Chapter 3
Silas
It would be so easy to place my hands around her slim throat and squeeze the life out of her.
Instead, I helped her wash up, change, and tucked her into our bed like the dutiful husband I’d pretended to be for eleven years.
She was damn lucky I was disease-free.
My lip curled remembering her dropping to her knees, thinking she deserved my cock in that wretched mouth. I rubbed my thumb over my wedding ring. I wanted to rip it off. Not yet. It wasn’t time for the reveal. It wasn’t time to end the facade.
I switched the lamp off before I gave in and killed the foul bitch.
Envelope in hand, I took it straight to my safe. I slipped it inside, then paused, fingers brushing the heavier envelope.
Everly Mehta.
Another victim of Eris… or another carbon copy?
From memory, she’d leaned more toward her Indian heritage—dark eyes, sharper features. Quiet. Hard to read. Eleven years ago I’d dismissed her as collateral damage.
Now she was a variable.
With a sigh, I set her envelope back and took out my phone.
Conrad picked up on the second ring.
“It’s done,” I said. “I’ll drop the papers at your house in the morning. Six a.m.”
“Damn. It worked.”
“I just counted on her greed,” I said flatly. “Thanks, Conrad.”
“Always,” he replied. “I’ve got you.”
The call ended.
By next week, my house would be clean.
?? ?? ??
The perfume I once admired now choked me, thick and cloying in my lungs. It clung to everything—my clothes, the air, the memory of better illusions.
Her fingers brushed my cheek like we were still lovers, and I felt my morning coffee lurch in my gut.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked with faux concern, eyes wide, voice soft. A performance.
“Just a stomach bug,” I replied with a smile that felt like pulling teeth.
“Maybe I can make you feel better when I get back,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss me as her hand slid down to my crotch. Her fingers curled around me like she still had the right.
If my dick could have shrivelled up and retracted into my spine, it would’ve.
I placed my hands on her upper arms and pushed her back—gently, but firmly.
“I wouldn’t want you catching whatever I’ve got, sweetheart.”
I smiled again, this one sharper. “You go and enjoy Scotland.”
Right on cue, Lawrence—my new driver, the one I hired the minute I found out she’d been fucking Henson—appeared and lifted her luggage into the car.
“It’s work. I won’t be having any fun,” she said with a light laugh.
“Of course,” I said coolly, walking her to the car like a dutiful husband.
Inside, I was already planning how best to burn the bed sheets. To scorch every last trace of her from my home. Even if it meant going against Conrad’s advice.
While she was in Edinburgh getting railed by Steven, our divorce would be finalised. And the final nail in her coffin? Unedited footage—moaning, exposed, face and cunt on full display.
I smiled and waved at her like the devoted husband she thought I still was.
The first genuine smile I’d worn since that letter landed on my desk.
I suspected it came from one of her old fucks. Some forgotten cock she used and tossed aside.
Whoever he was, I owed him thanks.
He handed me the blade. All I had to do was twist it.
?? ?? ??
The meeting was winding down when my phone lit up with a call from Connie. My housekeeper knew better than to disturb me during business hours—unless it was urgent.
I stood, buttoning my jacket.
“Excuse me,” I said to the room, already stepping out as I answered. “Connie?”
“Sir,” she said quickly, voice tight.
“Is she back?” I asked, frowning as I walked down the corridor toward my office.
“Uh… well—”
“Spit it out, Connie. She’s still got two days left in Edinburgh.”
Connie was one of the few staff members who knew what was happening behind closed doors.
She’d kept quiet, professional, even as I coordinated the quiet destruction of my wife’s double life.
I had more footage of Eris fucking her boss than I knew what to do with.
And that was just the beginning. It had cost me a fortune—PIs, bribes, surveillance. Worth every penny.
“No, sir. Not Mrs. Voss,” Connie said, her voice dropping. “Miss Everly just arrived.”
I stopped walking.
“What?” I growled, already turning back toward my office, pace quickening.
What the fuck was she doing here?
Then it hit me—her course must be over. Of course. End of term.
Fuck.
I inhaled sharply and scrubbed a hand down my face.
“That’s fine,” I said briskly. “Put her in the usual room. The one her mother used to dump her in.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I mean—yes, sir,” Connie stammered.
I hung up without another word.
So.
Everly was home.
And the timing couldn’t be worse—or better.
I closed my office door, still turning over the news in my head.
Everly was back under my roof.
Curious, I sat down and searched her name. Plenty of Mehta’s came up—doctors, influencers, lawyers—but none of them were her. No selfies. No graduation shots. No tagged photos. Nothing.
What kind of twenty-something had no digital footprint?
It wasn’t just unusual—it was strategic. Like someone had wiped her off the grid, or she’d done it herself.
I frowned and pulled up Eris’s profile instead.
Predictable. Her page was a fucking shrine to herself—holidays in Santorini, yoga retreats, salon selfies, champagne dinners, diamond-studded wrists. A curated fantasy for her sycophants.
But there wasn’t a single picture of her daughter.
Not one.
No birthday post. No graduation photo. No mention of Everly at all.
Fucking hell. I leaned back, jaw tightening.
Whatever else I thought of that girl… being raised by that woman had to do damage.
Eris Cahill wasn’t just a narcissist.
She was a fucking bitch.
?? ?? ??
The car slowed as Lawrence turned into the long driveway. I couldn’t remember the last time I left work early. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if I ever had. But today, I had to meet the daughter. Size her up. Decide what the hell to do with her.
She wasn’t mine. Not by blood. Not by bond. She was a grown ass woman now, and more importantly, she shared fifty percent of Eris’s DNA. That alone made her suspect.
Lawrence stepped out and opened the door. I gave him a tight nod before turning toward the dark wooden double front doors.
I stepped inside and was hit with silence. It was quiet in that way that made you think something was off. I set my leather bag on the side table and moved through the open hall, scanning for signs of life.
Then I heard it—voices.
Laughter.
“I miss Mr. Caplan. He was always so sweet to me,” a younger voice said. Her tone was warm and affectionate.
“Ahh, the old coot retired in the countryside,” Connie replied, her voice full of fondness. “Your baking skills have become better than mine.”
“Do you remember when my steamed pudding exploded?” the girl asked with a breathy laugh.
I crept closer.
“When your mum and Mr. Voss came back, it was only then that I noticed some of it still stuck on the ceiling,” Connie added.
Everly’s laugh rang out—light, genuine. I stepped into view.
She was standing at the kitchen island, a dark pink hoodie hanging off her frame. Her long, silky black hair brushed against the curve of her ass as she leaned forward slightly. Nothing like her mother’s carefully bleached highlights or bone-straight styling. No, this hair looked real. Effortless.
My eyes dropped—those skin-tight jeans the younger generation wore, moulded to her hips and that wide, rounded ass. A full, solid figure. Unlike Eris, who was all angles and maintenance. Even her boots were sensible—flat-soled, ankle-length, the tops lined with cheap fluff.
“You stopped coming home,” Connie said softly.
Everly shrugged beneath her oversized hoodie. “She was never home. And if she was…” Her voice trailed off, unfinished.
Connie must’ve seen the shift, because she changed the subject instantly.
“Uff, never mind,” she said, picking up a fork. “I’m stealing this recipe from you. This chocolate cake is outrageous.”
“Mmm,” she added with her mouth full.
I scratched the back of my head.
This wasn’t what I expected.
Eris had always kept her distance from the staff—except for Henson, of course. Bert, the best groundskeeper I ever had, retired a few years back. Connie had been here the longest. She was loyal and honest.
And now she was smiling like she’d just seen a ghost return from the dead.
I kept my face neutral, but my mind was turning.
This girl—Everly—she didn’t look like her mother.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t just as dangerous.