be there.

“They probably won’t come,” he told her softly that morning as she arranged the dining table’s centerpiece—orchids, elegant and soft like the memory of something once cherished. “They rarely do.”

Elena looked up from the tableware. “I hope they do.”

Victor smiled faintly, but the sadness in his eyes lingered.

---

Luca’s POV

He didn’t want to go.

He had a full schedule: a television interview at six, a dinner reservation with his agent, and a photoshoot planned for the weekend. People counted on him—millions, if you asked his PR team.

But still... he canceled it all.

There was something about the way the message had come this time. Not from the estate manager. Not through his father’s assistant.

It came from Victor Thornhill himself.

“Dinner at the estate. Tonight. Just a few old colleagues. Bring Damien if you can.”

It wasn’t a demand. Not even a request. Just a sentence.

But it hit harder than it should have.

He hadn’t forgotten about her, either.

That girl. Elena.

Just thinking of her stirred something strange in his chest—something he didn’t like. Something that made him feel too aware of himself.

He told himself he was going just to see his father. Not to see her again.

---

Damien’s POV

His phone buzzed once. He glanced down at the screen, expression unreadable.

“Dinner. Tonight.” That was all it said.

He read it twice.

Victor didn’t call often anymore. Damien was the one always on calls—conferences, deals, negotiations stacked like glass towers around his daily life.

But this wasn’t a call.

This was Victor Thornhill inviting them into his castle again. For what? To play pretend? To watch him fall further under the influence of that girl?

Still... Damien didn’t delete the message.

He canceled his evening meeting. He stepped into a black-on-black suit. And as he sat in the car on the way to the estate, he told himself he wasn’t going because of her. It had nothing to do with the stranger living in their father’s house.

It was just dinner.

---

Elena’s POV

The mansion shimmered with soft light as evening fell. Gold sconces lit the walls, tall candles flickered in the dining room, and soft classical music played somewhere in the background.

Elena moved through the spaces like a shadow, checking everything twice.

“Are you nervous?” Victor asked her as he adjusted the cufflinks on his charcoal suit.

“No,” she lied. Her fingers were still trembling.

“You look like you belong here,” he added, surprising her.

She turned to him, wide-eyed. “I don’t.”

But Victor only chuckled, not unkindly. “Neither did I, once.”

The doorbell rang, and the butler moved to answer.

One by one, the guests arrived—six in total. Men in tailored suits, women in sleek gowns, the air thick with perfume, old money, and the sort of laughter that sounded rehearsed.

They all looked at her. Not with kindness or cruelty—just curiosity. Wondering who the unfamiliar woman near Victor’s side was.

And then...

The room quieted.

Because the Thornhill sons had arrived.

---

******************

The moment Luca and Damien entered the room, it was like the temperature shifted. The air changed.

Heads turned. Voices softened.

Because the Thornhill men had presence—that sort of unnerving, commanding energy that couldn’t be faked. The kind that made people both lean in and step back.

Damien in his signature dark navy suit, emotionless and carved from stone. Luca with his movie-star charm and storm-gray eyes, wearing a smirk like armor.

No one expected them to come.

And they certainly didn’t expect them to come together.

Victor stood when he saw them, his face lighting up in a way Elena hadn’t seen before. “Boys.”

But his joy was met with guarded nods.

Elena tried not to stare, but it was impossible.

They looked even more intimidating than the first time. Even more perfect. And still, they wore that same disapproving look the moment their eyes found her.

She lowered her gaze quickly.

---

Luca’s POV

She was still here.

Still standing beside their father like she belonged.

He hated how natural it looked.

Her hair was pulled back, a simple black dress hugging her frame modestly, not showy—but it still made his jaw clench. She had no idea what kind of world she’d stepped into.

And yet, she looked... calm.

Luca hated that, too.

---

Damien’s POV

He scanned the room like a hunter.

Victor looked stronger tonight—more alive. And it wasn’t the food or the wine. It was her.

Elena.

She stood politely at Victor’s side, waiting, silent. Not a trace of defiance in her. Not a hint of mischief. Just quiet observation.

It irritated him more than it should.

She wasn’t bold. She wasn’t loud. She was... there.

And somehow, that made her harder to ignore.

---

Elena’s POV

She wished she could vanish.

All the eyes. All the unspoken questions. The weight of the brothers' cold glances pressing against her spine.

She tried to keep moving—serving drinks, adjusting place settings, checking on the caterers. Anything to stay useful. Anything to stay invisible.

But every time she passed by one of them—especially Luca—she could feel it.

Their eyes. Their thoughts.

She was an outsider.

No matter how kind Victor was. No matter how hard she worked.

She didn’t belong here.

---

Victor’s POV

He noticed everything.

The stiffness in Damien’s shoulders. The tightness around Luca’s mouth. The way Elena kept her eyes low. The air was thick with unsaid things.

But he said nothing.

Instead, he raised a toast halfway through dinner. “To old friends,” he said. “And to unexpected blessings.”

His eyes lingered just a second too long on Elena.

Luca looked away. Damien’s jaw flexed. And Elena? She looked like she might cry.

---

Later That Night – Elena’s POV

As the guests departed and the mansion grew quiet again, Elena remained in the dining room, carefully clearing plates and rearranging chairs. Her feet ached. Her head throbbed.

She hadn’t eaten. She hadn’t sat once.

Still, she worked.

Victor had retired for the night. The staff had gone. She was alone.

Until—

“You don’t sleep, do you?”

The voice made her spin.

Luca leaned against the archway, arms crossed.

“I—I was just finishing—”

“I see that.” His tone was unreadable. “Is this what you do? Hover around him like a shadow?”

She flushed. “It’s my job.”

“Is that all it is?”

Elena’s eyes darted away. “Yes.”

He studied her a moment longer. Then he scoffed and walked off without another word.

But the way he looked at her stayed.

And upstairs, behind another door, Damien stood in silence, having watched the same exchange from the landing.

Neither of them liked her.

But neither of them could stop noticing her, either