Galen (Savage Arrows #3)

Chapter Two

“So how’s work? I’m assuming you still work at the art gallery?”

Bianca set her spoon down, the clatter of metal against porcelain echoing in the empty dining room. The soup, some bland concoction she barely had the appetite for, sat untouched.

She leaned back in her chair and glanced at her father, Mario, who sat across from her, already several glasses of wine deep. His question hung in the air, loaded with a feigned interest that did little to mask the disinterest she had come to expect from him.

“ Yes, Mario. I still work there, and it ’ s fine, ” Bianca replied curtly, her tone clipped.

The use of his first name, instead of “Dad,” was intentional—a small act of defiance that barely scratched the surface of the frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior.

She was already second-guessing her decision to stay with him until she found a new apartment. It had seemed practical at the time—her mother was off on yet another honeymoon, this time with husband number four (or was it five?), and the idea of crashing on a friend ’ s couch had been less than appealing.

But now, sitting in this oversized, eerily quiet house with a man who was more a stranger than father, she wondered if she had made a mistake. Mario swirled the wine in his glass, his eyes unfocused as he gazed somewhere over her shoulder, not really seeing her.

“ And why did you decide to break up with Tim? Weren ’ t you with him for five years? ”

Bianca felt a sharp pang of irritation, her grip tightening around the stem of her wineglass. Thank you for that reminder, she thought bitterly.

It wasn’t just the question that stung, but the casual, almost indifferent way he asked it, as if her entire world hadn’t crumbled when she discovered Tom’s betrayal.

She forced herself to take a breath, to keep her voice steady. “ His name is Tom. I found out he was cheating on me with my best friend, ” she said, the words slipping out with a practiced detachment, as though she were talking about someone else ’ s life.

“ I see. That ’ s unfortunate, ” he muttered, his attention already drifting back to the glass in his hand.

Bianca watched him for a moment, her stomach churning with a mix of anger and sadness. That’s all you can say? she wanted to scream at him. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. What was the point? They were practically strangers, after all. He hadn’t been much of a father to her, even when he was around, which wasn’t often. He had always chosen his work, his organization, over her and her mother. Time and time again, he had made it clear where his priorities lay.

Her mother had tried to explain it to her when she was younger, how Mario was a powerful man with important responsibilities. But even as a child, Bianca had seen through the excuses. He simply hadn’t wanted to be a father.

She poured herself another glass of wine, the rich red liquid swirling around the glass like her tangled emotions. The house was too quiet, too empty. Her mother had mentioned once, in passing, that Mario used to have a full household staff, even an entire security team at his beck and call. But now, it seemed he was all alone in this enormous, echoing mansion. Maybe he liked it that way. Maybe the silence was his penance, or perhaps his refuge.

Bianca took a sip of wine, the bitterness on her tongue mirroring the bitterness in her heart. She had thought staying here, just for a week or two, would be easy. They could ignore each other, pretend they were simply housemates instead of estranged family.

The house was big enough for them to avoid each other entirely. But it wasn’t that simple. Being here stirred up too many old memories, too many unresolved feelings she had buried long ago.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here,” Mario said suddenly, his voice cutting through her thoughts. “I can arrange something for you. A hotel, maybe. Or a rental.”

Bianca looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time since she arrived. His face was lined with age, his once sharp features softened by time, and perhaps regret.

She wondered if he was uncomfortable with her presence, if having her here was a reminder of all the ways he had failed as a father.

“ I ’ m fine here, ” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. “ It ’ s just temporary, until I find a new place. ”

Mario nodded, a slow, thoughtful gesture, but his eyes remained distant. He was somewhere else, maybe in the past, maybe in his own thoughts. Bianca wasn’t sure, and she didn’t care to ask.

They lapsed into silence, the only sound the soft clink of Mario ’ s glass as he set it down on the table. Bianca stared at her soup, now cold and congealing, and felt the weight of the quiet pressing down on her.

The quiet had always been oppressive in this house, even when she was a child. Back then, she would fill the silence with her own chatter, trying to draw her father ’ s attention, to make him see her. But now, she found she had nothing left to say.

She pushed the bowl away, her appetite gone. “ I ’ m going to bed, ” she announced, rising from her chair.

Mario looked up, blinking as if startled by her sudden movement. “ Good night, ” he said. His voice was almost gentle, but there was a hesitation, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

Bianca nodded and turned to leave, but before she reached the door, she paused. She could feel his eyes on her, could sense the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Maybe, just maybe, this could be a chance for them to bridge the gap, to mend something that had been broken for so long. But as she stood there, the words she wanted to say lodged in her throat, she realized how tired she was. Tired of trying, tired of hoping for something that might never come. She had come here for a temporary refuge, not to relive old hurts. Without another word, she walked out of the dining room, the door closing softly behind her.

The hallway stretched out before her, long and dimly lit. She made her way up the grand staircase, each step echoing in the silence. When she reached the room Mario had prepared for her, she shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. The tension that had been coiled inside her all evening slowly began to unwind, but the ache in her chest remained.

She crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the large window that overlooked the garden. The moonlight bathed the trees in a silvery glow, casting long shadows that danced across the lawn. It was beautiful, in a haunting, lonely sort of way.

Bianca pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she let out a long, shuddering breath. She had thought she could handle this—living here, being around him—but now she wasn’t so sure. The house might be big enough to avoid each other, but it wasn’t big enough to escape the memories and emotions that came with being here.

As she sat there, the moonlight casting a soft glow around her, she realized something. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much distance she put between herself and her past, the wounds her father had left would always be there, just beneath the surface.

She could hide them, bury them, but they would never truly heal. And maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop pretending otherwise.

****

Bianca tossed and turned, unable to find comfort in the unfamiliar king-sized bed with its silken sheets. The luxury of it all felt foreign, like she was trying to sleep in someone else ’ s life.

She shut her eyes tight and tried to think of mundane things—counting sheep, going over the day’s events at work—but her mind kept drifting back to Tom and the day that had shattered her world.

She could still see it vividly: coming home after a grueling day at the gallery, her feet aching, her thoughts only on slipping into something comfortable and maybe sharing a quiet dinner with Tom. But when she walked into their bedroom, she found Tom tangled in the sheets with Madison. Her best friend.

The initial shock had left her numb, her body frozen in the doorway as she watched the two of them scramble, trying to explain, to justify. But as the shock faded, it was replaced by something far more potent—fury. In that moment, Bianca had been so blinded by rage that she had considered reaching for the gun she kept in her dresser. Not to use it, of course, just to scare Madison out of her life for good.

But the anger had quickly fizzled out. What would have been the point? The damage was already done. Tom and Madison ’ s betrayal had marked the end of everything she thought she had. She and Tom were over, and nothing could change that.

Now, in the present, Bianca sighed and peeled the sheets off her body. Maybe a glass of milk would help calm her restless mind. She slipped out of bed, padding softly to the door. Dressed in her pajamas, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. Bianca poured herself a glass of milk, hoping the warmth would settle her nerves. As she stood by the window, she absentmindedly stared out at the garden, letting her mind drift.

But something outside caught her attention—a flicker of movement among the shadows. She squinted, leaning closer to the glass. Were those figures moving in the darkness? She blinked and looked again, but the shadows seemed to blend back into the night. Maybe it was just her imagination, a trick of the light and her tired mind. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the unease creeping up her spine.

Bianca finished her milk and quietly headed back upstairs. The house was just too quiet, too still. But before she could reach her room, she noticed a light spilling out from the slightly ajar door of her father’s office. As she approached, the door creaked open wider, and her father stepped out. The sight of him startled her—he looked older, more worn than he had just a few hours ago at dinner. There was something in his expression that sent a chill down her spine.

“Bianca, you’re still up?” he whispered, his voice shaky.

She frowned. Why did he look so frightened? “Yes, I couldn’t sleep. What’s wrong?” Bianca asked.

“ Come here, ” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and urgency.

“ What? ” Bianca asked, confusion growing. He had never spoken to her like this before—so vulnerable, so desperate.

“ Please, ” he added, his tone almost pleading.

There was something in his eyes that made Bianca ’ s stomach twist with dread. Despite the alarm bells ringing in her head, she found herself stepping into his office, the heavy wooden door closing behind her with a soft thud.

She felt like a child again, being summoned to face some unknown punishment. She sank into one of the oversized leather chairs that faced his desk, feeling small and uncertain.

“ I didn’t think they’d come for me this soon, ” her father whispered, scrubbing his hands over his face as if trying to erase the fear etched into his features. He wasn’t really looking at her, his gaze darting around the room as if searching for answers that weren’t there. “ I thought I’d have more time. I should’ve moved you to a hotel when I could.

“ I ’ m so sorry, Bianca, ” he added, his voice breaking.

Bianca’s heart pounded in her chest. Was he drunk? He had already had a lot to drink during dinner, but this was something else. Something far more terrifying. “Dad, I don’t understand. You’re scaring me,” Bianca said.

Before he could respond, the door burst open, and a man with a gun stepped into the room. Bianca ’ s breath caught in her throat as the intruder leveled the weapon at them, his face hard and unyielding.

“ Don ’ t move, ” the man ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

Bianca froze, her mind racing. What was happening? Why was this man here? She looked at her father, searching for any sign of reassurance, but found none. Instead, he seemed even more terrified than before.

“Bianca, come here,” her father said, his voice strained. He turned to the gunman, his eyes pleading. “Please, let me hold my daughter. Just for a moment.”

Bianca hesitated, fear and confusion paralyzing her. She didn’t know what was going on, but the desperation in her father’s voice pushed her to obey. Slowly, she got up from the chair and walked over to him, every step feeling like a lifetime.

As she reached his side, another figure entered the room, and Bianca ’ s heart skipped a beat. The man who walked in was striking, with dark hair and sharp, dangerous green eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. There was something about him that made her pulse quicken, a ridiculous reaction given the situation.

“ Hello there, Mario, ” the man said, his voice smooth and dripping with contempt. “ It ’ s time for you to pay your debts. ”

He flicked his gaze to Bianca, and she felt it like a physical touch, her skin prickling under his intense scrutiny. His eyes held a dangerous glint, but there was something else there too—interest, curiosity. Hunger. Bianca’s heart raced, her breath catching in her throat.

She didn’t know what this man wanted, but she had the sinking feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t going to end well for her father or for her.