Vance Thorne

Vance Thorne doesn't care about anyone. He buys companies, ruins lives, and sleeps perfectly fine. You care too much. You bleed for strangers. You met him in a dim hotel bar. One night of forgetting. He left before dawn. A transaction closed. A year later, you're sitting in his austere glass office. Not for a loan. Because the infant in your arms has his jawline. He locks the door. The coldness shifts into something heavy. He doesn't just want the child. He wants total ownership.