Crown of Thorns
As the sole heiress of the Sterling family, I was engaged to Caleb Hawthorne before I could even form a complete sentence.
An engagement that became a city-wide joke the moment photos of Caleb in bed with a college girl went viral.
The story they spun was that the girl, drunk and heartbroken in some downtown dive bar, had mistaken Caleb for a male escort and bought him for the night with a wad of cash.
Everyone expected her to be found in the river.
But Caleb just laughed.
"The way she cried," he'd told the papers, a smirk playing on his lips, "it was interesting."
From that moment on, he was addicted to her. He paraded her around the city, a whirlwind of public trysts and whispered scandals.
It all came to a head three months later, when the college girl showed up on my doorstep with a swelling belly.
When I confronted Caleb, his voice was calm, dismissive.
“Chloe is innocent, Ava. All she wants is my love, nothing more.”
“Don’t worry,” he’d added, as if it were a comfort. “You can play games, but the position of Mrs. Hawthorne will always be yours.”
I had to laugh.
Caleb, you have it all wrong.
It was never me who needed you to become the lady of the Hawthorne estate.
It was always you who needed me to become the master of it.
1
Caleb found me in the study, where I was finalizing the guest list for the Memorial Gala. He placed a cup of steaming tea beside my hand.
“Ava,” he began, his voice soft. “Add Chloe’s name to the list for next week’s gala.”
The tip of my fountain pen dug into the polished mahogany of the desk, leaving a deep, black wound.
The gala to honor the memory of my parents. And he wanted me to invite his mistress?
I lifted my head, my eyes locking with his. “Caleb, do you really think I’m that much of a pushover?”
“Of course not.” He looked at me, his dark eyes holding the same deep affection they always had. It was a look I used to treasure. Now, it just felt like a well-practiced lie. “Chloe is carrying a Hawthorne child, after all. We can’t keep her hidden away forever. The gala is the perfect opportunity for her to be introduced to the family.”
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ava, you’ve always been the reasonable one.”
Reasonable. The word he used when he meant compliant.
I picked up the teacup, its warmth a stark contrast to the ice in my veins, and poured the entire contents onto the Persian rug at his feet.
“This is me being reasonable,” I said. “Are you satisfied?”
He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he reached for my hand. “Did you burn yourself?”
His warm fingers traced my skin, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I snatched my hand away.
“Stop this charade, Caleb. Cut the act!”
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a patronizingly fond smile on his face. “Ava, getting angry isn’t good for you.”
That look—the one you give a misbehaving child—made the fire in my chest roar to life. I grabbed the silver letter opener from the desk and brandished it at him, my voice a low growl.
“I am not joking. And I said no.”
The tenderness in Caleb’s expression finally evaporated. He stepped forward, reaching for the blade. “That’s dangerous. Give it to me.”
“Get away from me!”
In the struggle, the sharp edge of the opener sliced across my palm. A clean, deep line of red split the skin. We both froze. Blood welled up, dripping one by one onto the pristine invitation cards, staining his name and mine a brilliant crimson.
Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk—a special ringtone I’d never heard before. Chloe’s ringtone.
Caleb’s eyes darted from my bleeding hand to the glowing screen of his phone.
He answered it.
“Hey, Chloe.” His voice was a gentle murmur. “Don’t cry. I’m just taking care of a few things. I’ll be back with you soon.”
I stood there, watching the blood flow freely from my palm, listening to him soothe another woman with a tenderness that cut deeper than any blade. Every word was a fresh twist of the knife.
He waited a long time, so long the blood on my skin began to grow tacky. Finally, he hung up. Ignoring my wound, he let out a heavy sigh.
“Ava, Chloe said she doesn’t want to make things difficult for you. She won’t come.”
He paused, letting the silence hang in the air.
“But,” he continued, “if you attend as the sole hostess, she’ll feel like an outsider. It will upset her.”
I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So?”
He looked at me then, his gaze steady, and delivered the final blow, one word at a time.
“So, the Memorial Gala is canceled.”
He said it so simply. “That way, no one has to go.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Canceled? The Memorial Gala?
It wasn't just a party. It was the anniversary of my parents' deaths. It was the Hawthorne family's most sacred, blood-bound promise.
Ten years ago, on September 9th, a brutal turf war had erupted, threatening to wipe the Hawthornes off the map. My father, seeing his oldest allies on the brink of collapse, sent every soldier, every asset, every gun the Sterling family possessed. He saved the Hawthornes, but in doing so, he signed our own death warrant.
By sunrise, the great Sterling family was annihilated. The only one left was me, an eight-year-old girl in a blood-soaked dress.
I remember Caleb’s grandfather, the Old Man, holding me, his body shaking with sobs. He led the entire Hawthorne clan to my parents’ graveside and knelt. He swore an oath before their tombstones to cherish me as his own granddaughter.
He made a blood pact.
The day I came of age, I would marry the Hawthorne heir. The family would never, ever forget the debt they owed.
And now, this gala—a tradition bought with the lives of my family, this engagement forged from destiny and death—was being erased. All because Chloe didn’t like it.
Caleb ignored the blood draining from my face. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, placing a soft, familiar kiss there.
“Ava, don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice laced with the same hollow reassurance. “She just wants the baby. It won’t affect your position as Mrs. Hawthorne. At all.”
“Next month, when I officially take over as Head of the House, I promise, I will marry you.”
2
For years, the Old Man had been living abroad for his health. He was scheduled to return next month to officially pass on the Hawthorne Cane—the symbol of the family patriarch—to Caleb.
In his mind, Caleb was already the king.
After that night, I locked myself in my room. A cold war of silence descended on the house. For three days, I refused all food and drink.
Meanwhile, a barrage of text messages from Chloe lit up my phone.
You really think Caleb loves you? You’re just an arrangement, a business deal. Don’t get carried away.
Can’t you just disappear? Die off like the dinosaur you are and let Caleb have a real life, a life where he can find true love?
Then came the picture message. A close-up of a woman’s pale neck, covered in a galaxy of dark, angry bruises. Love bites.
Even with me pregnant, he can’t get enough. We’re together every single night. And you? After all these years, has he ever even touched you?
I deleted the message without a flicker of emotion and blocked the number.
It was the night of the Hawthornes’ monthly family dinner.
The long dining table was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, all of whom avoided my gaze, their faces etched with a mixture of pity and guilt over the canceled gala.
I walked toward my seat at the head of the table, beside the patriarch’s empty chair, but my steps faltered.
Chloe was sitting there.
She wore a simple white dress, an innocent smile gracing her lips, as if she were born to sit in that very spot. Caleb was in the patriarch’s chair beside her, placing a piece of salmon on her plate as if they were the only two people in the room.
A dead silence fell over the table. The air was thick with embarrassment.
I walked to the head of the table and stood before her.
“Get up.”
Chloe flinched as if I had struck her. Her chopsticks clattered to the floor. Her eyes immediately welled with tears as she shrank against Caleb’s side.
“Ava… I… I didn’t mean to.”
I ignored her performance, my voice low and even. “I said, get up.”
Caleb finally looked up, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ava, what is it now? It’s just a chair. Are you really going to make a scene over a chair? Chloe’s pregnant. I want her close so I can look after her. What’s the big deal?”
I almost laughed. The absurdity of his words was breathtaking.
“A chair?” I pointed to the carved, high-backed seat. “Caleb, you tell me. Is this just a chair?”
My voice rose, echoing in the silent room. “This is the seat of the Hawthorne matriarch! What the hell is she, that she thinks she has the right to sit there?”
Caleb slammed his hand on the table, the silverware jumping. He shot to his feet, shielding Chloe behind him.
“She is carrying my child! My son! That means she is not an outsider!” he roared. “Ava Sterling, I respect you as my fiancée, but don’t you dare overestimate your importance! Anyone who tries to make her move from that seat answers to me!”
He stood there, a barricade, defying me—defying his entire family—for her.
A memory, sharp and painful, pierced through my anger.
I was ten years old, new to the Hawthorne mansion, a timid, frightened little thing. Some of the older cousins were teasing me, pushing me. Caleb, barely a teenager himself, had beaten them all to a pulp.
He had taken my hand, pulled me up the grand staircase, and announced to the entire household, “She’s with me. I protect her. One day, she will be the lady of this house. Anyone who makes her shed a single tear, I will make them wish they were never born.”
The boy who had once shielded me from the world with his own body was now using that same body to shield another woman from me. He was pushing me away, violently and completely.
The dinner ended in shambles.
Late that night, Caleb came to my room, smelling of whiskey and regret.
“Are you satisfied now?” he slurred.
I said nothing. I simply unlocked my phone and showed him the text messages from Chloe.
He stared at the screen for a moment, his drunken anger deflating. “She’s young,” he said, his voice regaining its composure. “A bit childish sometimes. I’ll apologize to you on her behalf.”
He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist in a placating embrace. “Ava, I promise you, no matter what, you will be the lady of this house. The day I become patriarch next month, we’ll get married.”
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice a desperate plea. “After we’re married, Chloe’s child can even call you ‘Mom.’ But you have to promise me you’ll be more generous. You have to be patient with her, okay?”
“Disgusting.”
The word escaped me like a venomous hiss. I couldn't take it anymore. I shoved him away with all my strength.
“Who ever said I was going to marry you?!”
3
Caleb didn’t come back after that night.
Three days later, the frantic banging of our head butler on my bedroom door shattered the morning silence.
“Miss Sterling! It’s terrible! Mr. Caleb… he’s taken Miss Chloe to the Sterling archives on the top floor! He forced the door!”
The blood in my veins turned to ice.
The archives. The room where every surviving belonging of my parents was kept.
I sprinted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs, and kicked open the partially ajar door.
The room was a wasteland.
My parents’ wedding portrait, shattered. My mother’s favorite porcelain vases, reduced to dust. My father’s calligraphy set, splintered and broken. Everything was destroyed.
In the center of the devastation sat Chloe, crying dramatically over a small scratch on her leg. And kneeling beside her, like a devoted servant, was Caleb, dabbing at the tiny wound with a handkerchief.
“Silly girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “So reckless. I told you to take your time smashing things, didn't I?”
“CALEB!” The name tore from my throat. “What are you doing?!”
He looked up, his expression utterly untroubled. “Ava. You’re here. Perfect. Could you grab the first aid kit? Chloe scraped her knee on some glass.”
“I asked you,” I repeated, my voice shaking with a rage so profound it felt like it would split me in two, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”
“Chloe said the light in here was good,” he replied, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “She thought it would make a nice nursery.”
He gestured impatiently. “Are you going to get the antiseptic or not? It’ll scar if we wait too long.”
“You BASTARDS!”
The scream was primal, ripping through me. The old wound on my hand, not yet fully healed, tore open again. Fresh blood dripped onto the floor.
Seeing me, Chloe seized her moment. She pressed herself deeper into Caleb’s arms, her eyes meeting mine with a triumphant glint. With a flick of her hand, she swept a small glass figurine of my parents from a nearby table. It shattered on the floor.
Caleb’s arms tightened around her protectively.
“Ava, what is your problem?!” he yelled. “You’re scaring her!”
“I’m scaring her?” My voice was raw with disbelief. “Caleb, did you ask my permission before you brought her up here?!”
He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “This is Hawthorne property, Ava. Why would I need anyone’s permission to show my fiancée around?”
The words hit me like a physical blow. This room… this sacred space that the Old Man himself had promised would be mine, forever untouched.
“Ava, this is the last thing I can do for your father,” he had told me, his voice thick with grief all those years ago. “This room, and everything in it, is the Hawthorne family’s eternal promise to the Sterlings. Anyone who dares to touch a single thing in here is striking at the very root of our family.”
And now his own grandson, the heir he was so proud of, was digging up that root with his bare hands for a woman he’d met in a bar.
“Hawthorne property?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. I took a step toward them, my finger shaking as I pointed at Chloe. “This property was bought with Sterling blood! What is she that she even deserves to breathe the air in this room?”
“Get out,” I snarled. “Get. Out. Now.”
I lunged, my hands reaching for Chloe’s hair.
Caleb moved faster than I thought possible. He twisted, shielding her completely with his body, taking the brunt of my attack on his back.
“Ava, have you lost your mind?!” he roared.
I froze, staring at him as he sheltered her.
That posture.
That broad, protective back.
When we were children, another boy had thrown a rock at me. Caleb had shielded me just like this, wrapping his arms around me, letting his own back take the blow.
That protection had once been mine alone.
Now, he was using it to defend someone else. From me.
My heart didn’t just break. It felt like it was being ripped from my chest by hand.
“It’s just a bunch of junk belonging to dead people!” he spat, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. “You’d attack a pregnant woman over this trash? Ava, I am so disappointed in you.”
Trash.
He called my parents’ memories trash.
The last thread of sanity inside me snapped. I turned and grabbed a heavy curtain rod from the floor.
“Then let’s all die together!”
4
Caleb whirled around, keeping Chloe tucked securely behind him. But as he moved to grab the rod from me, Chloe stumbled out from his protection.
With a small, theatrical cry, she fell sideways into a pile of shattered porcelain, dragging her arm across the sharpest shard.
“Ahh—! Caleb! It hurts! She hurt me!” she shrieked, cradling her bleeding arm.
Caleb’s head snapped towards her. His eyes, seeing the blood, turned a dangerous shade of red.
“AVA!”
I had never seen him so furious. It was an anger that went beyond rage; it was murderous.
“You dare hurt her?” he hissed, his voice trembling.
Before I could speak, he pulled a small, tactical knife from his belt. The one he always carried for protection. He advanced on me, and for the first time in my life, I was truly afraid of him.
“You like getting physical, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “Fine. Let me teach you what happens when you cross the line.”
In a flash of movement, the world exploded in pain.
The blade of his knife was through my hand, pinning it to the wooden floorboards.
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