Chapter 14 Performance
Alexander's POV
Sunday - Family Dinner
The Thorne family estate sat on five acres of manicured perfection in the suburbs—all marble columns, pristine gardens, and the kind of old money that whispered instead of shouted.
I hated it.
My mother greeted me at the door, perfectly coiffed as always. "Alexander. You're late."
"Traffic."
"Of course." She kissed my cheek without warmth. "Your father's in the dining room. We're waiting."
The dining room could seat twenty. Tonight it was just family—Father at the head, Mother at the opposite end, Victoria to his right, and an empty chair beside her clearly meant for me.
"There he is." My father gestured to the chair. "Sit. We have things to discuss."
I sat.
Dinner was served immediately—course after course prepared by staff I never saw. We ate in the kind of silence that felt like judgment.
Finally, between the main course and dessert, Father spoke.
"Victoria tells me you've been settling in well."
"I'm learning."
"Good. The board meeting is in six weeks. I want you prepared to present the emerging markets analysis."
"I'll be ready."
"You'll need to be more than ready. You'll need to be flawless." He sipped his wine. "The board still questions whether you're mature enough for real responsibility."
"I have a master's degree—"
"From London, yes. Which means nothing if you can't prove yourself here." His tone was measured, final. "This presentation is your opportunity. Don't waste it."
"I won't."
Victoria spoke up. "Alexander's been doing well. He's thorough, asks the right questions."
"Good." Father's attention shifted. "Now. The Sterling gala."
Here it comes.
"Felicia Moreno has requested you as her date," Mother said, as if this was a great honor. "She's a lovely girl. Very accomplished."
"I'm aware."
"Sterling is our most important investor," Father continued. "Maintaining that relationship is critical. Felicia represents the next generation of Sterling leadership. It would be... advantageous... for you to know her better."
Advantageous. Not "you might like her" or "she's interesting." Advantageous.
"I'm attending the gala," I said carefully. "As requested."
"As her date," Mother emphasized. "She's expecting you to escort her properly."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning be charming. Attentive. Show her the respect she deserves as a potential—" She paused delicately. "—partner."
The word hung in the air, heavy with implication.
"I'm not looking for a partner."
"You're thirty years old," Father said. "It's time to think about marriage. Legacy. The board wants stability, and a wife from the right family provides that."
"The right family."
"Sterling is an excellent connection. Felicia is educated, attractive, ambitious. She understands our world."
"You've met her twice," I said, trying to keep my voice level.
"That's all I needed. She's perfect for you."
"You mean perfect for the company."
"Aren't they the same thing?" Father's eyes were cold. "You're a Thorne, Alexander. Your personal desires are secondary to family interests. Always."
Victoria was silent, studying her wine glass.
Mother smiled that practiced smile. "Just give her a chance. Take her to the gala, be pleasant. You might surprise yourself."
"And if I refuse?"
"You won't," Father said simply. "Because you understand what's at stake. Sterling controls thirty percent of our financing. If they decide to pull their investment—" He let the implication hang.
I was trapped. Again.
Always.
"Fine. I'll escort her to the gala."
"Excellent." Father returned to his meal, the discussion concluded in his mind.
But Mother wasn't finished. "We've also accepted an invitation to the Bennett charity auction next month on your behalf. Felicia will be there. It's another opportunity."
"You accepted without asking me."
"I'm asking now."
"That's not how asking works."
"Alexander." Her voice had an edge. "You've been in London for three years, avoiding your responsibilities. Now you're home, and it's time to grow up. That means attending events, making connections, and yes—finding an appropriate wife."
"I just got back—"
"Which is why we're starting now. Time isn't on our side." She glanced at Victoria. "Your sister understands duty. Why can't you?"
Victoria finally looked up. "Leave me out of this."
"You've always put the company first," Mother said. "Alexander needs to learn that same commitment."
"Alexander is allowed to have a life," Victoria said quietly.
"He will. With the right kind of woman who understands his obligations." Mother turned back to me. "The Moreno girl is perfect. Don't ruin this opportunity."
Dessert arrived. We ate in silence.
I lasted another hour before making excuses and leaving.
In my car, I gripped the steering wheel and tried to breathe.
Thirty years old, and they still controlled everything. Who I worked with. Who I dated. Who I'd eventually marry.
They'd picked Felicia like selecting furniture—attractive, expensive, appropriate for the space.
Never mind that I felt nothing when she touched my arm. Never mind that her smile was calculated performance. Never mind that every word she spoke sounded rehearsed.
She was advantageous.
That's all that mattered.
I drove home, poured a drink, and stood at the window watching the city.
One night. Three years ago. I'd felt something real.
And I'd spent every day since trapped in this performance.
The Week Before the Gala
Work became my escape.
I threw myself into projects, analysis, anything that kept my mind busy. Stayed late every night. Arrived early every morning.
Elena was always there—arriving on time, leaving exactly at six, a model of efficiency.
We'd settled into a careful dance. I didn't approach her. She didn't acknowledge me beyond professional courtesy. Victoria watched both of us like a hawk.
On Wednesday, Felicia appeared at the office.
"Just stopping by," she said, though clearly it wasn't spontaneous. She wore a designer dress, perfect makeup, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine.
She found me in the executive lounge, reviewing contracts.
"Alexander. How fortuitous."
"Felicia."
"I wanted to discuss the gala. I've arranged for us to sit at the Sterling table, of course. Very exclusive."
"Of course."
"And afterward, there's a private reception. Just the major donors. I'd love for you to join me."
"I'll see how the evening goes."
She sat beside me, close enough that her perfume—expensive, overwhelming—filled the space.
"I'm really looking forward to this. It's rare to meet someone who understands the pressures of legacy."
"Is it?"
"You know what I mean. People like us—we don't get to just follow our hearts. We have responsibilities." Her hand touched my arm. "But that doesn't mean we can't find... connection... with the right person."
I moved, breaking the contact. "I should get back to work."
"Of course. Don't let me keep you." She stood gracefully. "I'll see you Saturday. Seven sharp. I'll send a car."
"I can drive—"
"No way. We should arrive together. Make an entrance." She smiled. "It's good for both our images."
She left, heels clicking on marble, and I felt sick.
This was my future. Playing the part, making appearances, being advantageous.
I glanced toward the executive floor.
Through the glass, I could see Elena at her desk, focused on her screen.
Real. Grounded. Working for something that actually mattered.
While I played dress-up with women who saw me as a trophy.
Saturday - The Gala
The car Felicia sent was ridiculous—a stretch limousine, champagne already poured, completely unnecessary.
She looked stunning in a silver gown that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. Hair perfect. Makeup perfect. Every inch the part of society darling.
"You look wonderful," she said, though her eyes assessed rather than admired.
"Thank you. You too."
"We're going to be the talk of the evening." She handed me champagne. "To new beginnings."
I took the glass but didn't drink.
The venue was a five-star hotel ballroom, dripping with wealth—crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, a string quartet.
The city's elite mingled in designer gowns and tuxedos, air kissing and networking.
Felicia's hand wrapped around my arm possessively as we entered.
Immediately, people turned. Whispered. I could read their thoughts: Alexander Thorne and Felicia Moreno. How perfect. How advantageous.
"There's Richard Blackwell," Felicia murmured. "Sterling's been courting his real estate portfolio. We should say hello."
She guided me through the room like a prize she was showing off. Introduced me to people I didn't care about. Laughed at jokes that weren't funny. Performed.
And I performed alongside her.
Smiled. Shook hands. Said all the right things.
Hated every second.
At the Sterling table, I was seated beside Felicia, surrounded by Sterling executives and their spouses. Conversation was business thinly disguised as small talk.
"Alexander's emerging markets research is fascinating," Felicia told the table. "He has such vision."
"That's what three years at London will do," one executive said.
"Three years away from home," another added. "Must be good to be back."
"Very," I lied.
Dinner was seven courses of food I barely tasted. Speeches about charity and giving back, delivered by people wearing jewelry worth more than the cause they were supporting.
Throughout it all, Felicia touched me constantly. My arm. My shoulder. My hand. Marking territory.
I endured it because I had to.
After dinner, dancing began. Felicia stood immediately.
"Shall we?"
It wasn't really a question.
On the dance floor, her body pressed close, her hand on my neck, her smile promising things I didn't want.
"Everyone's watching," she whispered. "We look good together, don't we?"
"Felicia—"
"I know this is business for both of us. Our companies have expectations." Her fingers traced my collar. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves."
"I'm not looking for—"
"Neither am I. Not really." Her eyes were calculating. "But a partnership between Thorne and Sterling? Through us? Think about the opportunities."
There it was. The truth beneath the performance.
She didn't want me. She wanted the merger.
"I need some air," I said, pulling away.
"Alexander—"
"Just a moment."
I escaped to the terrace, breathing in the cool night air, trying to shed the suffocation.
Inside, the party continued—music, laughter, performance.
Out here, it was quiet.
"Running away?"
I turned. Victoria stood in the doorway, holding a glass of wine.
"Taking a break."
"From Felicia?"
"From all of it."
She joined me at the railing. "She's trying very hard."
"I noticed."
"Father's pleased. Mother's thrilled. They think you've finally found someone appropriate."
"Good for them."
"Alexander." Victoria's voice was softer than usual. "I know you don't want this."
"Then why push it?"
"Because someone has to think about the company. About the family." She sipped her wine. "I'm not saying marry her tomorrow. I'm saying give it a chance. You might be surprised."
"I won't be."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know what I want. And it's not this."
"Then what do you want?"
The question hung between us.
I thought about Elena. About one night when I'd felt something real.
But I couldn't say that. Not to Victoria.
"I don't know," I said instead. "But I know it's not Felicia Moreno."
Victoria was quiet for a long moment. "You're going to have to decide eventually. What you want versus what you need to do. You can't avoid it forever."
"Watch me."
She smiled sadly. "You're more like me than you think."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we both know duty wins. It always does." She finished her wine. "Come back inside before people notice. You're the star of the show tonight."
"Lucky me."
I followed her back into the ballroom, back into the performance.
Felicia found me immediately, looping her arm through mine.
"There you are. I was getting worried."
"Just needed air."
"Well, you're back now. Dance with me again?"
I didn't want to.
But I did.
Because that's what Thornes did.
We performed.
Even when it killed us.
Elena's POV
Saturday Night
Leo was finally asleep after three stories and four requests for water.
I collapsed on the couch, exhausted from a week that had felt endless.
My phone buzzed. Natalie: Hot News did you seeing this?
Seeing what?
A link appeared. Society page. Photos from some charity gala.
I clicked it, curious.
And froze.
Alexander Thorne in a tuxedo, looking devastatingly handsome and completely miserable.
Beside him, Felicia.
My stepsister, in a silver gown, her hand possessively on his arm, smiling like she'd won something.
The caption read: Alexander Thorne and Felicia Moreno heat up the Sterling Foundation Gala. The perfect power couple?
My stomach dropped.
Another text from Natalie: Damn, they look good together. Thoughts?
I couldn't respond. Couldn't breathe.
Felicia and Alexander.
Of course.
Of course she'd set her sights on him. The Thorne heir. The perfect target for her ambition.
And he... he was with her. Chosen her. The appropriate girl from the appropriate company.
While I was nobody.The assistant he barely noticed.
I stared at the photo until my vision blurred.
This was my life. Watching from the outside while people like Felicia took everything.
I closed the browser, set down my phone.
Told myself it didn't matter.
Alexander Thorne was nothing to me. Just another executive. Just another rich man playing games I'd never understand.
But the image burned in my mind.
Him and Felicia. Together.
Perfect.
Advantageous.
Everything I would never be.