Chapter 8
Audrey’s POV:
New York’s morning rush hour was an absolute nightmare.
I practically tumbled into Luminous Gallery, my heart still pounding from the frantic sprint I’d just made.
Before I could even catch my breath, a small figure came running toward me.
Noah stopped in front of me, tilting his little face up to look at me, then did something that caught me completely off guard–he gently patted my back, as
if comforting a breathless friend.
Then he turned and fetched a cup of water from the nearby refreshment station, carefully offering it to me.
“Thank you, Noah. You came so early?” I accepted the cup, deeply moved by this four–year–old’s thoughtfulness.
“Audrey, you’re finally here. It’s not early at all.”
Mrs. Smith’s voice came from nearby, carrying a hint of reproach. “You were almost 40 minutes late on your first day of work.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Smith, the traffic was absolutely-
“Mr. Thornton personally brought Noah today,” she lowered her voice, her expression meaningful. “He’s been waiting for you for quite some time. He wants
to appoint you as Noah’s art teacher.”
Mr. Thornton? Caspar Thornton?
My heart rate suddenly spiked.
Through the gallery’s glass partition, I spotted a familiar silhouette in the conference room–broad shoulders, an impeccably tailored suit, radiating an
inherent authority even from behind.
But that silhouette… why did it look so familiar?
Just then, the man slowly turned around. When his profile came into view, I felt the entire world stop spinning.
No… this can’t be happening….
That face, those penetrating eyes, that sharply defined jawline–wasn’t this the very man I’d spent the night with at that London hotel just days ago?
My mind went completely blank, my blood seeming to freeze in an instant.
How could the world be this small?
“Mrs. Smith, I tried to keep my voice steady, though my fingers unconsciously tightened around the water cup, that gentleman is…?”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Caspar Thornton.” Mrs. Smith’s tone carried a note of reverence. “CEO of Thornton Group, you know, the one everyone calls ‘King C. Noah’s
father.”
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8:03 pm P M
Chapter 8
Caspar Thornton? King C?
1 tuined to look at Noah, my voice slightly trembling: Noah, that your daddy?”
The little boy nodded earnestly, his grape–like dark eyes sparkling with pride.
A wave of intense dizziness hit me, and I had to lean against the nearby wall to steady myself
Dear God, I actually slept with a student’s parent.
Rumors about Caspar Thornton nooded my mind like a tsunami: head of Thornton Group, one of Wall Street’s most powerful financial moguls, a ruthless
business titan, an iceberg who never smiled in any public setting…
What on earth have I done?
My legs began to feel weak, and instinctively I wanted to turn and flee.
“Mrs. Smith, I think I might need to call in sick today. I’m not feeling well-
But Noah’s small hand suddenly grabbed the hem of my shirt, those grape–like eyes filled with anticipation and dependence.
“Ms Lane,” Mrs. Smith’s voice rang out again, “Mr. Thornton specifically waited for you. He wants to meet you.”
There was no escape.
I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. Maybe… maybe he wouldn’t recognize me? After all, the lighting was dim that night, and we were both…
“Alright then, come on, Noah,” I said with forced composure. ‘Let’s go say hello to your dad.”
But just as I was about to lead Noah forward, the conference room door suddenly opened. Caspar Thornton strode out, walking directly toward us.
Each step felt like it was landing on my heartbeat.
He stopped in front of me, those penetrating eyes looking directly into mine. Then he extended his hand.
“Miss Lane, his voice was deep and magnetic, exactly the same voice that had whispered in my ear that night, ‘I’m Caspar Thornton, Noah’s father.”
I stiffly extended my hand, and the moment our palms touched-
“God, you feel incredible…” His husky whisper echoed in my memory,
“Don’t hold back…” My own breathless reply lingered.
Heavy breathing, intertwined figures… and the intoxicating rhythm we had created together in that London hotel room flooded my senses.
Images from that night flashed through my mind like lightning–his lips against my neck, my fingers gripping his shoulders, the way our bodies had moved
together in perfect harmony.
I immediately pulled my hand back, my cheeks instantly burning hot, praying he couldn’t read the memories dancing behind my eyes or sense how my pulse had quickened at his touch.
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3:03 pm P M
Chapter 8
“Mr. Thornton. I forced a professional smile, my voice slightly shaky.
‘Pleasure to meet you.”
I tried to withdraw my hand, but his fingers tightened ever so slightly around mine–a subtle, almost imperceptible resistance that sent another jolt through
- me.
For a fraction of a second, our eyes locked, and I caught something flicker across his expression–recognition? Curiosity? Desire?
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
