70. Lilith
CHAPTER SEVENTY
“ M r. Thorn, you stand before this court today, convi cted of a violent and unprovoked assault that was not only witnessed by bystanders, but captured on video for the world to see.
The footage of your actions—ruthless, unforgiving, and inexcusable—spread across the public consciousness, leaving no doubt as to the level of cruelty you inflicted upon your victim. No doubt as to your guilt.
In that alleyway, you did not just strike another human being.
You attempted to break her. You left her bruised, bloodied, and defenceless, while the world watched in horror.
And when the consequences of your actions loomed, you did what all cowards do.
You ran. You evaded law enforcement, you trespassed, you hid from responsibility, and forced your victim to live under the weight of knowing that her abuser was still out there, unpunished.
But luck does not last forever. Fate, it seems, has caught up to you. You were found, you were identified, and now, you will be held accountable.
This court takes crimes of domestic and intimate partner violence with the utmost seriousness. Your actions were deliberate. Your brutality was measured. And your victim will carry the scars—physical and otherwise—long after today.
After reviewing the evidence, hearing witness testimony, and considering the impact of your actions, this court sentences you to twenty-five years in prison, with no possibility of parole for fifteen years.
You will be remanded immediately to the custody of the state, where you will serve your sentence in full.
Let this be clear. This is not just a punishment for what you have done, but a message to those who believe they can act with impunity.
Violence against those who cannot fight back will not be tolerated.
Running will not save you. And when justice catches up to men like you, it will be swift, and it will be certain .
Court is adjourned.”
I clicked off my phone, the screen going dark. I’d watched the news clip from Clark’s sentencing so many times over the last three days, I practically had the whole thing memorised.
I didn’t need to hear the words anymore.
I knew how it ended. But I kept watching anyway.
Watching him sit there in that suit. Watching his face fall when the judge read his sentence—when reality finally hit.
I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop replaying that moment, couldn’t stop revelling in the satisfaction of his comeuppance.
It had been six months since that night.
Six months since we beat Clark to a pulp.
Six months since we left him at the hospital, bloodied, and barely breathing.
Sometimes, it felt like it had happened yesterday, like I could still feel the wrench in my hands, the storm lashing against my skin, my heart slamming against my ribs as the yacht sank beneath us.
Other times, it felt like something I’d entirely imagined. Like a whole other life.
I’d increased my sessions with Dr. Hayes. I never told the full truth of what had happened—I wasn’t about to get myself locked up—but I was getting… better.
There were still nights where I woke up gasping, clawing at the sheets, my pulse too fast, too loud in my ears.
But every single time, Silas was there.
Holding me. Grounding me. Reminding me that I was safe.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
I looked down at him. His head was in my lap, his warm brown eyes half-lidded from sleep.
His lips were slightly parted, jaw shadowed from his longer than usual stubble that he’d been purposefully growing, because I’d offhandedly mentioned a few weeks ago that I liked the way it scratched against my skin.
My big, stupid, beautiful man.
I hummed, shifting closer, trailing a hand along his cheek. “Mhm. I am now I’m looking at you.”
“Lilith.”
“What?” I sighed.
“Be serious.”
I groaned. “Fine. I feel… weird.”
He yawned. “Weird how?”
I shrugged, pressing my lips together as I tried to wrestle my thoughts into words. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s just… it’s over, you know? It’s just… us.”
He stiffened slightly. “Is that a bad thing?”
My chest ached. “No. You know what I mean.”
His gaze searched mine, brow slightly furrowed.
I let out a bre ath, toying with the hem of his shirt. “It’s like… I’ve spent so long stuck in fight or flight. And now there’s nothing to fight.” I paused, tilting my head. “And I really don’t feel like running either.”
“That’s a good thing, sweetheart,” he said, brushing a hand over my temple.
Silence settled between us—comfortable, warm, filled with the sound of steady breathing and the lazy drag of fingers over skin.
And that was it, wasn’t it?
For the first time, I could… be. No looking over my shoulder. No waiting for the worst. No feeling like I was one wrong move away from falling apart.
Just me. Just him. Just peace.
I’d moved out of my house. Packed what little I owned, given Katniss permanent residential status at the penthouse, and we’d made this place ours. I was back working at Sonnets and Spines, back to working my proper shifts, back to seeing Molly every day, back to something that actually felt normal.
Even if Silas did call in at least twice a day to ‘check in.’
(Twice a day, my ass—he wasn’t subtle, I could see his car outside.)
But honestly? I didn’t mind.
It didn’t feel suffocating. It didn’t feel like I was being watched. It felt… safe.
I liked it.
I liked this.
I swallowed hard, fingers curling against his chest as I met his eyes.
“I’m happy.” The words felt foreign, shaky, like I wasn’t sure if I should claim them as my own yet.
For so long, I thought happiness had to come at a price. That to feel safe meant to be trapped. That to be loved meant to endure.
And I used to hate her for that.
My fingers trailed up the delicate chain at my throat, brushing against the locket nestled at my collarbone.
I wasn’t Evelyn. And for that, I was beyond thankful.
I’d never fully grasp why she stayed. Why she let him crush her down, year after year until there was nothing left but pills and a husk of a woman. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was love. Maybe it was both.
Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
Because she was gone. Because she had let him take everything from her until she had nothing left to give. And the truth was, I’d never forgive her. Not for the way she let him hurt her. Not for the ways she let him hurt me .
But I didn’t hate her anymore. I’d been in her shoes—if only for a short amount of time. And it had broken me in ways I didn’t think were possible.
Despite that, I knew that I couldn’t carry it anymore.
I wasn’t a ch ild looking for an apology. I wasn’t waiting for answers that would never come. And if I kept holding onto that bitterness, that resentment, that ache— then it wouldn’t just be her who lost everything.
It would be me, too.
I had to let it go. Not for her. For me.
Because I’d fought too hard to crawl out of that life. Because I’d survived. Because I had something real, something good, something I never thought I’d have.
Because Silas was right there, and he’d thrown every part of himself at my feet, raw and willing, waiting for me to pick it up and accept it.
I stroked my fingers over his brow. “You’re happy too, right?”
His throat bobbed. “So fucking happy, Lilith. You have no idea.”
He wasn’t just Silas Graves. He wasn’t just the man who had haunted my every step, who had lingered just beyond my reach.
He was the man who had caught me.
The man who had carried me when I was too broken to stand, who had burned for me, almost killed for me, loved me in ways I never thought I deserved.
The man who had become my home.
And now? Now, he wasn’t just the man in the shadows.
He was mine.
Completely.
Every thread of me belonged to him, tangled in the spaces between his ribs, sewn into the very fabric of who he was.
He sighed, low and content as his eyes locked onto mine. “I love you so damn much, Lilith.”
I leaned down and pressed a slow, soft kiss to his lips.
“I love you too,” I whispered.
They say that the brain should be fully developed by the time you reach the age of twenty-five.
Well, I didn’t know who ‘they’ were.
And honestly, I didn’t even care anymore.
My grey matter hadn’t just missed the memo. It was blatantly obvious that it had developed in all the wrong ways.
But it was fine.
The wiring may have been a little faulty. The circuits definitely still flickered, and sometimes a bulb might burst—but the whole thing didn’t short out anymore.
On paper, my life still looked good—clean lines, neatly printed, easy to read.
But I’d learned that life wasn’t meant to stay inside the lines. The ink was messy, unpredictable. It smudged, bled, and sometimes rewrote the story in ways that were never expected.
And my ink? It still spilled, still stained—but now, I knew it didn’t ruin everything it touched.
Sometimes, it just asked me to let go, to stop fighting—to let it ruin me gently .