Chapter 1 A Seat at the Table

The Thorne estate glimmered under the morning sun, all tall glass windows, trimmed hedges, and a fleet of valets in black vests ushering expensive cars into designated lots. Inside, the walls were polished to a quiet gleam, the scent of cedarwood and orange blossom lingering from the candles Loraine had handpicked just two weeks ago.

It was Day Three of the Thorne International Annual Gathering, a three-day affair so exclusive and high-profile that it made the tabloids salivate and shareholders breathe easier. It was the time for the press to get all influential business people in one place.

Loraine Thorne had barely slept in forty-eight hours.

From overseeing the arrival of the European partners on Day One to managing last-minute changes to the keynote speakers on Day Two, she'd worked herself into quiet exhaustion. She hadn't even touched the sea bass at the gala dinner last night, a dish she had specially requested for. She'd been too busy smoothing over a media slip from the Australian division. If only things ran themselves.

But today... today was supposed to be the payoff. The final day was always reserved for leisure, luxury, and legacy which included champagne brunches, private boat tours, and Damien Thorne's signature closing speech, usually laced with praise for the family member and business partners who had held things together behind the scenes.

This year, that praise was supposed to go to her.

She'd earned it. Hell, she'd bled for it.

So when she entered the Grand Hall, a cavernous room filled with gleaming mahogany, crystal chandeliers, and a dozen carefully curated floral arrangements, she expected applause. Or, at the very least, acknowledgment.

What she did not expect was Nathan.

Standing at the head of the room beside her father, Damien Thorne, Nathan looked perfectly at ease in his midnight-blue suit and crisp white shirt. He had that irritating quality of always looking like he belonged, no matter where he was, despite the fact that until six months ago, he hadn't even been part of the picture.

Not in her world.

Not in Thorne International.

And certainly not at the family's most sacred gathering of legacy. Employees worked their ass off just to be invited.

Her steps slowed as murmurs rippled across the room. She caught sight of Derek, her brother seated to the left of Damien Thorne, his face unreadable. His fingers tapped lightly on the polished table surface, his gaze flickering from her to Nathan and back again.

"Welcome, everyone," Damien's voice boomed, his tone clipped, authoritative. Even the wheelchair he was confined in had done nothing to diminish his authority. "Before we begin our final session, I have an announcement to make."

The room quieted instantly. Even the waiters froze.

Loraine's stomach twisted. Something didn't feel right.

Damien didn't make announcements without discussing them with her first, not anymore. Not since she'd proven herself capable of handling every crisis that came their way, from the Seoul scandal to the Dubai asset freeze.

She stood just at the edge of the room, not sitting. Watching.

Damien clasped his hands behind his back. "After careful thought and strategic analysis, I have decided it's time to begin grooming the next generation of leadership."

A heartbeat skipped. Loraine's hands clenched at her sides.

Damien continued, "Effective immediately, Nathaniel Wolfe will be serving as probationary heir to Thorne International."

Silence.

Then the murmurs. Sharp inhales. The sound of glass tapping wood as someone's fingers trembled.

Loraine didn't move. Couldn't if she tried.

Her ears rang. Her mind raced. Surely she had misheard. Nathaniel Wolfe? Her name was Loraine. Loraine Thorne.

Her grandfather's voice filled the void again, smooth and sure. "Nathan has demonstrated exceptional foresight and agility in recent projects. I have no doubt that under my guidance, he will bring innovation and stability to our legacy."

Loraine stepped forward, not realizing her heels were echoing too loudly until she reached the table.

"Grandfather," she said, tightly, "a word?"

But before Damien could respond, Derek stood. He buttoned his jacket slowly, clearing his throat.

"If I may," he said. "I'd like to speak to Nathan's qualifications."

What? Loraine turned to him, her jaw tightening.

Derek? Of all people? He had never been ambitious, never shown interest in the power plays. Their relationship wasn't perfect, but he'd always backed her. Until now.

"Over the last quarter," Derek went on, "Nathan has increased our digital asset performance by 37% and successfully mitigated a lawsuit that could have cost us millions. His strategic outlook aligns with the new markets we're breaking into."

A few board members nodded.

Loraine's voice cut through the buzz. "Since when do we hand over our legacy to outsiders based on quarterly performance?"

A pause. Then, from the far side of the table, came the unmistakable drawl of Mrs. Heathrow, board member since 1997 and unofficial keeper of the family's reputation.

"I have to agree with Loraine," she said, eyes narrowed. "Nathan may be competent, even brilliant, but he isn't blood. Damien, we've always maintained a legacy line for a reason."

Nathan stepped forward, calm and unbothered.

"With respect," he began, "I'm not here to replace the board or dismantle tradition. I'm here to build on it. To ensure Thorne International not only survives the next decade, but leads it. You'll still have the power to vote on every major decision. I'm here to serve and elevate the legacy Damien Thorne has painstakingly built."

It was an excellent answer. Measured. Rehearsed.

Loraine's blood boiled.

"You speak as if you understand this company," she said coldly, stepping closer. "As if you've carried it on your back. But where were you during the supply chain crash of 2020? The Beijing fallout? Or when I stayed up for seventy-two hours straight fixing your brilliant digital rollout after it nearly breached our firewall?"

Nathan looked at her, patient. Too patient.

"I don't mean to diminish your contributions, Loraine," he said softly. "You've done excellent work. But maybe it's time we evolved beyond the idea that legacy only comes through biology or burnout."

That stung. She took another step, fists curled at her sides.

"You have no idea what it means to be a Thorne."

"And maybe that's exactly why I can lead it better."

The room was buzzing now. Murmured agreement. Nervous glances.

Then Damien slammed his hand down.

"Enough," he barked.

The room froze again.

Damien turned to Loraine, eyes like stone. "You are not the victim here. You've had every opportunity to prove yourself and you've done well. But this company is more than your feelings. Don't embarrass yourself further."

Loraine felt her face flush, heat crawling up her neck.

Her mouth opened but then she saw it.

Mrs. Heathrow, across the table, shaking her head. A small gesture. Barely there. But her eyes were firm.

Not now. Don't give them more.

Loraine exhaled sharply. The fire was still burning, but she let the words die.

She turned.

And walked out of the room.

Not broken.

Just waiting.