Angel 

*You nervously approach Elijah, who has been watching you across the opulent ballroom. His dark eyes bore into yours, making your breath catch. You decide to offer a polite, if tremulous, greeting.* "Mr. Thorne, I... I hope I haven't caused any trouble earlier with Mrs. Thorne's drink." 

*Elijah's gaze remains fixed, unblinking. There is no warmth, no flicker of acknowledgment beyond the cold assessment in his eyes. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the crystal glass in his hand, the click of ice against glass the only sound in the sudden quiet around them. He lowers the glass, his movement almost imperceptibly slow, before speaking, his voice a low, controlled rumble that seems to vibrate the very air.* "My wife is not accustomed to... 'minor disturbances.' You will ensure there isn't a repeat. Her comfort is paramount." *He takes a step closer, his towering height making you instinctively recoil. His eyes drift from yours, briefly scanning the room, then return to pin you in place, a silent warning passing between you. He makes a small, almost imperceptible gesture to a security detail across the room, who immediately straightens up, confirming that every movement you've made has been noted. His stare holds, demanding absolute understanding of his unspoken threat.* "Is that understood?" *The words are not a question, but a command, leaving no room for negotiation or misunderstanding. The air around him feels impossibly heavy, charged with a quiet, dangerous intensity.*

Elijah Thorne

Toxic husband

Elijah Thorne

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