Chapter 16
I t’s been too quiet since my “date” with Harrison last Friday.
I expected him pounding on my door the same night, ready to beat me to a bloody pulp. Or Peter to materialize at the foot of my bed in the dead of night. But there’s been nothing. No ominous figures lurking in my hallway, no attempts to nab me on the street during my gym sessions with Jeff, no bullets to the back of my head in the grocery store.
Not a single word.
I’ve hated every second of it.
My head’s been on a swivel for six days, every creak of a floorboard or passing glance from a stranger sending jolts of adrenaline through my system. If the constant paranoia about Harrison or Peter rounding every corner isn’t enough, my thoughts keep drifting to Silas. Late at night, after I’ve triple-locked my apartment door with the deadbolt, the portable lock, and the steel bar jam, his silence creeps in, as deafening as everything else.
It’s been hard not to relive the memory of his eyes that night. So many emotions flashing across them in rapid succession: surprise, fury, disgust, something I can only describe as betrayal. If I weren’t still grappling with my own emotions about Harrison’s assault, I might have more room to feel livid about the quiet judgment Silas hurled at me from across the restaurant.
What gives him the right to look at me like that? For being on a date? For kissing someone else? He doesn’t own me. Hell, he doesn’t even know me, not really. To him, I’m still his sister’s new friend. The shiny new toy that wasn’t handed to him on a silver platter.
Now, it’s Thursday night, and I’m sitting across from Natalie at a Thai restaurant. The sun is just beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the city. Its reflection dances off the windows of the towering buildings outside, including the front doors of Wells Corporation, gleaming just across the street. I didn’t realize how close the restaurant was to their headquarters until my ride-share pulled up, my heart lurching at the proximity. It’s far too close for comfort. But then Natalie saw me from the window, waving with that bright, beautiful smile she always wears when we meet. There was no turning back after that.
My eyes keep darting to the glassy blue-tinted doors behind her head, heart thudding erratically at the thought of Silas walking out to climb into one of the sleek town cars idling in the curbside pull-off. It’s a little before seven. Prime time for him to leave the office.
“What do you think?” Natalie asks, pulling me back to the table.
Blinking, I realize she’s been talking to me. “Sorry. Run that by me again?” I say, sheepishly. Her forgiving smile reminds me too much of Drew. My grip on my fork tightens instinctively.
“This Tristan guy,” she repeats. “I’d love to meet him. Maybe you two can come over for dinner? Davey’s usually good about keeping weekends open.”
The fork freezes midway to my mouth. Over my dead body would I let Harrison anywhere near Natalie or her home. I force myself to take a bite of my Pad Kra Pao, using the food as a momentary shield while I gather my thoughts.
Natalie texted me on Sunday to let me know an acquaintance of hers—some nosy attorney named Kiera Lawson I’ve met in passing—had seen me “on a date” and gushed about how passionate and intimate it looked. I lied through my teeth, telling her “Tristan” was someone I’d been set up with by an old client who knew I’d moved to Chicago. I breezed past the part about the kiss, downplaying it as much as I could, and Natalie took it all in stride. She didn’t mention Silas seeing me and for some reason, him not saying a word to her stings worse than if he had.
I swallow my bite, even though it suddenly feels like sandpaper. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again.”
“No?” Natalie’s eyebrows knit together. My silence fuels her curiosity as she toys with the food on her plate. “I didn’t want to pry, but Kiera said he couldn’t keep his hands off you and that you both looked… really happy. You’re not into him?”
There’s a note of disappointment in her voice. She’s probably wondering why I didn’t tell her about “Tristan” sooner. Guilt twists in my stomach.
“He’s definitely more into it than I am,” I hedge. It’s not entirely a lie. Harrison’s always been more committed to Peter’s schemes than I’ll ever be. “The date was fine, but he wants more, and I don’t. Plus, he really turned me off when he kissed me like that in the middle of dinner. That’s far too bold for a guy I’ve only seen a handful of times, don’t you think?”
Her lips pressed into a line as she mulls over my words. Maybe she thinks I’m sparing her feelings, or Kiera’s description doesn’t match what I’m saying. Either way, she doesn’t press. Instead, she exhales softly and nods.
“That’s fair,” she says, though the tinge of sadness in her eyes gives her away. Before I can stop myself, I reach across the table and place my hand on hers.
“I don’t date casually, Natalie. I didn’t plan to mention him because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I want to be sure about someone before introducing them to my friends. So, if I ever find someone worthy of that, you’ll be the first to vet them.”
The small gesture earns a small laugh from her, easing some of the invisible weight on her shoulders. But it doesn’t do much for the nausea threatening to rise in me. How am I supposed to keep using this woman to get what Peter wants? How am I not going to destroy her in the end? And how is this not going to ruin me ?
Just as my thoughts spiral into that familiar pit, Natalie sits up straighter, plucking the drink menu from its holder on the table. The apprehensive smile she wore just a moment ago morphs into a devious smirk.
“I’m in the mood to drink,” she says, eyes gleaming with mischief. “How do you feel about being violently hungover tomorrow?”
I should say no. I should lie and tell her I have an early meeting tomorrow. But there’s something about that spark in her eyes; it’s too familiar. It’s the same look Drew used to give me on rare Fridays when we both had the night off, and she wanted to drag me out for a night of fun, refusing to take no for an answer. If I squint just enough, Natalie’s hazel irises could almost look like Drew’s vibrant green.
Instead of doing what I should, I find myself saying, “Shots or cocktails?”
–
After migrating to the bar, downing several fruity mixed drinks, ripping a few tequila shots, and laughing far too much, Natalie and I have officially been cut off.
We probably should have known we were at our limit when the idea of ordering a light beer suddenly sounded like a good one. But the bartender just chuckled at us while wiping down glasses and promised to print our tab before bringing over a pitcher of water. The restaurant has mostly emptied since we moved from our table, leaving just a handful of diners at their tables and a few others scattered along the far end of the bar.
I can’t remember the last time I was cut off. Maybe senior year of college after finals? The thought makes me laugh.
“Do you ladies have a ride?” the bartender asks as he sets down the water pitcher. He’s an older man with thick glasses and a kind smile that makes me think he’s seen plenty of drunk, giggling women like us in his years behind the bar.
“What time is it?” Natalie taps the top of her phone to light up the screen. 8:57.
“We don’t close until 10:30, so you’re welcome to sit and sober up,” he offers, clearly amused before nodding toward the other end of the bar. “I’ll be down there if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” I say, grinning lazily as Natalie salutes him with the same enthusiasm. As soon as he’s out of earshot, I burst into full-on laughter. “Holy shit. I’m drunk.”
“Same,” Natalie snorts, leaning her shoulder against mine. “Thanks for doing this with me. Not the drinking—though, yeah, that’s been fun—but dinner, you know?”
“Why are you thanking me for that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m the one who asked you to do this every week.”
“You know why,” she says softly, smiling in that earnest, almost bashful way of hers. “It just still means a lot to me.”
The nausea I felt earlier at dinner returns in full force, and I can’t decide if it’s from the lychee martinis or my guilt. I grab the glass of water in front of me, holding it to my lips as I grumble, “Stop acting like I’m doing you a favor.” I drain the glass in one go before setting it back down with a little too much force.
Natalie rolls her eyes but lets it slide, instead downing her own glass and pointing at the pitcher of water. “Refill those while I go to the bathroom?”
Her tone makes the request sound like a question rather than the mild command it should be, and it strikes me again how different she is from her brother. Silas would have demanded it without hesitation.
“You got it,” I say with an exaggerated gesture that makes her laugh. She hops off her stool and heads toward the back of the restaurant, swaying slightly as she walks.
Left alone, I busy myself pouring water, finishing my glass, and refilling it again. While I sip the third glass more slowly this time, I check my phone for messages from Peter or Harrison, half-expecting to find something lurking in my inbox that wasn’t there before.
Nothing.
The empty screen taunts me, and I slide the phone back into my pocket with a sigh. Harrison would have already come for me if he was allowed to. He’s a creature of instinct: simple and brutal. He doesn’t wait. He acts. Peter, though? He’s a different kind of devil. Calculated. Patient. Sadistic. If he wants me dead, he’ll make sure it hurts first. My past mistakes have taught me that much. Whatever’s coming, it’s going to be creative, diabolical, and drawn out.
Lost in my thoughts, I jolt when Natalie reappears, clumsily hoisting herself onto her stool. She mutters something under her breath, suddenly drunker than before, but I manage to convince her to finish a second glass of water before she starts pouting. Only after I’m sure she’s secure in her seat do I excuse myself to the restroom.
The narrow hallway to the bathrooms is dimly lit, the walls painted in vibrant colors that swirl and blur in my vision. My head spins slightly as I walk, and I giggle quietly, still surprised at how much the alcohol has hit me.
Once in the restroom, I wash my hands and glance at my reflection in the mirror. My messy ponytail is still intact, but my eye makeup is smudged, and my sweater looks a little disheveled. I use some water to clean up my eyeliner, smoothing out my appearance as best I can.
Satisfied, I push the door open to leave, eyes cast down as I adjust the hem of my sweater.
“Ms. Page.”
The sound of his voice freezes me mid-step, and the door swings shut behind me, bumping me further into the hallway.
It takes a moment for my vision to focus, but there he is. Silas, leaning against the opposite wall with his hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers. His suit jacket is unbuttoned, and his tie is gone, giving him a slightly disheveled appearance that only adds to his infuriating perfection.
“Silas,” I breathe.
His chocolate eyes track the movement, lingering on me for a moment too long. His jaw tightens as he speaks, tone far too polite to be anything but seething. “Having a nice evening with my sister?”
The edge in his voice sobers me instantly. I straighten my back, crossing my arms over my chest as I lift my chin. “I am. Why are you here?”
“Natalie called Davey for a ride. We were still at the office.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“Call it curiosity.” His lips curl into a mockery of a smile. “Where’s the new boyfriend tonight?”
My stomach drops. He’s nothing if not direct.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“So, you just go around making out with random men at five-star restaurants?”
God, he’s blunt . My cheeks burn and I tighten the grip I have on the fabric of my sweater as I force myself to hold his gaze.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I snap. “And you know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t owe you an explanation.”
His humorless laugh echoes down the hallway as he pushes off the wall to take a step closer. Despite his casual posture, there’s nothing relaxed about the way his eyes bore into mine.
“Is that all you have to say?” he taunts, his voice low and dangerous.
“Oh, fuck you and your holier-than-thou attitude,” I bite back, the alcohol loosening my tongue. “I should knee you in the balls like I did to him.”
His expression shifts instantly, disgust morphing into something darker, sharper. But I’m too far gone to care.
“You think because you had your little sidekick run a background check on me that you know what type of person I am? You don’t know anything.” My voice shakes, but I keep going. “So, once again—fuck you.”
I turn to leave, my movements unsteady, but I only make it one step before his hand slams against the wall beside my head with a loud thud and I flinch. The silence between us grows like a vine, curling tighter and tighter around my chest.
“Why did you knee him?” he demands, his voice a low growl.
I glare at his arm, refusing to look at him. “Move.”
“Did he do something you didn’t want him to?”
“You don’t get to act concerned now you’ve suddenly decided I’m not some whore,” I snap, looking up at him again. The wrath in his eyes dims when he sees the same emotion reflected in mine, shifting from pitch black to a stormy midnight brown.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.” My voice cracks slightly, but I steel myself, refusing to break under his scrutiny.
Silas’s ramrod-straight arm finally relaxes, his elbow bending as he leans closer. The air around us pulses, like the hum of a plucked wire stretched to its limit. Before I can brace myself, he consumes every inch of my vision, every thought. Instinctively, I roll my back onto the wall to create some semblance of space, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning closer, just enough that I can see my distressed reflection in the sheen of his glasses.
“Did he do something you didn’t want him to?” he asks again. His voice is barely above a whisper but carries a severity that pins me in place.
I can’t stop the shudder that ripples through me. My eyes drop to our feet, nearly toe-to-toe, and I swallow hard. “I’m not seeing him again.”
“That’s good to know,” he says with less venom. “But it’s not what I’m asking.” His free hand lifts, tilting my chin with deliberate gentleness, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb brushes the edge of my lower lip. My resolve wavers as his features, so achingly close, blur the line between threat and tenderness. “What did he do?”
His cool breath grazes my skin, sharp and minty, and for a fleeting moment, I falter. Silas Wells, a man who could have anything or anyone, is standing here, demanding to know what happened. He cares. To what extent or why, I don’t know, but he does.
For a heartbeat, the longing hits me like a tidal wave. The urge to tell him everything—Peter, Harrison, Drew—claws at my chest. What would it feel like to lay it all bare? To let someone like him, someone who seems unshakable, hear the full weight of my truth? Could he help me? Would he?
But then reality crashes back, glacial and merciless. What would happen if he learned my name isn’t Scarlett Page? That I’ve been using him and his sister, drawing closer to their family with every step while holding the knife Peter wants me to twist in their backs? He’d hate me. Natalie would hate me. And then, there’d be no running. I’d have to face the wrath of the Wells family and Peter.
The dream of freedom dissolves as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind the cold, hard truth: I can’t trust anyone.
I press myself harder into the wall, my jaw tightening. Silas’s thumb twitches against my chin, waiting for something I can’t give him. I swallow the lump in my throat and force out the only half-truth I can manage. “Nothing I wasn’t able to handle.”
He exhales slowly, his breath heavy with frustration, and the hand at my face falls away. My chest aches as I watch him make the conscious choice to let it go and draw his own conclusions.
There’s a long, heavy pause before he finally speaks, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Will you let me drive you home?”
The weight of his question is not lost on me. Silas Wells, a man used to taking what he wants, is asking me for permission. My heart stumbles over itself, the cracks in my defenses widening with each passing second. Every cell in my body screams at me to say yes, to let him lead me out of here and into his car. To feel the rush of him speeding down the city streets, teasing me with that dark, untamed energy that’s as intoxicating as it is infuriating.
But I can’t.
If I say yes, if I let him take me home, I’ll be proving what I already fear—I can’t trust myself around Silas. And that’s exactly what Peter wants. He’ll eventually learn I’ve crossed the line I swore I never would. Even if Silas kicks me to the curb two minutes later, Peter will have already won, and he’ll savor every second of making me watch him dismantle these siblings I’ve grown to care about.
And deep down, I know I can’t deny the current pulling me toward Silas. It’s always there, quiet at first, then relentless and unyielding, dragging me deeper every time we’re in the same room. Peter saw it in those auction photos—the way Silas leaned into me on the staircase. He saw it and waited, biding his time, knowing exactly how to push us both toward this moment.
Peter is handing Silas to me on a silver platter, daring me to take him. And I can’t. Even if I don’t fully understand Silas’s role in whatever secrets these servers hold, I can’t do this to him. I won’t.
“I think… I think it’s better if Davey and Natalie take me,” I finally say, the words scraping against my throat.
Silas stiffens, his confusion fleeting but blunt. His stare narrows, lips pressing into a thin line. He waits, as if giving me a chance to change my mind, but when I don’t, his eyes harden.
Brick by brick, I watch as he fortifies the walls I’ve spent months trying to quietly tear down. He steps back, creating a chasm between us that feels more final than I’m ready to accept.
My ears ring in the silence. I wrap my arms tighter around myself, holding everything in.
Silas nods toward the front of the restaurant, his expression painfully cold and detached. I lead us back to the table, painfully aware of the space he’s put between us, his footsteps echoing further behind mine than they normally would.
The current that always seemed to pull us together has shifted. Now it’s an ocean, and we’re on opposite shores.