Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Silas
I should've been near that coffee shop.
Anthea told me she was meeting Julian, said it was business. I played it cool, acted like a goddamn gentleman, but really? I'd already planned to tail her, to hear every single word they said.
That lawyer better pray he didn't say anything he shouldn't.
But Marcus's call threw everything off.
"Pakhan, our guys got ambushed on Tomaso's turf. We lost a dozen men."
A dozen? This was planned. That old bastard Tomaso!
I had to drop the plan to follow Anthea and get to headquarters to send reinforcements. By the time I finally finished dealing with it all, lunch was long over. My phone showed Anthea's location at the manor—she and the lawyer were done talking. I drove straight to the manor.
But when I got home, I didn't find Anthea and Olei waiting for me.
I found her trying to leave with Olei—she'd discovered I'd broken into her apartment and violated her.
So I took all her communication devices.
I had the guards seal the manor tight. Not even a fly could get out.
I knew this would only make her hate me more, but I had no choice.
I couldn't lose her. Not again.
The first couple days, Anthea seemed okay. Maybe she thought I wouldn't really keep her locked up forever, that she still had hope I'd let her go in a few days. Maybe it was just because Olei was there and she didn't want him to worry.
That afternoon, I came downstairs and saw her and Olei sitting on the carpet building with blocks. Her expression was soft as usual, her tone bright like always. I stopped, afraid to disturb their peace.
"Mommy, look, does this go here?" Olei held up a blue block, his little face full of expectation.
Anthea took the block and studied it carefully.
"Let me think..." She drew out the words, finger tapping her chin. "If we put it here, won't the castle tip over?"
"No, it won't!" Olei said urgently. "I calculated it—this is the most stable spot!"
"Oh? Our little architect calculated it?" Anthea raised an eyebrow, her eyes full of affection. "Then I believe you."
She handed the block back to Olei and watched him carefully place it on the castle. The block stood firm. Olei clapped his hands excitedly.
"Success! Mommy, look!" The little guy beamed with pride.
Anthea laughed, that smile so warm it was like spring sunshine, making me almost forget she was here because I'd imprisoned her.
"Wow, that's amazing!" Anthea ruffled Olei's hair, praise flowing freely. "My son's a genius!"
Olei's face flushed red, but he still tried to look modest, carefully controlling the curve of his lips.
"Mommy, will you build blocks with me every day?" Olei leaned into Anthea's arms.
Anthea's smile froze for a moment, but she quickly covered it. "Yes, Mommy will be with you every day."
Just then, the electronic watch on Olei's wrist beeped. He looked down, his little face scrunching up. "Mommy, I have to go study."
"Go ahead, baby." Anthea patted his back.
Olei climbed out of Anthea's arms and ran upstairs. When he passed me, he stopped and called out, "Daddy."
His tone still carried the happiness from moments before.
I nodded, watching his small figure disappear around the staircase. When his footsteps faded completely, the temperature in the living room dropped several degrees. I turned back to see Anthea already standing, her smile completely gone.
"How long are you planning to keep me locked up?" she asked coldly, those eyes that had been so gentle now capable of freezing everything.
My heart ached. I'd only heard her use that cold tone when we first reunited.
I met her gaze, my voice hard. "If you still want to leave, then forever."
She stared at me for a long time. I thought she'd say something—beg me to let her go, or curse me out. But she said nothing. She just walked past me and went upstairs to her room. The door slammed shut like a loud slap across my face.
That night, she refused to eat, didn't touch the steak on the table.
After Olei finished dinner, she told him she was going to rest in her room, no interaction with me at all.
Maybe she just didn't like tonight's steak?
I told myself, since the meat wasn't tender enough and the seasoning wasn't great.
But that was just the beginning. Anthea locked herself in her room. Breakfast, lunch, dinner were sent in and came back untouched. The next two days, she didn't even drink water. Fear wrapped around my heart. I knew this was her way of protesting.
That evening, I put on an apron and went into the kitchen. I had to do something to break this standoff.
I opened the fridge, pulled out the ingredients, planning to make cream of mushroom soup.
I washed and sliced the mushrooms and onions, then sautéed them in melted butter.
A familiar aroma immediately filled the air.
After adding cream and milk, the soup gradually thickened.
When seasoning, I followed Anthea's taste—the right amount of black pepper and salt, no parsley that made her nauseous.
The food sat in a deep ceramic bowl, the creamy white soup steaming, smelling delicious.
But the anxiety in my chest didn't ease—what if she still wouldn't eat? I carried the tray to her room. I knocked a few times with one hand. No response, as expected. I pulled out the spare key and unlocked the door.
The room was pitch black. She hadn't turned on the lights. The curtains blocked out all outside light.
"I'm turning on the light, Anthea," I said, afraid her eyes would be hurt after adjusting to the darkness.
She didn't speak. I waited five seconds in silence, then turned on the softest setting. The moment the light came on, I saw her curled up on the bed, back to the door, her form even thinner than two days ago.
"Get out." Her voice was hoarse and weak, but determined.
I walked straight to the bed and set the tray on the nightstand, the creamy smell filling the room.
"You have to eat, Anthea. It's been two days." I tried to make my voice sound gentle to hide my panic. "I made your favorite cream of mushroom soup. Have some while it's hot?"
"I'm not hungry." She still had her back to me, like even looking at me was too much.
"You want to starve yourself?" My voice came out lower than I'd intended.
Just thinking about her hurting her own body to get away from me made me feel suffocated with rage and pain.
She didn't answer. Silence spread between us.
"If I let you go," I sighed, forcing the words out, "where would you go?"
"Anywhere, as long as it's far from you." She finally turned around, the words cutting me almost instantly.
I looked down at her eyes. She looked at me like I was her enemy. Bitterness spread across my tongue.
"If you don't eat, you won't make it." I sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
She dodged my touch, her eyes full of disgust. "If I die, would that free me from you?"
Those words were like a sharp knife stabbing into the softest part of my chest.
"You want to leave me that badly? Even if it means dying?" My throat felt blocked, every word coming out with pain.
"You forced me to this, Silas!" she shouted, her voice sharp and piercing. "As long as I'm alive, I won't stop trying to escape you. Unless you kill me right now, don't expect me to eat a single bite of your food!"
"Since you won't eat on your own, I'll help you." The determination in her eyes completely ignited the madness I'd been suppressing.
I picked up the bowl and took a mouthful of the hot soup. The warm liquid filled my mouth, carrying the fresh taste of mushrooms and the sweetness of cream. I set down the bowl and leaned over her.
Her eyes widened in horror as she realized what I was going to do.
"Silas, you—"
Before she could finish, my hand was already gripping her chin. She struggled to push me away, but after two days without food, she was too weak. My lips covered hers, forcefully prying open her clenched teeth, pushing the soup into her mouth.
She made muffled sounds of protest in her throat, trying to turn her head away.
I held the back of her head, not letting her escape, until I was sure she'd swallowed that mouthful.
The moment my lips left hers, her face twisted.
She pushed me away and bent over dry heaving, like she wanted to vomit out her organs.
I instinctively reached out to rub her back, but her next words stopped my hand mid-air.
"Don't touch me!" She backed away, voice cold. "See, Silas? Your touch makes me sick."
"You're lying." My voice was tight, eyes fixed on her every expression. "Your body doesn't say that. Every time I fuck you, you bite down on me so eagerly. Your body's way more honest than you are, Anthea."
Her face changed, disgust and rage nearly spilling from her eyes.
"Let me prove it to you." I kissed her again.
This time, she bit me. Her teeth sank into my lower lip, the taste of blood spreading between our tangled breaths.
I held the back of her head, deepening the kiss, my tongue forcefully exploring her mouth.
She tried to bite again, but I'd learned—I used my tongue to pin hers down so she couldn't get leverage.
My tongue swept every inch of her mouth, chasing her retreating tongue.
Her hands pressed against my chest, desperately trying to push me away. I gripped the back of her neck, giving her no escape. I felt her trembling in my arms, but I couldn't tell if it was anger or fear.
Finally, I released her. She gasped for breath, eyes red.
"You don't want me?" A fire burned in my chest. "Let's see what your body says."
I ignored her struggles, my fingers moving between her legs. But I found only dryness. She had no reaction to my touch at all. Impossible. Every other time I touched her, she'd be soaked, making those sounds in my ear that drove me crazy.
"See?" she said mockingly, her eyes ice cold.
I didn't believe it. I fucking didn't believe it. I bent down, spreading her legs. She struggled to close them, but I held her knees apart. I buried my face between her thighs, my lips wrapping around her soft folds, my tongue gently licking her most sensitive spot.
Her body went rigid. I worked harder to please her, my tongue circling her clit, sometimes gently sucking, sometimes flicking rapidly with the tip of my tongue. I used every technique I'd ever used to make her scream, to make her beg.
But her body was like a statue, no response.
I refused to give up, speeding up my tongue.
I slipped a finger inside her, searching for that sensitive spot that drove her wild.
After a while, my saliva covered her, but she still hadn't produced any wetness.
Until one hard suck made her clench around my head.
Then I felt moisture, with her signature sweet scent.
Joy surged through me. I lifted my head to tell her—she was wet for me—but she threw up.
Warm liquid splashed on my face, in my hair. I froze. She'd barely eaten anything today, so all that came up was stomach acid. The smell wasn't strong, but it still hurt.
She looked down at me, her merciless gaze making my eyes sting.
"I told you." Her voice was hoarse, weak from vomiting. "You make me sick."
I stumbled backward, falling and getting up several times. She meant it. She really was... disgusted by my touch.
I don't know how I left that room. I only remember the hallway was long and dark, my steps unsteady.
The days that followed became a long torture.
Anthea got frighteningly thin, her eye sockets sunken, cheekbones protruding. She spent most of her time lying in bed staring blankly, her eyes empty like she'd lost her soul. When Olei came to see her, she'd force out a smile, but that smile was so pale it broke your heart.
One afternoon, I walked into her room again. She lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, no reaction to my arrival.
"Anthea." I stood by her bed, my voice tired like all my strength had been drained. "Tell me what you want. Anything except leaving, I'll give you."
For a long time, she didn't answer. The room was so quiet I could only hear my own heartbeat, one beat after another, slamming painfully against my ribs.
Then she spoke.
"I want you dead." She turned to look at me, her voice flat.
Those eyes that used to be so bright were now dull and lifeless, like all life had burned out. My stomach twisted painfully. Outside the window, the sunset was sinking, orange-red light slanting in, casting shadows on her pale face. She looked at me quietly, waiting for my reaction.
I lowered my head and pulled the gun from my waist. Anthea's eyes widened slightly. Clearly, she hadn't expected this response.
I walked to the bed, bent down, and pressed the gun handle into her hand.
"Here." My voice was strangely calm. "I'll teach you."
"You—"
She couldn't finish that sentence.
I gripped her hand along with the gun, pressing the barrel against my chest. Right over my heart. Through my shirt, I could even feel the cold, hard touch of the barrel.
"Just pull the trigger." I looked down into her eyes, my voice soft. "Simple, isn't it?"
Her hand was shaking, the trembling traveling through the gun to my chest.
"Do it, Anthea." I leaned down, my forehead almost touching hers. "Kill me."
"You think..." Her voice distorted. "You think I won't?"
"I know you will. You hate me." My voice carried a sigh. "Kill me, and you're free."
Her breathing got faster, her chest heaving violently. Finally, she closed her eyes. Tears flooded out.
Her finger rested on the trigger. I watched her press down. I smiled, accepting this ending.
At the last moment, she opened her eyes and jerked her hand aside. The gun fired. The bullet tore into my left abdomen, bringing searing pain. I grunted, my body swaying. Blood seeped from the wound, quickly staining my shirt red.
But I laughed.
"You couldn't do it, Anthea." I looked at her, almost manic. "You care about me. You still love me."
Anthea stared at me blankly, the gun falling from her hand onto the bed.
"I just..." Her voice was trembling and broken. "I just don't want Olei to lose his father."
I heard the vulnerability in her voice. The lie.
Pain from the wound came in waves, but all I felt was a strange relief. She didn't kill me. She couldn't do it. That was enough. That was hope.