Chapter 26
I t’s almost embarrassing how long I spend drafting a text to Natalie on Monday afternoon, trying to find the right way to ask if I can stay at her place.
Me: Hey! I hope you had a good trip. Sorry I didn’t answer your messages, I was trying to stay off my phone, but I hope Davey filled you in on everything. I was wondering if maybe I could come stay with you for a little while I get my apartment situation figured out?
Natalie : You’re alive! No worries, I know they say to avoid screens for a few days and you needed to rest. We have so much to talk about. Of course you can, but is everything okay? Did Silas do something?
I bite my lip, searching for the most inconspicuous wording.
Me: Oh, no. He’s been great. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.
Natalie : You can stay with us for as long as you need. Davey and I are going on a date, but I’ll text Silas that we’re coming over for a nightcap and then you can come home with us.
Me: That’s okay, I can let him know when I see him next.
Natalie : No worries, we’re texting already, anyway!
I stare at my phone like it’s a ticking bomb, waiting for Silas’s inevitable message. My stomach twists as I reread my conversation with Natalie.
I’ve spent the better part of two days holed up in this room, waiting for Luis to call with an update and trying to convince myself that staying away from Silas is the right thing to do. But he’s made it almost impossible. The meals, the snacks, the thoughtful gestures: popcorn, sour candies, cheddar broccoli soup, a BLT—everything I told him I love. It’s infuriatingly sweet. Yesterday, Dr. Carrow called me out of the blue to check in on my symptoms, which I have no doubt was orchestrated by the controlling man sleeping across the hallway. Silas said he’d give me space, and he’s kept his promise, but I know it’s only a matter of time before he pushes again. And now, he knows I’m planning to leave.
My phone vibrates. Of course, it’s him.
Silas: You’re not leaving until we talk about Saturday.
I stare at the screen, willing myself to stay calm. At least he’s open to the idea of me leaving. Eventually. But his condition for it is exactly what I was hoping to avoid. I need to shut this down before Natalie and Davey show up and make everything ten times more awkward.
Me: We don’t have anything to talk about. It was a mistake.
The reply comes almost instantly, as if he’d been waiting for it.
Silas: Don’t lie to me, Scarlett.
My jaw tightens as I type out another response, my fingers moving faster now.
Me: Natalie is my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that by getting involved with her brother.
Silas: That’s a nice excuse.
I clench my teeth.
Me: It’s not an excuse. She’s important to me, and I don’t want to complicate things.
Silas: You think avoiding this will make things less complicated?
Me: No, but I’m asking you to respect my boundaries.
Silas: I respect you, but I don’t buy that this is about Natalie. You’re scared.
The accusation hits harder than I expected. I swallow hard, hesitating before I respond.
Me: I am not. I just don’t want to do this with you.
Silas: We’ll settle this tonight.
Me: There’s nothing to settle!
Silas: Keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll believe it by the time I see you.
His confidence is maddening. I toss my phone onto the bed, far out of reach, and bury my face in my hands. Why does he have to be so relentless? So sure of himself? It’s like he’s incapable of accepting no for an answer.
But what makes it worse and makes my chest ache with something far too dangerous to name, is that he’s not entirely wrong. I am scared.
Because he’s not really chasing me. He’s chasing Scarlett Page, the carefully constructed version of me that doesn’t exist. He’s drawn to a mirage. A woman who’s equal parts truth and deception, her allure built on a foundation of half-truths that will crumble if he dares to look too closely. And when he finally does find out that I’m nothing but a fraud…
I shudder.
Needing to occupy my mind and keep my hands busy, I pop up from my seat and begin packing my new backpack and duffel bag. The action feels purposeful, even comforting, as I fold and stack the few belongings I have, leaving room in one of the interior pockets of the backpack for the Arizona debit card and my IDs still hidden in the bathroom. In the walk-in closet, I discover several deep-set drawers built into the cabinetry; likely meant for bulky winter sweaters. I place the bags in the bottom drawer, pushing them as far back as they’ll go. There’s a sense of security in knowing I’m ready to leave, no matter what happens.
For a few fleeting minutes, the preparation calms me. But soon enough, the uneasiness creeps back in, gnawing at the edges of my mind. Unable to slow my racing thoughts, I lounge on the bed with my phone, looking aimlessly through listings and forums, researching places I might go if Luis can get me out of here. Maybe the mountains of North Carolina? The isolation might be nice. Or perhaps southern Texas. Ranch hand jobs in that area often come with housing and don’t ask too many questions. I could blend in, work under the table, and lie low until I figure out my next move.
Lost in my scrolling, I nearly jump out of my skin when a knock on the door jolts me back to reality. My surroundings blur into focus, the soft orange glow of the setting sun filtering through the windows. The room is several shades darker than it had been the last time I looked up. I glance at my phone—6:27. Shit. I’ve been planning my escape for far longer than I realized.
“Ms. Page, here’s your dinner,” the now-familiar female staff voice calls through the door, her tone quiet and polite. After a brief pause, she adds, “Mr. Wells wanted me to tell you that Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair will be here in an hour, and he’d like you to meet them in the billiards room.”
For the first time in days, I respond, my voice low and raspy from disuse. “Thank you.” Whether she hears me, I’m not sure, as her footsteps fade away without another word.
I glance at the tray she’s left outside my door; a hearty Caesar salad with perfectly grilled steak, the aroma tempting. In any other world, I’d already be devouring it. But now? My stomach twists into a tight knot. The realization sinks in like a stone: in an hour, I’ll have to face Silas.
–
As I enter the billiards room, I’m relieved to find it quiet and empty except for Natalie. The space is bathed in a warm amber glow, the soft hum of music playing over the speakers. Her back is to me, a glass of clear liquid resting on the lip of the table as she leans over to line up her next shot. The quiet clack of the cue ball echoes softly in the room as she sinks a stripe into the corner pocket with practiced ease.
“Nice shot,” I say from the doorway, my voice breaking the silence.
Natalie turns, a smile spreading across her face. “Scarlett,” she says, setting the cue down and walking toward me. She pulls me into a quick hug, the faint trace of her perfume surrounding us. When she steps back, her eyes sharpen, scanning my face. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I reply, forcing a smile. “A little bruised, but nothing I can’t handle.”
Her hazel eyes linger on the steri-strips still stuck to my forehead and the purple and blue bruises beneath. “Have you been back to the doctor yet?”
I shake my head, waving a hand dismissively. “No need. It’s been days, and I’ve had no other side effects.”
“You should still go,” she presses, her tone taking on that maternal edge I’ve come to expect.
“Noted,” I say lightly, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Now, are we playing while you tell me about LA, or do you want to mother me instead?”
She exhales, clearly unimpressed but relenting, picking up her cue and handing me another. “Fine. But I’m not going easy on you just because you’re injured.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” I say, lining up my first shot while glancing around the room. I half-expect Silas or Davey to walk through the door at any moment.
As if reading my mind, Natalie leans casually against the edge of the table, swirling her drink. “Silas and Davey are in his office. They said they’d be down soon,” she says, her tone casual, though she keenly observes me.
I nod, her words sending a ripple of unease through me. It’s likely about me; it always is about me these days, isn’t it?
Pushing the thought aside, I focus on Natalie and ask about her trip. She recounts her and Celicia’s horseback ride through Malibu’s canyons, yoga overlooking the Pacific, and a private viewing at an exclusive Beverly Hills gallery. I nod along, offering the occasional comment, but my mind feels distant, foggy.
Mid-sentence, she pauses, setting her drink down and studying me. “Are you okay?” she asks, her voice tinged with concern.
My grip tightens on the cue. I bend to line up another shot, avoiding her gaze. “Just tired, I guess.”
Natalie doesn’t buy it. “Did something happen between you and Silas while I was gone?” she asks gently, her voice surprisingly understanding. “If it did, I wouldn’t be mad.”
I miss the shot entirely, the cue ball barely grazing its target. Straightening, I force a laugh. “Why would you ask that?”
She sighs, moving around the table with her cue in hand. “Because I’ve known my brother my entire life and I see the way you both look at each other. Plus, you’re acting like he’s going to jump out of the walls.”
My throat tightens. Leaning the cue against the table, I cross my arms. “It’s complicated.”
Natalie smirks faintly, setting up her next shot. She hits the cue ball with precision, sinking her target into the middle pocket. “It doesn’t have to be,” she responds, standing straight and stepping closer to me. “Scarlett, Silas… he’s not perfect. But he’s good .”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words don’t come.
“He doesn’t let many people in,” she continues, her tone firmer now. “But when he does, he’s loyal to a fault, and the people he chooses get all of him—no hesitation, no half-measures. You don’t see it, but he’s been showing you how much he cares in every way he knows how.”
Her words sound so nice, but there's just no world where Silas treats or cares about me, a virtual stranger, anywhere close to how he would Natalie or Davey.
She pauses and, when unconvinced by my reaction, picks her glass back up and her voice drops to a whisper. “Do you want to know why we hate Martin Shaw?”
I blink, caught off guard. “Natalie, you don’t have to—”
“No,” She cuts me off, her expression hardening. “I’m telling you this because you need to understand the way Silas protects the people he cares about.”
She lets out one measured breath before beginning, “Martin’s been a family friend for as long as I can remember. When I was in my early twenties, he started making advances. Compliments, standing too close, lingering hugs. I ignored it for years, but after I started dating Davey, it became… more obvious. Silas and Davey noticed too, but none of us knew how to confront him because his actions were still subtle enough to leave room for doubt. I decided that it wasn’t worth the drama it might bring them or my father at work.”
Her grip on the glass tightens. “Then one summer, during one of my father’s parties, Martin cornered me in the hallway. He forced himself on me. I didn’t even have the chance to scream. But somehow, Silas was there before he…” she trails off, straightening her back as she shakes the memory away. “He pulled Martin off me and pinned him against the wall, threatening to ruin his life if he ever came near me again. Martin resigned within the week.”
The weight of her words presses down on me. She doesn’t have to explain to me, another woman, why she didn’t go to the police. It would’ve gone to court, her word against his, likely with no evidence beyond the three of them. The lawyers would’ve twisted the story, painted her as some kind of whore who led him on, and the publicity would have destroyed her. Martin would’ve walked away unscathed, and Natalie would’ve been left to pick up the pieces of her life. Instead they chose to keep the truth close, using it as leverage to keep Martin far away.
The courage it must have taken for her to keep that secret, to live with it, to protect her family while enduring the weight of what happened. My heart physically aches for her.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
She exhales, her knuckles white around the glass. “Thank you,” she says softly. Then, more firmly, “It was my decision not to go after Martin legally, but Silas was ready and willing to do anything I asked of him. That’s who he is.”
I can only nod, her words burying themselves deep in my chest.
We stand in silence for only a few heartbeats before her breath hitches. She sets her glass down with a sharp clink and walks toward the door. “I… I need a minute,” she murmurs, disappearing into the hallway.
I stay rooted in place, wanting to follow her but knowing better of it. She needs a minute to collect herself, and she deserves that much. Instead, I move to the bar and make myself a tequila soda with lime, ignoring the pang of unease as I realize everything I need for the drink is conveniently waiting for me on the counter, as though someone knew I’d need it.
The sound of the door opening behind me breaks the silence. I turn, glass still raised to my lips, as Davey steps inside.
“Scarlett,” he says, his voice carrying a note of severity that immediately puts me on edge. His gaze is sharp as it rakes over my face, and I lower my glass slowly.
“Davey,” I reply, my voice guarded.
He glances around the room, his expression unreadable. “Where did Natalie go?”
I hesitate before nodding toward the hallway. “She stepped out for a moment. Said she needed to use the restroom.”
Davey’s eyes linger on me for a beat too long, as if trying to read something in my expression. Finally, he nods. “Thanks. I’ll wait for her.” He carries himself further into the room, taking hold of Natalie’s abandoned cue, rolling it in his palms. “In the meantime, you and I need to talk.”
I swallow hard, bracing myself. “About what?”
Davey’s jaw tightens, and his gaze locks onto mine.
“You know what.”