Chapter 35
W illiam’s cold, scrutinizing gaze plays on a loop in my mind in the darkness. His subtle disdain was worn proudly, a weapon he wielded with precision. I can still feel the burn of it, the way it sliced through my composure, even days later.
I glance to my side where Silas sleeps fitfully. The tension is etched into his features. His body shifts under the covers, as if his subconscious is wrestling with the same demons keeping me awake. He’s become quieter since that night. Maybe he’s regretting it. Perhaps, deep down, he’s questioning if I’m worth the fight.
The thought twists painfully in my chest, a knot tightening with every second that passes. At least it would make things easier for him in the end.
I turn onto my side, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. Natalie’s text stares back at me from several days ago, and for the third time tonight, I open it, rereading her words I’ve still yet to answer.
Natalie: I’m so sorry about the way my father treated you. I don’t know what’s come over him. He can be paranoid, but that was completely out of line. I’m going to talk to him about it. None of us agree with him, I promise you. Just let me know you’re okay.
Her kindness only deepens the guilt that’s been eating at me for weeks. She doesn’t owe me an apology. If she knew who I really am, she wouldn’t be sending reassuring texts. She wouldn’t be defending me. She’d hate me. Just like her father does. And she’d be right.
I clutch the phone to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to will away the obsessive thoughts. My skin itches, my thoughts swirl too fast. I need to move. I need to burn this feeling out of me before it consumes me whole.
Carefully, I slip out of bed, my movements quiet so as not to disturb Silas. Crossing the hallway, I grab leggings, a sports bra, and sneakers from the guest room dresser and change quickly. My hair is tied up in a hasty ponytail by the time I reach the back staircase. I descend quickly, my feet silent against the steps, until I reach the basement.
The gym is dark, the air cool and sharp with the faint smell of cleaning solution. I flip on the lights, and the fluorescent glow bounces off the polished machines and mirrored walls. The space feels impersonal, almost clinical, but right now, it’s undoubtedly what I need. A place where I don’t have to think.
I step onto the treadmill, my fingers brushing over the controls. Cardio has never been my favorite, but tonight, it feels right. The machine hums to life, and I start at a slow jog, letting the rhythmic thud of my steps drown out the chaos in my head.
The built-in tablet lights up, offering distractions I don’t care about. I pull up a random show, not because I want to watch it, but because the motion on the screen gives me something else to focus on. But as I pick up the pace, my gaze drifts away from the screen and lands on the wall of mirrors in front of me.
I don’t recognize this person. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension etched into every line of her face. She looks like someone who’s running on borrowed time. Someone who’s already lost the race and is too stubborn to stop moving.
I hate what I see. I hate who I see.
My feet pound harder against the treadmill as I increase the speed, my breath coming faster. I’m just hoping that if I push hard enough, fast enough, I might leave this version of myself behind.
The voice in my head doesn’t stop, relentless and cruel, whispering every failure, every regret. The treadmill belt whirring beneath me as though I can somehow outrun it. But no matter how hard I push, how fast I go, the thoughts close in, louder, sharper, cutting deeper.
I think of Drew; of her laugh, her friendship, everything about her that was so pure and kind. And I destroyed it. I think of Peter and the web of lies I’ve woven, the jobs I’ve done, the people I’ve betrayed. All for money and survival. I could have stopped before Drew. I could’ve walked away. But I didn’t, even after Peter showed me his true colors because I was too scared and selfish.
Now, Silas and Natalie. Two people who trust a version of me that doesn’t exist. Tears blur my vision, but I don’t stop. The guilt claws at me, eating me alive. But I can’t get away from it. It’s always there, a shadow lurking in every kind word, every gentle gesture. Always reminding me that I don’t deserve any of it.
I don’t belong here. I never did. I’m a liar. A manipulator. A thief. A parasite. Every word feels like a nail driven deeper into my chest. I hate myself for Drew. I hate myself for the lies I’m telling now. I hate myself because I can’t stop. Because every time I think about walking away, I see the faces of the people Peter has destroyed. I know what happens when someone tries to escape him. It’s only a matter of time before I fall too.
My lungs burn, my legs scream, but I don’t slow down. My reflection stares back at me, blurred through tears, but I can still see her. She’s a stranger. A fraud. A monster.
You ruin everything you touch, the voice sneers. You’ll ruin this too. You’ll ruin them. They’re going to hate you, and they’ll be right to.
The voice is so loud now that it's almost deafening.
If they decide to kill you, the world would be better.
A sob catches in my throat, threatening to choke me. My feet falter, the treadmill jerking beneath me as I slam the emergency brake button, stumbling to a stop. I clutch the arms of the machine, leaning forward, my body trembling. The walls I’ve built crack, crumble, and the weight of it all crushes me. I let it. I sit in it. I deserve to drown in it.
It’s only when I feel a warm hand on my back that I realize I’m not alone. I flinch, startled.
“Scarlett,” Silas says softly, his voice rough with sleep.
I don’t look up. I can’t. Shame crawls up my spine, making me want to curl into myself and disappear. His hand doesn’t move, steady against my back. Then, slowly, he steps closer, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls me upright, his hold firm but gentle. I blink through my tears and see him in the mirror behind me. His hair is mussed from sleep, his expression unreadable, and he’s wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. His chest is bare, cool against my damp back.
I’d never thought about how we looked together, but now, seeing us like this, it’s everything I’ve feared. He’s beautiful, strong, good. And I’m just… not .
“Scar,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as he buries his head in the curve of my neck as his hold tightens. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth to answer, but the words won’t come. My throat tightens, and all I can do is shake my head. I want to pull away, to hide, but his presence is too comforting.
“Talk to me,” Silas says as though he’s afraid I’ll break. “Let me help.”
His words unravel me. My chest aches with everything I can’t say. I want to tell him the truth. I want to let him see all of me, even the ugly parts. But I can’t. I can’t do that to him. Instead, I do the one thing I know I shouldn’t.
I turn in his arms and kiss him.
It’s a desperate plea he doesn’t know I’m making. His lips part in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me closer as he kisses me back, deep and consuming. For a moment, the world disappears, the guilt, the fear, the lies. There’s only Silas. Warm and solid and real.
But even as I lose myself in him, the voice in my head whispers, relentless.
People like you don’t deserve to keep something this good.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my forehead resting against his. My fingers tremble slightly against the tops of his shoulders. “Shower with me,” I whisper.
Silas doesn’t question it. He doesn’t ask me to explain. Instead, his thumb brushes gently against my cheek, wiping away the lingering tears with a tenderness that almost undoes me all over again.
Without a word, he takes my hand, leading me back to his bathroom. As we ascend the stairs, the house feels impossibly quiet. The faint creak of the wooden steps echoes softly, the only sound between us. He doesn’t speak, and I’m grateful for it. The air feels heavy with unspoken questions I’m not ready to answer. Still, he holds onto me, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
When we reach his room, he pauses at the doorway, turning to face me. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I can see everything he’s holding back. Concern. Patience. The quiet but unwavering promise that he’s here, no matter what.
He doesn’t need to say it; I feel it in every breath, every look: take what you need.
Without a word, he opens the door, stepping aside to let me enter first. It’s such a small gesture, but it speaks volumes. He’s letting me lead and that quiet act of surrender loosens something in my chest. He’s giving me everything and I can’t offer him anything except the part of me that still needs to feel something other than pain.
And even knowing how selfish it is, I can’t seem to stop myself from taking it.