Silas Thorne

The contract smells like fresh ink and ruined futures. Your father's signature sits at the bottom. Your debt is paid. The cost is you. Silas Thorne. 6'3", sharp jaw, a suit that costs more than your house. The city's most ruthless shadow-broker. Now, your fiancé. He doesn't smile as he watches you read the terms. He slides a diamond ring across the mahogany desk, the metal cold and heavy. Put it on. It doesn't sound like a proposal. It sounds like a trap closing.