24. Silas
Chapter twenty-four
Silas
Waking up in a cold sweat, my body feels like it’s been through a war.
There’s no other way to describe it. Tossing and turning all night—maybe because I could still smell Leah’s perfume on my sheets, or perhaps because I knew this mess with Harvey was about to implode—but the second my phone vibrates on the nightstand, any hope of resting vanishes.
I grope for it, still half in that dream where everything is easier, where Leah’s in my arms, and we’re not juggling the impossible. The name on the screen makes my heart drop: Derrick , my lawyer. There’s no way this is good. Derrick never calls unless something is wrong—really wrong.
I rub my eyes, clearing the fog from my brain. My head feels heavy, and my internal clock feels off. I may still be jet-lagged.
“Yeah?” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice. I’m mad at myself for feeling my age. Still jet-lagged even though I got back from London yesterday? Come on. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Derrick.”
“Uh, you need to check the news, Silas.”
“What the hell for?” I sit up, my back stiff from a night of insufficient sleep. I drag a hand through my hair, already knowing I won’t like whatever comes next.
“Just . . . check it. You’re trending.”
Those are words no one ever likes to hear. My stomach twists. I hang up before he can say more and fumble with my phone, opening up one of the news apps I should’ve deleted months ago.
There it is, plastered all over the place: “ SILAS WAVERLY GROOMED LEAH GRAYSON?” My grip on the phone tightens. Articles are flooding in, all speculating that I started seeing Leah when she was a minor. Or at least, barely legal, twisting the story like some kind of sick fairy tale turned nightmare. And the worst part? Not a single one names a source, but I know exactly where this is coming from.
Harvey.
The smug bastard really did it. He went nuclear.
Fuck.
I throw the phone on the bed and run a hand over my face. I feel sick. My stomach churns with anger, but the edge is fear—fear for Leah—how’s she taking this? A dull throb starts behind my eyes as I force myself to read through more of the articles.
Hashtags are calling for my cancellation. People are calling me a predator. There’s even one about boycotting Darkest Hour. This could ruin the studio before it even gets off the ground.
I grab the phone again, dialing Derrick back. It rings twice before he answers.
“You see it?” Derrick’s voice is cautious now, like he’s bracing himself for the explosion.
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Look, I—"
“Derrick, this is Harvey’s doing,” I grit out. “Get me a PR agency. We need to spin this before it tanks everything.”
There’s a pause. “What?”
“Silas. Is any of it true? Did you—”
“Don’t finish that fucking sentence.” My voice sharpens, cutting through the air like a whip. Derrick should know better than to ask that; the fact that he even had to makes my blood boil.
If someone whose known me for decades is asking this, what are the people who don’t know me thinking? Hell, I don’t have to wonder. Their thoughts are plastered all over the internet.
“I had to ask, Silas. I am your lawyer! We need to start creating a narrative in case this ends up in court. We can’t—”
“It’s fucking bullshit, Derrick. That’s all it is. It’s Harvey trying to ruin my public image, so there’s no way this ends up in court.”
“I’m just saying that—”
“Derrick?” I cut him off.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t need a fucking lawyer right now. I need a P.R. firm. We need to cut this off at the legs before it spreads even more, okay?”
“Right. Sorry,” he mutters, and I can hear him shuffling on the other end, probably straightening papers on his desk. “I’ll get a PR firm on it.”
“I shouldn’t have had to tell you that before you did it, Derrick. This is what I’m paying you for.”
He mumbles something, and I can hear him unwrap a piece of gum and pop it into his mouth. Derrick’s diabetic, but that doesn’t keep him away from sugar. His wife, Karen, is also a sweet tooth, so it tracks.
“One other thing, Silas.”
Great. “What is it?”
“The company stock is already taking a hit. This is bad.”
“I know.” My head is throbbing now. I’m barely holding on to the phone, and the temptation to hurl it across the room is too strong. “Just fix it.”
He hangs up, and I sit there momentarily, the silence in my bedroom suddenly suffocating. The blackout curtains keep the room dark, but a sliver of light sneaks in at the edges, reminding me it’s morning, and I’ve got a disaster to handle.
The massive bed feels too big, cold, and empty without Leah.
I throw back the covers, stepping out of bed. The cold hardwood floor stings my feet, grounding me in a way I need right now. Stripping out of my briefs, I head into the shower, letting the water pound against my skin, hoping it’ll wash away the tension knotting in my shoulders.
Nope.
No amount of scalding water is going to burn away the fact that Harvey’s coming for my throat. And if I don’t play this right, he’s going to ruin me. Not just me—Caleb too. This is all for him, after all. The last thing I want is for my son to get caught in the crossfire of whatever war Harvey’s declared.
I scrub my face, leaning against the tiles. I can’t let this derail everything. The deal with the Caldwells is already on shaky ground, and if Henry Caldwell gets spooked by this smear campaign . . .
The thought barely crosses my mind before my phone buzzes from where I left it on the bathroom counter. I grab it and stare at the name on the screen: Henry Caldwell—the older man doesn’t do courtesy calls.
I grab a towel, swiping the phone on as I dry off.
“Henry,” I say, keeping my tone as steady as possible. “I was just about to reach out—”
“Silas,” Henry interrupts, his voice a scratchy rasp, even more hoarse than usual. He’s sick. Everyone knows it. But his pride is still stronger than any illness. “I don’t like being the bearer of bad news.”
“Let me guess,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You’re having second thoughts.”
There’s a pause. “We’re . . . reconsidering. Given the . . . circumstances surrounding you and Ms. Grayson, it’s . . . not ideal.”
“Are you okay?”
He stops. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You don’t sound so hot.”
“I’m bloody fine. Why’s everyone treating me like I’m some child?” he rasps, and I hear his wife, Elizabeth, telling him to put down the phone and rest.
I lean back, staring up at the ceiling, willing myself to stay calm. “Look, it’s all bullshit, Henry. Harvey’s behind this. He’s trying to tank the deal.”
“I had a feeling,” Henry mutters, but his voice is hesitant. “Still, the optics, Silas. I can’t hand over my company to someone with . . . I don’t want to say questionable morals. ”
“You just said it.”
“Well.” He coughs repeatedly into the phone.
“Are you sure you’re fine, Henry?”
“Bollocks.” Henry coughs a rough, wet sound that makes me wonder how long he has left. “Fix things with Harvey.” He pauses as if considering his following words. “He’s making it very clear that if we sell to you, he’ll make life difficult for the Caldwells.”
There it is. The real reason. “You’re letting Harvey bully you into backing out?”
“Bully? No. Persuade, yes. I’m old, Silas, and I don’t have time for drama.” He sighs a long, drawn-out sound. “Time isn’t on your side. Fix it.”
The line clicks, and I sit there, dripping water on the floor. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I wonder if the right move is to cut Leah loose. It would solve everything. Harvey would back off, the deal would go through, and my life would return to being manageable.
But then I think about Caleb.
He’s been getting too attached to Leah, asking about her daily. He needs stability, especially so close to his final exams. His teachers are already worried about him, and I can’t make things harder for him right now. I don’t want to think about what she’s come to mean to me, too.
“Dad?” Caleb’s voice calls from the living room. “Are you still dropping me off at school?”
I exhale, pulling myself together. “Yeah, I’ll be ready in a minute!”
He hesitates. “Is Leah coming over today? I want to show her something.”
My heart clenches. This is why the thing with Leah has to work for me and him. Caleb deserves this, even if it means dealing with Harvey’s vendetta.
I grab my phone and dial Leah. When she picks up, her voice is groggy, and she is probably just waking up.
“Your father just blew things up,” I say, pacing the room, towel wrapped around my waist.
In the background, I hear her friend, Penny, yelling something about trending. Leah mumbles something to her before saying, “I’ll call you back, Silas.”
The line goes dead before I can say anything else. I stare at the phone. Harvey’s going to keep coming for me. But the question is, how far am I willing to go to fight back?
And more importantly . . . is Leah worth losing everything for?