Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Anthea
The bus jolted down the morning streets, the cabin packed and loud with the kind of real, messy chaos I'd spent six years building into my normal life. But now it was all threatening to crumble because of one man.
"Morning, Julian." I pressed my phone to my ear, keeping my voice low. "You got a minute?"
"Morning, Anthea."
Something was off. Julian's usually bright voice sounded rough, scraped raw.
I frowned. He'd been fine last night.
"You sound weird. You coming down with something?"
"Uh—yeah," he choked, followed by a series of wet, heavy coughs and a sharp inhale. "Bad cold. This shitty weather—throat's been killing me since I got home."
"You need rest, Julian. We can talk later if you're not up for it."
"No, no. I'm fine, Anthea." His tone turned urgent. "So what's going on?"
I bit my lip. The decision was already made. Silas showing up had dropped a stone in my gut, but I couldn't ignore reality anymore. I was a teacher now. I had a steady income. And thanks to living like a monk, I'd saved a decent chunk of money. I could give Olei a good life.
"Julian, I need to tell you something. Silas—the guy from last night—we were together before. Olei is my biological son."
Silence.
It stretched so long I thought the call had dropped.
When Julian finally spoke again, his voice was even stranger.
"What? You two—that kid is yours?"
A sharp intake of breath.
"Yeah. Six years ago, we... we split. I wasn't part of Olei's life. But now I've got some financial stability, and I want custody. I know it's a long shot, but I can't live without Olei. And Silas won't let me stay in his life."
Julian went quiet for a few seconds.
"You sure about this, Anthea?" His tone was heavy. "I just looked up Silas Thorne. He runs the Thorne Group. Power like that—your odds are brutal."
I already knew what he'd say. I stared out the window at the buildings blurring past. "I know. But I have to try. And if you can't help me, I get it."
Anyone with half a brain knew what going up against the Thorne Group meant.
"Alright." Julian sighed, his voice dry. "I'll figure something out. Don't worry. I'll reach out to my mentor, see if there's an angle we can work."
"Julian, you sure you're okay? You really sound terrible."
"Just a cold. Don't worry about me." He forced a laugh. "Stay in touch."
"Thank you, Julian."
I hung up and sagged against the seat. Whatever happened, I had to keep it together.
The bus stopped near the school. I fixed my expression and followed the crowd off. Cold wind sliced into my collar, making me shiver. Inside the building, the hallway buzzed with students' laughter and chatter. My lips curved up on their own.
The second I pushed open the office door, a wave of heavy floral scent hit me.
"Well, well, look who's here!" Sarah's voice rang out dramatically. "Our very own Ms. Carter—star of the day."
Sarah taught art—short hair, gossip fiend, but good-hearted. She leaned against my desk, coffee in hand, grinning like a cat.
"What's going on?" I frowned.
She winked and stepped aside, revealing my desk.
I froze.
A massive bouquet of white dahlias sat there, hogging every spare inch of space. The blooms were huge, petals glistening with droplets like they'd just been plucked from a garden, glowing like pearls in the morning light.
"Anthea Carter, spill." Sarah elbowed me, eyes glittering with envy. "When did you snag a mysterious, romantic admirer? These are fresh. And way bigger than normal dahlias."
I didn't answer. Just stared at the flowers.
I knew exactly who sent them.
"Some people seem to have forgotten this is a school, not a bar." A sharp, bitter voice cut from the corner.
I didn't need to turn around. Marcus. Gym teacher. Mid-thirties, full of himself, still single. I'd politely turned down his dinner invite when I first started, and he'd held a grudge ever since, taking every chance to tear me down.
He sat there spinning a whistle between his fingers, eyes flicking between me and the flowers with contempt.
"This kind of display? Bet she's hooking up with some student's rich daddy." He let out a harsh laugh. "These young female teachers—all sweet and innocent on the surface, who knows what they're really doing behind the scenes."
The office went dead silent. The other teachers who'd been watching us suddenly found their papers very interesting.
"Hey! Marcus, what the hell?" Sarah bristled. "Everyone saw how you drooled over Anthea the first day. Can't get a date so you trash-talk her? That's just jealousy."
"Jealous?" Marcus looked like he'd heard a joke, his face smug and punchable. "I'm just stating facts. New teacher shows up, gets a giant bouquet within days. Who knows what she's been up to?"
My face burned. Humiliation made my fingertips shake.
"Marcus, if you spent half the time you waste spreading rumors actually working on your lesson plans, maybe our class wouldn't have come in dead last on the fitness test."
I met his eyes head-on.
I'd spent my free time learning about my coworkers, trying to fit in here, in this office. Never thought that info would come in handy like this.
Marcus's face turned purple.
I walked to my desk and pulled a pink card from the center of the bouquet. No signature. Just one line in sharp, forceful handwriting:
"Hope you have a beautiful day."
Silas's handwriting. Of course.
My fingers tightened, then released.
"I ordered these for myself." I turned to face Marcus, expression flat. "New job, new school—I'm treating myself to flowers I like. Got a problem with that? If you're that into them, I can give you the florist's number. You can order a bouquet for that girlfriend you don't have."
Sarah clapped. "Damn right, honey."
Marcus's face went liver-colored. He grabbed his whistle and stormed out.
The tension eased slightly. Sarah patted my shoulder. "Ignore that asshole. But... did you really order these yourself?"
She winked. Clearly didn't believe me.
"Of course." I lied, slipping the card into my pocket. "Class is starting soon. I need to prep."
I looked at the bouquet, already plotting how to get rid of it.
After morning classes, I gathered my things and planned to take Olei out for lunch.
"Olei," I held his small hand as we reached the school gate, "what do you want to eat? Anything you want. My treat."
"Really?" He looked up, eyes bright.
"Absolutely." Seeing his excitement made me smile.
I was about to text Silas—he was Olei's guardian, after all—when a black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of us.
"That's Daddy's car," Olei said quietly.
I stopped.
The door opened. A bodyguard in a black suit stepped out and nodded politely.
"Ms. Carter, the boss requests you and Olei get in."
Teachers and parents nearby started whispering, glancing over with a mix of awe and curiosity.
"Can we not?" I frowned at him.
He didn't answer. Sunglasses hid his expression. But I knew—damn it, I had no choice.
"Come on, Olei." I gripped his hand and forced myself toward the car.
I ducked inside, letting Olei sit between me and Silas. Once settled, Olei called Silas "Daddy."
The door shut. Noise cut off. In the enclosed space, my senses sharpened. Everything smelled like cedarwood. A gaze locked onto me, like a fine net tracing me from head to toe.
My heartbeat went erratic. I didn't need to turn. I knew Silas was watching me. Even sitting, his massive frame—well over six feet—radiated pressure.
"Why'd you make me get in?" I kept my eyes forward.
"I want to take you and Olei to lunch." Silas's tone carried an infuriating sense of entitlement.
"I don't need—"
I just wanted distance from this man.
"Anthea." He cut me off, voice low. "You can take Olei out. Take him off campus for lunch. But I have to be there."
I froze. Turned to look at him.
I'd expected him to block me from Olei, to use every trick to drive me away. But instead, he was saying I could take Olei out?
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're Olei's... teacher." He pivoted, but I knew what he meant. "You can spend time with him whenever you want. But until I'm sure you won't take him and run, I'm sticking with you."
I stared at his face, searching that hard mask for a crack. But his expression was too calm, too accommodating—like he was stating the most ordinary fact in the world.
Olei sat between us, little head swiveling, watching us curiously.
"Daddy," he ventured carefully, "where are we eating?"
"What do you want?" Silas's voice softened as he looked down.
"I..." Olei snuck a glance at me. "I want to go to that family restaurant you took me to last time."
My heart squeezed. Silas took Olei to family restaurants? Just the two of them?
Silas looked at me, waiting for approval.
I nodded numbly, disbelief washing over me.
"The same family restaurant as last time," Silas told the bodyguard-driver.
The car pulled smoothly away from the school. I watched the scenery blur past, mind spinning.
This man—cold, ruthless, the one who'd treated me like a tool—was backing down. Why?
Thirty minutes later, I sat in a restaurant covered in green dinosaur decorations, taking it all in.
Silas, in a suit worth several years of an average person's salary, sat expressionless in a dinosaur booth, his cold presence clashing hard with the cheerful surroundings.
Olei sat obediently, poking his finger into a toy dinosaur's mouth, eyes squeezed shut in nervous anticipation as he pressed a tooth, waiting for the jaws to snap.
Watching Olei so happy filled my chest with something sweet and warm.
"Are the dinosaur parents ready to hunt for their baby dino?" The server handed us menus, voice bright and playful.
Olei giggled. Silas's mouth curved into a clear smile.
I just felt awkward. We weren't really a family. At least, not in my eyes.
But I didn't want to disappoint Olei, so I didn't correct the server. I took the menu instead. Flipped through it, but couldn't focus. Because Silas's gaze stayed on me, heavy and tangible.
"Besides getting over your parsley thing, your tastes change at all?" His voice broke the silence.
My heart clenched. That was the lie I'd thrown at him out of spite. But this time I didn't lie. I said no.
He took the menu and started ordering. I listened as he rattled off dish after dish—all things Olei and I loved. He remembered we were both allergic to peanuts, carefully confirming ingredients with the server.
The food came. Olei happily slurped his creamy mushroom soup, getting some on his mouth. Silas reached for a napkin to wipe it, but Olei dodged.
"Daddy, I can do it myself." He looked a little embarrassed. "I'm big now. I'm in first grade. Not a baby."
He glanced at me, like he didn't want to make a bad impression.
Silas's hand froze mid-air. For a second, I saw shock and helplessness flicker in his eyes.
"Sorry, Olei." He lowered the napkin, pausing. "These past few years, raising you alone... I haven't really understood what you need."
He dropped his gaze, looking so lost it caught me off guard.
He'd raised Olei alone these past few years? What about Vanessa? She was Olei's mother on paper—wouldn't she help?
The questions almost burst out, but I swallowed them.
I didn't want to pry into his family business. Didn't want to show I cared about his life. I only cared if Olei was okay. That was it.
I looked away and focused on my plate.
Then I felt something brush my leg under the table. Warm. Solid.
I went rigid. Silas's knee.
Instinctively, I looked up. He was peeling shrimp for Olei, totally focused. Sensing my stare, he glanced over.
"What?"
"Nothing." I shook my head.
Probably an accident. The booth was tight, his legs were long—bound to bump into me.
I went back to eating.
Then his knee slowly dragged along the outside of my calf, a teasing, deliberate stroke.
A current shot straight to my scalp.
"Anthea?" He'd stopped peeling shrimp, staring at me now. "You're blushing."
"...I ate too fast. I'm hot." I grabbed my water and chugged.
The icy liquid slid down, cooling me slightly. I tried to pull my leg back, but his legs trapped mine. Couldn't move.
Now he wasn't calm anymore. His eyes churned with that familiar, dangerous storm.
This time, it was definitely on purpose.
I glared at him and kicked under the table. He raised an eyebrow, reached down, and caught my ankle. The touch burned. His thumb rubbed slow circles on the sensitive skin inside my ankle. Once. Twice.
"Let go," I mouthed silently.
We were in public. Olei was right there.
He looked at me and mouthed back, "Never."
The restaurant's cheerful kids' song played on. Olei happily munched his peeled shrimp.
And under the tablecloth, Silas and I were locked in a silent war.