Molly Lin's logic had been simple: sharing a fantastical secret could forge a connection. Plus, something this unbelievable? Most sane people would scoff. That disbelief would be her opening – she could point out her unchanged appearance, dredge up shared high school memories, maybe soften Xavier Thorne's legendary reserve with nostalgia. Appeal to the shared past of rivals-turned… well, hopefully landlords.
He'd blindsided her. *"Of course I believe you."*
Now, she was convinced. Xavier Thorne wasn't just immune to charm; he was actively, perversely determined to thwart her. *Professional rival to the bitter end, even a decade later.*
She kept her smile bright, leaning in slightly. "So, you understand the… profound connection I have to this place. For me, it was home just *yesterday*. Surely, as old classmates…?" She let the implication hang, a delicate appeal to shared history, however antagonistic it might have been.
The man regarded her, his expression the picture of serene composure. "No."
*Stalemate.* He was impenetrable. And honestly, 'classmate camaraderie' was a stretch. What bond existed between rivals? Certainly not the kind that moved mountains… or Manhattan townhouses.
Desperation clawed at the edges of her exhaustion. Time for the nuclear option. Molly pressed her palms together in a playful, pleading gesture. "Please? Xavier? Pretty please? Mr. Thorne? Sir?" She infused her voice with a sugary earnestness she hadn't used since begging her parents for a puppy. Her wide, luminous eyes locked onto his, radiating pure, undiluted appeal. *Surely even the Wall Street Sphinx couldn't resist this?*
Xavier felt the treacherous leap in his pulse. His hand, resting casually on the sofa cushion beside him, clenched, fingers digging into the plush leather. The urge to simply nod, to give her anything she asked for, was a physical pressure. He wrestled it down, forcing a slow, deliberate shake of his head. If he sold the house, what plausible reason would he ever have to see her again? The connection would be severed.
Molly collapsed backward onto the sofa cushions with a soft groan. She punched the air weakly a few times. "I can't take it anymore!" she muttered, the frustration palpable.
Xavier: "…"
Ethan: "…"
Ethan bit the inside of his cheek, hard. The sheer absurdity of the situation warred with his concern for his sister. This wasn't the time for laughter. He cleared his throat, the obsidian beads on his wrist clicking softly. "Molly." *Compose yourself. We're guests.*
Molly hauled herself upright, smoothing her hair and taking a deep, steadying breath. "Okay. New plan, Xavier." Her voice was all business now, exhaustion momentarily overridden by determination. "Rent me a room. Just the one. My old bedroom. I just need a place to crash." *Literally.* She could deal with the medical side of her insomnia later. Eleven years had to have yielded some better sleeping pills, right?
Xavier's eyebrow arched almost imperceptibly. He adjusted his glasses with a single finger, a gesture that perfectly masked the sudden spark of interest. "Rent you a room?" The idea hung in the air, laden with possibilities.
Ethan's eyes lit up. This could work! Sharing with a random guy? Absolutely not. But Xavier Thorne, rumored to be as interested in women as he was in public scandals? *Perfectly safe.* He'd never seen his sister so… undignifiedly persistent. If she looked at *him* like that, he'd hand over the keys to his entire empire.
And yet, Xavier remained unmoved. Stoic. *Clearly immune to feminine charms. Or any charms, really.*
"Mr. Thorne," Ethan interjected smoothly, seizing the moment. "I'll immediately approach the owners of the neighboring townhouse. Purchase is the goal. Until that's finalized, I will personally ensure Molly is only here overnight. She'll arrive late, leave early. Minimal disruption. You won't even know she's here." He projected absolute confidence.
Molly seized the lifeline. "Exactly! Zero disturbance! Cross my heart! If you, uh… have company over," she waved a hand vaguely, "just say I'm the live-in housekeeper. Or the eccentric aunt no one talks about. Whatever works!"
*Disturb him?* The thought was laughable. He craved the disturbance. Xavier lifted his gaze, the carefully constructed veil over his eyes momentarily thinning before being swiftly restored. His voice, when it came, was carefully neutral. "Very well."
The butler, who had been maintaining a facade of professional detachment, felt his internal world tilt. *Renting a room?* Mr. Thorne, who demanded absolute privacy, whose cleaning staff weren't even allowed *locker space* in the townhouse? They commuted! *Five centuries' worth of shock* barely covered it.
Seeing Xavier's agreement, Molly sprang up, relief flooding through her. The movement lifted her top slightly, revealing a sliver of pale, smooth skin at her waist. "Perfect! Settle the rent with Ethan," she called over her shoulder, already heading for the grand staircase. "I'm claiming my old room *now* before my brain turns to complete mush!" She didn't wait for a response, her long legs carrying her swiftly upwards, her dark hair streaming behind her like a banner.
A faint trace of her shampoo – something clean and subtly floral – lingered in the air. Xavier inhaled deeply, almost imperceptibly.
"Sir, shall I…" the butler began, gesturing towards the stairs.
Xavier waved a dismissive hand. "Unnecessary. She knows her way." *Luminous* had navigated these halls for eighteen years.
Silence descended in the expansive living room, thick and heavy, broken only by the soft ticking of a discreet clock. Ethan swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet. He picked up the untouched water glass the butler had provided and took a long gulp. "Mr. Thorne," he began, his voice steadier than he felt. "Thank you. Truly. For the room. Regarding rent… ten thousand a month? Would that be acceptable?"
Xavier regarded him, a ghost of a polite smile touching his lips. He adjusted his glasses. "Ethan Shaw, correct? That's unnecessary. A nominal fee will suffice." His gaze sharpened, just a fraction. "Focus your resources where they matter most. On SparkLight."
Ethan felt the subtle sting like a physical tap on the shoulder. *Ah. Message received.* His recent… distractions hadn't gone unnoticed by the sharpest investor on the block. Portfolio managers like Thorne monitored their holdings with hawk-like precision. He flushed slightly, the sensation of being a schoolboy caught daydreaming flooding back. "Understood, sir. Point taken."
The silence stretched again, becoming uncomfortable. Xavier broke it, his voice smooth as polished stone. "If there's nothing else, Ethan, you may go. I'm sure you have pressing matters."
Ethan stood, squaring his shoulders. He met Xavier's composed gaze, forcing himself not to look away. "Just… one more thing, Mr. Thorne." He took a breath. "About Molly. I know you said you believed her earlier… about the time travel. Maybe you were just being polite. But… it's true." Saying the words aloud to this man felt surreal, like confessing to believing in fairies. His sister's nerve was astounding.
Xavier lifted his teacup, his movements economical and precise. His gaze held an unreadable depth. He *did* believe. Utterly. Nothing else explained the impossible: her unchanged face, the identical weariness in her eyes, the way she moved through the house like she'd never left. Even the slight split ends in her hair seemed preserved in time. "The world holds more mysteries than we can fathom," he murmured, a faint, enigmatic curve to his lips.
*Okay,* Ethan thought, *so the guy genuinely has an open mind. Or a very specific blind spot named Molly Lin.* He managed a weak smile. "Right. Well… there's something else I'd appreciate your help with, if possible."
Xavier's gaze sharpened. "What is it?"
Ethan chose his words carefully. "Before… before the accident, Molly was dating Cole Sterling. You know, the actor? Pretty serious, from her perspective back then. She's just… reappeared. In her mind, that relationship might still be… present." He paused. "If you happen to watch anything… featuring Sterling… maybe avoid mentioning it? Or having it on? Media exposure might trigger her." He knew the request sounded absurd. Xavier Thorne probably consumed financial reports for leisure, not celebrity gossip shows. But better safe than sorry.
The effect was instantaneous and chilling. The air around Xavier seemed to drop several degrees. His knuckles, gripping the delicate porcelain cup, turned bone-white. Tendons stood out starkly against the back of his hand. He lowered his gaze for a moment, the silver frames of his glasses glinting. When he looked up, his expression was once again a mask of calm, polished courtesy. Only the lingering tension in his jaw betrayed any disturbance.
"I understand," he said, his voice dangerously soft.