Chapter 31
S ilas: Have you seen the photos from the gala?
My thumbs hover over the keyboard, hesitating before I finally type a response.
Me: No. Why? Should I?
Silas: You should. Look them up.
I bite my lip, dread and curiosity warring inside me. Something about the way he says it feels like I’m walking into a trap, but I still pull my laptop onto my thighs, open a new browser, and type “Carter Annual Gala” into the search bar. My stomach flips as the results load. The headlines jump out at me.
Silas Wells and Mystery Date Steal the Show at Annual Gala
A Romantic Waltz for Wells and His New Partner
My chest tightens as I click the first article, and there we are. Photo after photo of the two of us at the event.
Silas walking beside me, his hand splayed protectively against the small of my back as we entered. Silas and I laughing with his friend Gordon, my smile brighter than I remember it feeling. Silas guiding me across the dance floor, his expression softened in a way that’s undeniably intimate. And then the kiss.
His hands cradle my face, his lips pressing against mine with a gentleness that borders on reverence. Around us, the other dancers blur into streaks of color and motion, their forms indistinct, as though we were the only ones who mattered. The photo captures everything I’ve been trying to deny, laid bare for the world to see.
Further down, there are older photos from the silent auction in March, paired with speculative headlines suggesting we’ve been in a secret relationship all along. This time, however, they’ve identified Scarlett Page. The articles dive into her life, breaking it down into succinct, impersonal bullet points. The words feel clinical, like they’re dissecting a version of me I barely recognize anymore.
My phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me back to reality. Another text from Silas.
Silas: What do you think?
I blink, trying to gather my thoughts. I sit up on the guest room chair I’ve been sunk into for hours, contemplating my words. But all I can manage is the truth.
Me: I think I don’t love the whole world speculating about my life.
His reply comes faster than I expect.
Silas: That’s not what I asked.
I pause, my heartbeat quickening.
Me: What do YOU think?
Silas: I like them. They make it clear.
I blink, my brow furrowing, and type back quickly.
Me: Clear?
Silas: That you’re mine.
A short, disbelieving laugh escapes me. I shake my head, typing back with a smirk.
Me: That’s very caveman of you.
Silas: Very.
Me: You don’t care at all, do you?
Silas: When it comes to you? Never.
The ache that’s been growing in my heart only deepens as I reread his response. For all his arrogance and bravado, there’s an undeniable truth to the way he claims me, unashamed and unflinching.
My fingers move on their own, typing out a confession before I can overthink it.
Me: You know, I wasn’t lying when I said how handsome you looked.
The response takes a little longer this time.
Silas: Good. I wasn’t lying either.
My lips twitch despite myself, and I lock my phone, leaning back against the seat. Beneath the browser tab I just closed, several terminal windows and programs are running, most of them tools Luis and his friends Ben and Corey set up to help with decryption. The scripts are efficient but not mine, so I’ve been reverse-engineering them to make sense of the process. Some of the metadata hints at something connected to New Mexico, but we’re not sure what yet.
This process has been like dismantling a minefield—tedious and dangerous if we overlook even a single line of corrupted data. Progress has been slow, but Luis thinks we’re close, and I do too.
My phone pings, but it’s not the familiar sound of a text message; it’s my email. I freeze. Since the alley attack, I’ve created new accounts for everything, including a new email. I meticulously went through all my important accounts, changing login details to this new email or canceling them entirely. No one has this address besides Luis and he has yet to use it for any reason.
I open the app, and my stomach drops. An anonymous email glares back at me like a ghost materializing from my past.
Subject: Are you having fun playing house?
The body is nearly empty, save for a single line:
Don’t forget who you work for. Time is running out.
Beneath it is an attachment. A photo of Drew. The same one they used on her memorial card. Bile rises in my throat. Her face, frozen in time, still haunts me.
I slam my laptop shut, as if the image might seep out and consume me. My phone buzzes a moment later. Another email from the same thread.
The Wells boy isn’t the only one with secrets. Let’s talk before I decide to share yours.
My fingers shake. I don’t have time to think this through. I push the unease aside and type out a single word in reply:
Fine.
It’s less than a minute before I receive a response.
Call me in ten minutes.
They include a number, but I don’t need to memorize it. I already know it’s Peter.
Ten minutes stretch into an eternity as I move to sit on the edge of the bed, checking the security on my devices out of instinct. Both scans on my phone and laptop come back clean. My VPN and firewall are next, both show no unusual activity.
The seconds tick by, each one a countdown to something I’ll regret. I take a shaky breath and dial the number, my heart threatening to flat line.
It rings once before Peter’s smooth, almost cheerful voice cuts off the tone. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten me.”
I grit my teeth, clutching the phone tighter. “What do you want?”
“Straight to business. I admire that.” He chuckles, low and patronizing. “Let’s not pretend this is anything other than that: business. You still remember how to handle business, don’t you?”
“You tried to have me killed,” I snap. My voice trembles with barely restrained fury. “Why would I listen to anything you say?”
He exhales, long and deliberate, like I’m being unreasonable. “You’ve always been a little too stubborn for your own good, and I needed to remind you who’s in charge.” He pauses, and I can hear the smirk in his voice when he adds, “And it pushed you right into the Wells boy’s arms. It worked out for all of us, didn’t it?”
The realization settles under my skin instantly. Peter gambled on how I’d react. How Silas would react. Weeks ago, he’d already set his trap, and I walked into it willingly, perfectly. My cheeks burn with a mix of fury and humiliation.
“You’re delusional,” I spit, though my pulse quickens, betraying the doubt gnawing at me.
“Am I?” he counters, his voice sharpening into something darker. “You think Silas and his family would still have you if they knew the truth? If they knew who I am? What I’ve done for you? What you’ve done for me?”
The blood drains from my face. My grip on the phone tightens. “You don’t scare me, Peter.”
“Maybe not,” he says, his tone hardening. “But you should be scared for them. You think I won’t go through them to get what I need? You know how far I’ll go. After all, your little college friend didn’t just fall into my lap.”
His words light a fire in my veins, rage overtaking the fear. “Don’t you dare—”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d stop playing games,” he snaps, cutting me off with the sharpness of a blade. “But I will if you keep pushing me. I know about Luis. Did you really think I wouldn’t?” He scoffs. “You’re getting sloppy, Scarlett. And worse— you’re getting sentimental.” His voice drops lower, colder. “Finish the job, or I’ll finish it for you. And you won’t like how I tie up the loose ends.”
The line goes dead before I can respond. My hand shakes as I lower the phone, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The room feels stifling, the walls pressing in, his threats looping in my head like a nightmare I can’t escape. He’s not just watching me; he’s closing in. I need to do something. Anything. Sitting here and letting the fear take hold isn’t an option.
I open my phone again and tap on Luis’s name. He answers on the second ring.
“It’s Peter,” I blurt out instantly, my voice pitched with panic. “He contacted me.”
There’s a pause on the other end, but Luis’s voice, when it comes, is steady. Calm. “What did he say?”
I take a breath and give him the short version. Luis listens quietly, his breathing measured, before finally speaking.
“He might know I’m working on the files, but he doesn’t know where I or my friends are,” Luis reassures me, his tone firm. “He’s trying to rattle you. I’ve got my setup locked down tighter than Fort Knox. He’s not going to find me.”
I exhale shakily, but my anxiety refuses to ease. “But what if—”
“He won’t,” Luis interrupts me gently, his voice unwavering. “Peter’s getting desperate. He’s throwing everything at the wall, hoping something sticks.”
His confidence steadies me, but only slightly. There’s a weight to his words that I can’t shake, a reminder of how carefully Luis has built his life to shield himself from people like Peter. He’s right. Peter is desperate for whatever reason. But desperation makes him unpredictable, dangerous.
“Listen to me,” Luis continues, his tone softening. “You’re not in this alone. We’re close. I know it feels impossible right now, but we’re going to finish this soon. Just stay focused on what we're doing and we'll deal with him after.”
His words offer a sliver of reassurance, but it’s not enough to shake the unease clinging to me like a second skin. I mutter a quiet thank-you and end the call. The logical part of my brain knows Luis is right, but Peter’s voice still lingers, his threats curling around me like a noose.
I’m not sure how long I sit there, my mind spinning, but I’m jolted from my thoughts by the sound of voices in the hallway. One of them is Silas’s. My eyes dart to the clock. It’s too early for him to be home. Why is he back before six? His voice is brief and curt, exchanging a few words with someone, likely Cillian, before dismissing them. The footsteps grow closer, and then he’s there, quietly pushing open the door to the guest room.
Silas stops in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over me. I’m perched on the edge of the bed, phone clenched tightly in my hands. His expression shifts instantly.
“Scar,” he says, voice cutting through the thick silence. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, the denial slipping out too fast. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t buy it. His eyes narrow slightly, his focus unyielding. Without breaking stride, he steps into the room, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto my abandoned chair. “You don’t look fine.” His tone is calm, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and probing. “Tell me.”
Panic prickles at the back of my neck. I scramble for something to say, something close enough to the truth to keep him from asking more. “I’ve been thinking,” I start, my voice unsteady. “About the attacker. How he’s still out there.” I exhale slowly, hands gripping my phone tighter. “It’s hard not to feel like he’s watching. Waiting.”
Silas’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak right away, just exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate. The sound is quiet but unmistakably dangerous, like the low growl of a predator ready to strike.
He crosses the space between us, stopping in front of me. his presence is overwhelming—his anger pressing in from all sides, thick and tangible. This isn’t the polished, composed Silas the world sees. This is the man who would set fire to everything when he deems it necessary.
“He won’t touch you again.” The words aren’t a promise. They’re a verdict.
His hand lifts, fingers tilting my chin up until I meet his gaze—molten steel, unwavering. “Do you hear me?” His voice drops, quiet but unrelenting. “No one gets to hurt you and walk away. No one.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Silas, you don’t have to—”
“I do.” He doesn’t let me finish. His grip is gentle but firm, his touch grounding. “You’re mine to protect. No one gets to take that from me.”
The conviction in his voice rattles something deep inside me. I struggle to hold his gaze under the weight of it, under the weight of all the things I can’t say. He sees the flicker of doubt, the hesitation, and his expression softens just enough. His hand shifts, his thumb brushing lightly across my cheek in slow, soothing circles.
“You're safe here.” The words come softer now, quieter but no less certain.
Tears sting at the corners of my eyes. Guilt twists in my chest, sharp and relentless. He has no idea how close Peter really is, how much danger we’re both in.
“I—” The words catch in my throat. I force a weak smile, swallowing back everything else. “Thank you.” It feels like the wrong thing to say, too small for what he’s offering.
Silas studies me for a long moment, searching my face. The fury in his eyes dims slightly, but the tension in his body doesn’t fade. Then, without a word, he pulls me up and into his arms.
His heartbeat is steady against mine, and I let my eyes close, resting my head against his chest as his arms tighten around me.
The weight of his trust is unbearable. Because this won’t last. It’s only a matter of time before the illusion shatters, and when it does, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.