To Restore a Sinner's Daughter

In the second year of my marriage to Julian Thorne, the heir to the Chicago Outfit—a marriage I was forced into as collateral for a blood debt—he brought his new mistress to a family dinner.

Our eyes met, and Julian smiled contemptuously, his voice dripping with condescension. "Aurora," he said, "maybe you should try it. Find a little life for yourself."

Little did he know, this time, my heart had already been stolen.

Later, when he saw the family crest Caspian had tattooed below my collarbone, his eyes blazed with fury. "Aurora Costello," he snarled, "who gave you the nerve to get this inked on your skin?"

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1

The moment I stepped into the Thorne family's banquet hall, I heard intimate whispers drifting from a corner.

I let the shawl slip from my shoulders, my stride faltering for just a moment.

Still, I forced myself toward that corner.

Pushing open the carved glass door to the terrace, I saw Julian immediately.

Two buttons of his custom black silk shirt were undone, the collar falling open to reveal the top of his chest.

The woman in his arms giggled sweetly, her fingertips tracing the skin of his chest.

He playfully grabbed her hand, but the smug satisfaction on his face said it all; he was enjoying every second of it.

Hearing my approach, the sultry woman turned her head with a smile.

"Oh, Julian, is that the waiter with our wine—"

Her words died in her throat, her bright red nails freezing in mid-air.

When she saw me, her smile faltered, and she stammered,

"Mrs. Thorne… Donna Aurora…"

My gaze dropped to the diamond necklace around her neck, a piece I recognized from a recent auction.

My throat went tight. My voice was a raw rasp.

"Julian, what are you doing?"

He glanced up, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

His long fingers toyed with the woman's curls.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Julian held the woman closer, his disdainful gaze raking over me from head to toe.

He narrowed his eyes.

"You know, Aurora, you really should learn from her."

"You’re always like some dusty relic in a museum—completely lifeless."

"It's depressing. And dull."

I had known Julian for eighteen years. For eighteen years, he had shackled me with his hatred.

When I was seven, my mother was accused of betraying the family, disappearing with a vital ledger.

She abandoned me, leaving me, the "sinner's daughter," in the care of the Thorne family.

I begged to be sent to a boarding school, but Julian flatly refused.

His eyes blazed as he gripped my arm, his fingers tight enough to crush bone.

"Don't even think about it, Aurora. You will stay by my side for the rest of your life. A living reminder of what happens to traitors."

I nodded, assuming he just wanted to keep me imprisoned like a trophy until he grew bored.

I never imagined that when I came of age, he would bind me to him permanently with a marriage.

His father, Don Marcus Thorne, hadn't objected when he learned of our union.

After the ceremony, he summoned me to his study. "Aurora," he began, his voice heavy, "Julian made this decision, but don't hold it against him."

He paused, advising me, "Since you are married, try to play your part. Give the Thorne family an heir."

He said that last sentence with grave solemnity. I asked in confusion,

"If the bloodline continues, will the sins of the past be forgiven?"

He looked stunned, then his gaze darted away, unable to meet mine.

His voice was laced with weariness.

"Child, freedom isn't a luxury for the women of this family."

On our wedding night, I reached out, my hand landing on the buttons of Julian's shirt.