Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Silas
"Anthea's dead." Vanessa's voice dripped with manufactured grief.
I sat on the couch, cradling my week-old son, didn't even glance up. Here we go again. I sneered inwardly.
This woman loved her performances—just like when she'd thrown herself into the lake and pinned it on Anthea. Pathetic. Boring. But I didn't mind playing along. Right now, with the merger on the line, she still had her uses.
My eyes stayed on the tiny thing in my arms. I'd just gotten back to the manor this morning when I met Olei. Yes, Olei—Anthea's choice. A week old and impossibly small, wrapped in his blanket, light as a handful of clouds. My finger brushed his soft cheek. He stared up at me with wide amber eyes.
Christ. He had Anthea's eyes.
"Silas." When I didn't respond, Vanessa sharpened her tone and thrust a black box at me. "Anthea died from postpartum hemorrhage. I'm so sorry. These are her ashes."
I finally looked up, my gaze sweeping over the box. This spoiled cartel princess would pull any stunt to secure her position as the future Mrs. Thorne.
"That's not something to joke about," I said, frowning.
Absurd. Two weeks ago, when I'd left the manor to deal with Tomaso's mess, Anthea had been in my bed, watching me with those wet eyes. How could she be dead? Without my permission, Anthea couldn't even leave my bed, let alone die.
This bitch had picked up on my... thing with Anthea, so she'd cooked up this scheme to make me think Anthea was gone. Make me give up, be her devoted husband? Bullshit.
I stood, baby in one arm, took the fake urn with my other hand. Without hesitation, as Vanessa watched in shock, I tossed it into the corner trash can.
The box hit the metal rim.
"Keep your bad luck charm away from me," I told Vanessa. "And drop the grief act. You got what you wanted, didn't you? The baby."
Anthea was under my men's watch. Apart from news of the birth, I'd received no unusual reports. So if Anthea wasn't at the manor, my father had hidden her somewhere. I'd have my people find her soon enough.
Something flickered in Vanessa's eyes, then her face relaxed into a smile. "You're right, darling. I thought you might care about her, express some regret about her death. She was the child's birth mother, after all."
I did care about Anthea. When Anthea smiled at my guards in a way she'd never smiled at me, I knew I fucking cared. I wanted her in a way I'd never wanted anything.
But I could only marry Vanessa. For my ambition. My family. My power.
Didn't matter. I'd keep Anthea on the side, make her my mistress. I'd buy her a house in my territory, make sure she looked at no one but me, spread her legs for no one but me. Would she hate me? Maybe. But I knew she couldn't leave me.
"In that case... should we sit down with both families in a few days? Discuss the engagement date? My father keeps asking." When I stayed silent, Vanessa smiled sweetly and slipped her arm through mine.
I didn't pull away. Instead, I softened my voice. "Of course. Vanessa, you'll be the lady of the Thorne family. Don't let trivial matters upset you."
I had to let Vanessa think she'd won. Had to convince her and my father I'd completely severed ties with Anthea. Once Vanessa and I married, she'd get nothing but titles—fiancée, wife, lady of the Thorne family. No real connection between us. And her family would be mine.
"Good. Then I'll go tell my father the good news." Vanessa kissed my cheek. She glanced at the trash can, then turned and clicked away on her heels.
The moment the door closed, my mask shattered.
"Idiot," I muttered, eyes cold.
Olei, maybe sensing the violence rolling off me, suddenly wailed. I forced down my irritation, carefully handed the baby to the nanny hovering in the corner.
"Take him. Look after him."
The nanny took the child like her life depended on it and fled.
I turned back to my desk, hit the phone.
"Marco, find out where Vanessa and my father stashed Anthea. That woman thinks a fake urn can fool me? Pathetic."
After hanging up, I grabbed the files on my desk and tried to tackle two weeks of backlog. But the black text twisted on the pages. I couldn't focus. I tossed the files down, leaned back, my gaze drifting to the window.
The back garden glowed in the sunlight. My eyes swept over that flat patch of earth—where Anthea's white dahlias used to grow. She'd pick one or two, put them in a glass in our bedroom.
Last month, I'd ordered the whole bed ripped out because Vanessa claimed allergies. I remembered Anthea's face watching those dahlias destroyed. Devastated. Helpless. But she'd said nothing to me. Not even about the burn on her hand.
My chest tightened. I told myself those were necessary sacrifices. Once Vanessa and I were married, I'd plant Anthea's new garden full of white dahlias. I'd learn to care for her. She could decorate however she wanted.
But what if I couldn't find her? I tried to shake the thought, but it burrowed deeper.
The study was so quiet I could hear the clock ticking. I'd never known waiting felt like this—like something slowly tightening around my stomach. Marco was my best man. He never dragged his feet. But now, over half an hour had passed with no word.
I rubbed my temples hard, forced myself to look at the files. Useless. The dread kept building. I picked up my phone, put it down. No calls. No messages. For the first time in my life, I tasted real anxiety.
An hour later, the phone finally rang.
"Boss..." Marco's voice carried a hesitation and weight I didn't like. "Found her."
"Which safe house? Or has she left the country?" I crushed down the unease and twirled a pen in my hand.
"No." Marco seemed to be swallowing hard.
"We pulled the manor's recent surveillance.
Miss Carter never left. We questioned the medical team.
Their stories matched. They all said Miss Carter died at 3:42 a.m. a week ago from postpartum hemorrhage.
And... we verified Miss Carter's death certificate is real. "
Crack. The pen in my hand snapped in half, ink spattering across my palm.
"Lying. How much did Vanessa pay the medical team to spin this story?" I asked coldly. "A million? Five million? Or did she threaten their families?"
"If it's fake, the cost would be too high, Boss," Marco said quietly.
Ringing filled my ears, but I ignored it. Anthea wasn't dead. This was just Vanessa and my father's game.
"Check again!" I roared into the phone, fear I refused to acknowledge rising in my chest. "Check that goddamn death certificate, check what Vanessa's been doing this past week!"
I didn't wait for Marco's answer. Hung up. Anthea had spent her entire pregnancy at the manor. The doctors all said she was healthy. She couldn't just die like this.
Half an hour later, the second call came. Same result. Every lead, every piece of evidence pointed to Anthea being dead. No conspiracy. Just death.
The phone slipped from my hand and clattered on the desk. I sat motionless, violent heartbeat pounding in my ears. Then my gaze, as if pulled by something, slowly moved to the corner trash can.
That black box I'd thrown away with my own hands. No. Impossible. How could it be her? That warm, soft, lively woman—how could she become a box of cold ash?
"They're all lying," I whispered.
But my body lurched toward the trash can anyway. My legs buckled. I dropped to my knees. I reached into the can, trembling, pulled the urn from the pile of waste paper. It was light. Terrifyingly light. Was this Anthea?
Devastating pain drilled into my chest, worse than any bullet or knife wound I'd ever taken.
"Anthea." I cradled the box in both hands. "No. Don't fucking do this to me."
I tried to open it, but my fingers shook too badly. Finally got the lid off. Inside was just a bag of gray-white powder. No warmth. No breath.
Every memory of Anthea crashed over me, drowning me.
Valentine's night, she'd worn that ridiculous, sexy lingerie and seduced me, blushing like she was on fire.
I'd given her a ring. She'd been disappointed when her swollen fingers couldn't wear it, but when I hung it around her neck, her eyes had lit up.
And when I promised she'd always be the child's mother, those beautiful, wet eyes.
I'd never see any of it again?
"No... impossible." My throat felt blocked by stones.
All along, I'd treated Anthea like a useful tool, an object to manipulate. I thought no matter how I treated her, she'd be there waiting. But I was wrong. She was never coming back.
I clutched Anthea's urn tight. Hot liquid spilled from my eyes, dripping onto the box. I didn't want to cry, but the tears defied me. The moment I lost Anthea, I realized—I didn't just want to possess her. I'd fallen in love with her without even knowing when.
And what the fuck had I done to her? Not only had I ignored the abuse she suffered while alive, I'd thrown her ashes in the trash after she died. I lowered my head, kissed the box again and again, tasted despair.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."
I apologized for my ambition and my coldness.
"I hurt you the most, Anthea."
Not Vanessa. Not anyone else. Me.
My gaze fell on the bottom drawer of my desk. I stood with the urn, walked to the desk. Inside was a Colt revolver—the one my father had given me at my mother's funeral when I was eight.
"Thorne men don't need tears. Only bullets," he'd said.
I picked it up. The grip felt familiar, calming. I thought of the rainy night my mother died. She'd lain in a pool of blood while my father stood nearby, face blank.
"She betrayed the family," was all he'd said.
Fear had choked my tears. After that, to survive, I'd become the same monster as my father—cold, ruthless, living only for power. I thought my heart would never beat for anything again.
But Anthea appeared. My father's purchase, a surrogate from a bankrupt middle-class family. First time I saw her at the manor, she wore a white knee-length dress, blonde hair blazing, like a fallen angel. Her eyes were the cleanest amber I'd ever seen. Beautiful. Pure.
"I know I was bought by you," she'd said, chin lifted, voice trembling but every word clear. "I'll fulfill my duties."
So strange. This woman, a head shorter than me, dared to look me in the eye like that. My men didn't even breathe loudly around me.
When did I start looking forward to coming back to the manor? When did I start drifting during negotiations, wondering what Anthea was doing?
I didn't know. I only knew that after she appeared, everything changed. I wasn't myself anymore. I should've realized my feelings earlier, told her I loved her, that I'd protect her. But all I ever did was hurt her.
Cold steel pressed against my temple. I closed my eyes, finger on the trigger, applied slight pressure. Just once. All the pain, all the regret would end. I could find Anthea in hell, kneel before her, beg her forgiveness.
Anthea's smiling face floated through my mind.
Then—
"Waaah—" A piercing cry rang out.
My finger froze. A baby's cry. That was... Olei's cry. The crying grew louder, full of distress and need. The child Anthea had traded her life for. If I died, what happened to him? Would my enemies spare him? What would my father and Vanessa teach him?
"Damn it... damn it!" I hurled the gun at the wall, gasping for air. I couldn't die. I had no right to die. This child was what Anthea had saved with her life.
I set the urn gently on the desk, then staggered out of the study.
"What's going on?" I shoved open the nursery door.
The nanny stood at the formula station, mixing powder. At my voice, she jumped, nearly dropping everything. She rushed to explain. "S-sir... the baby just woke hungry. I'm making his bottle. Just a few more minutes."
I nodded. I had no experience with this. I walked to the crib, looked down at the tiny thing. He was crying, face red, little hands waving helplessly in the air. My chest ached. I reached down and lifted Olei up. He cried harder.
"Don't cry." I patted his back awkwardly. "Olei. I'm your father."
I used a gentle tone I'd never used before, patient. The tiny thing in my arms slowly stopped crying. He stared at me with those tear-filled amber eyes.
God. Exactly like Anthea's look.
Pain crashed over me again, but this time it carried something heavy. Responsibility.
"I'll love you for your mother," I buried my face in the baby's soft blanket. "I'll take care of you. Watch you grow up."
That night, after Olei ate and slept, I sat by the nursery until dawn.
The next day, I had Anthea's ashes made into a pendant and wore it close to my heart.
One month later.
The ballroom blazed with light, crystal chandeliers scattering brilliant reflections, champagne towers stacked high, air thick with expensive perfume and fake laughter.
I wore a perfectly tailored black suit and stood beside Vanessa. She clung to my arm, accepting guests' congratulations, face glowing with sweet smiles.
"See? Everyone says we're perfect together," she whispered in my ear, breath hot against my skin.
"Yeah," I turned to look at her, replied softly. "Perfect. Like we're heading to hell together."
Vanessa thought I was flirting, giggled, and tapped my chest. Later, she drifted off to socialize with the other women. I grabbed a vodka from a passing tray and headed for a corner of the ballroom.
Pavel approached. He studied me, that scar cutting across his cheek twisting as he frowned.
"Bro," he said, looking me up and down, eyes landing on my hair. He sighed. "You look like hell."
I drained the liquor in one shot. Said nothing.
"How'd you get so much gray hair all of a sudden? You've lost weight..." Pavel paused, searching for words. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said flatly.
"Don't bullshit me, Silas." Pavel gripped my shoulder, voice unusually serious. "I know Anthea's death hit you hard. I'm sorry too. She was a good girl. But she's... you still have Olei. You have the whole family. You need to move forward."
My hand unconsciously touched the pendant holding Anthea.
"Pavel. If you lost the most important part of your life, could you move forward?" I asked quietly.
Pavel stared at me, speechless.
"I can't," I said, fingers tracing Anthea's name engraved on the pendant. "And I'm not planning to."
I set my glass on the table, face settling back into blankness.
"Come on," I told Pavel. "Vanessa's waiting for the first dance. The show must go on."
I walked into the glittering crowd, toward Vanessa, thinking only of making everyone who'd hurt Anthea pay.