Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Silas
I left Anthea's room clutching the ceramic shard, its edge slicing through my palm. My hand was a bloody mess. But compared to the pain in my chest, it was nothing.
I couldn't stop seeing it—the moment she picked up that shard on the monitor. My heart had damn near stopped. When I burst through the door, she'd been seconds away from pressing it to the vein in her wrist. Like living or dying didn't matter anymore. Like it was all the same to her.
Fuck. I'd die for her. A thousand times over. But I couldn't watch her die.
What the hell was I supposed to do? I thought I could control anything. But I couldn't control her.
If I kept her here, all I'd end up with was her corpse. But if I let her go, we were done. She already hated me.
I wrapped my hand and drove to Pavel's club. Before nine, I was in a booth with bottles of whiskey lined up on the table. Pavel slid in across from me, his scarred face unusually serious.
"You look like shit," he said, frowning.
"Thanks."
I poured myself a drink and threw it back. The burn down my throat did nothing for the knot in my chest.
"Talk," Pavel said, lighting a cigarette. "You didn't drag me out here to watch you drink alone."
I sat quietly for a long time. Then I told him everything.
Installing cameras in Anthea's apartment.
Her finding the tapes. Me locking her up.
Her refusing food. Flinching from my touch.
Holding a gun to my chest, then jerking it away at the last second.
Tonight—trying to open her wrist with a piece of porcelain. Begging me to let her go.
Pavel exhaled a long stream of smoke.
"Christ. You really fucked this up to a whole new level." He looked at me like I'd lost my mind.
"I know."
"No. You don't." He crushed out his cigarette and leaned forward. "Silas, listen. I've known you for over a decade. Since you were still a cold-blooded bastard. I know you love her. But what you're doing? That's not love. That's possession. Control. You're fucking sick."
He shook his head.
"I told you to ease up. What'd you expect? Any normal person would try to run."
My fingers tightened around the glass. The fresh bandage on my hand seeped red.
"You think I want this? I can't stop. When I think about her leaving, when I think about her with someone else, I—"
I didn't finish. I couldn't stand the thought of having her again, only to lose her.
"You lose your mind," Pavel finished for me. He poured himself a drink. "But look at what you've done to her. You turned a living, breathing woman into that."
I closed my eyes. Anthea's hollow face floated up behind my lids. That empty look—I never wanted to see it again.
"If you really love her, let her go." Pavel's voice dropped. He stared straight at me. "You don't, and you'll both destroy each other."
"She said if I let her go, she'll run. She never wants to see me again." I opened my eyes and smiled bitterly.
"Maybe." He shrugged and sipped his drink. "But at least she'd be alive. You'd still have a chance. You don't let go, you've got nothing."
The alcohol churned through my blood, but my head stayed clear. I knew Pavel was right. But letting go—that was harder than dying.
"I don't know if I can."
"You can." Pavel stood and clapped my shoulder. "For her, you can do anything. Didn't you say that yourself?"
He left. I kept drinking. The whole bottle disappeared.
I got back to the manor before ten. After washing off the smell of whiskey and changing shirts, I headed for Olei's room.
I pushed the door open. Olei sat propped against his headboard, holding The Little Prince, reading each word carefully.
"...the little prince left his planet..." His voice was small but deliberate.
Warm lamplight softened his face. His amber eyes—just like Anthea's—stayed fixed on the page. I stood in the doorway, my throat tight. When had he learned to read chapter books by himself?
"Olei." I knocked.
He looked up, surprised. "Dad?"
"I'm here to read you a bedtime story." I walked in and sat on his bed, reaching for the book.
He didn't hand it over. He hesitated, gripping the spine.
"Dad, I know a lot of words now." He rushed to add, like he was afraid I'd be mad. "I can read bedtime stories myself. You're always busy. You don't have to anymore. Lots of kids in my class still need their parents to read, but I can finish a whole book on my own."
I looked at him. Something slammed into my chest.
He didn't need me to read to him anymore. Just like that day in the dining room when he wouldn't let me wipe his mouth. Said he was grown up now. I'd barely noticed what he actually needed. I hadn't even known when he learned to read, when he could make it through a whole book.
He'd been growing up without me noticing. Soon, he wouldn't need me to drive him to school either.
"Olei..." My voice came out rough. "That's good. You're growing up."
He puffed out his little chest, eyes bright. But the smile faded fast. He looked like a worried old man.
"Dad, Mom doesn't smile anymore." His voice filled with concern. "She stays in her room all the time. I drew her a picture, but she didn't smile when she looked at it."
His words stopped my heart.
"Can we take Mom somewhere?" His tone turned pleading. "She's sad here. Maybe she'd be happy if we went out."
I stared at him, speechless. This kid knew his mother was unhappy. So he was trying every way he could think of to fix it. My son was six years old. He shouldn't have to carry this. Everything I'd done—I wasn't just hurting Anthea. I was hurting Olei, too.
"I will... figure something out." The words barely made it out.
Olei didn't push. He looked down at The Little Prince.
"Dad, do you know why the little prince left his rose?"
I shook my head. I'd never heard the story.
"Because he didn't know how to love her." Olei studied the illustration. "He watered her every day. He protected her from the wind. But they still fought. So the little prince left. He visited lots of planets. Then he understood how to love her."
He lifted his head. His eyes were clear as glass.
"Dad, do you love Mom?"
The question drove straight into my chest. Did I really love Anthea? I thought possession was love. Control was love. Keeping her by my side forever was love. But did I even know what love was?
I thought of the way Anthea used to be. Happy, watching the white dahlias. Thrilled on the Ferris wheel under the red sky. Gentle, walking Olei into school.
She'd been so alive. So beautiful. Now she was withering. Because of me. I was destroying her.
What was real love supposed to be?
"Yes." My voice came out firm. "I love her, Olei. She's more important than my own life."
Olei nodded, like he understood.
"Then you should make Mom happy. The little prince went back to his rose. Because he learned how to love her." He smiled. "You should be happy too, Dad. When you're not happy, your face gets really scary. I'm afraid to talk to you."
I froze. Then I laughed—bitter and broken. "I know."
I reached out and touched his soft hair.
"Sleep now," I said. "Tomorrow... everything will get better."
Olei lay down obediently and set the book on his nightstand.
"Good night, Dad."
"Good night."
I turned off the light and closed the door gently.
Then I walked to my study and sat there until dawn.
Outside, the sky shifted from black to deep blue. When the first rays of sunlight broke through the clouds, I stood and walked to Anthea's room.
She probably hadn't slept all night. When I opened the door, she sat by the window with her back to me, her thin frame fragile in the morning light. She used to have curves. Glowing, honey-toned skin. Now she was so thin I could see the outline of her spine.
I did this.
"Anthea." My voice came out lighter than it ever had. "You can leave."
Her shoulders stiffened. Then she turned slowly, disbelief flooding her eyes. Like she wasn't sure she'd heard right.
"What did you say?" She searched my face.
I set her phone and bag on the table by the window.
"You can leave," I said again. "Once I deal with Tomaso and the other threats, I'll give you custody of Olei. Until then, you can see him anytime. Or take him out."
She stared at me. Then she asked, "You're serious? You'll give me custody? You won't spy on me anymore?"
"I won't. I swear. I won't force you to do anything you don't want." The words left me, and I felt something like relief wash through.
Only now did I understand what love actually was. Loving someone meant you didn't hurt them. Didn't make them suffer.
She nodded. Then something seemed to occur to her. "Call off whoever's following Julian. Tell them to stop scaring him."
My gut twisted. She was leaving, and the first thing she asked about was another man.
"Fine." I forced the word out.
Anthea grabbed her phone and bag and headed for the door without looking back.
I stood there, watching her go. Her blonde hair caught the morning light, soft and glowing.
Her thin shoulders trembled slightly. Soon her footsteps faded down the hall.
Any moment now, she'd walk out the front door, get in a car, and drive away.
My chest felt hollow. Like my heart had been carved out.
That day, I led my crew to Tomaso's headquarters and painted it red. Gunfire. Screaming. Blood. All familiar.
The flashbang shattered the window. I kicked the door open and charged in first.
Gunfire erupted. Tomaso's men scrambled, but they were fast. Guards dove behind cover and returned fire at the entrance. I pressed against a pillar, leaned out, aimed, fired. Two guards dropped. But bullets kept hammering the pillar beside me, stone chips flying.
"Take out the machine gunner at the right stairwell!" I barked.
A smoke grenade landed by the spiral staircase. White smoke billowed. My men flanked. The gunner never saw it coming—his throat was slit. He tumbled down the stairs, leaving a trail of blood on every step.
Marcus and I split up, pushing deeper from opposite sides. I moved west, gun raised. A guard burst from around a corner, weapon aimed at my chest. I moved faster—dodged, raised my hand, fired. Bullet through the heart.
"Pakhan, a dozen men are holding the basement entrance on the east side!" Marcus's voice crackled through the comms over heavy gunfire. "There's an underground tunnel leading three miles out!"
Damn it. Tomaso was running.
"Blow it!" I shouted, spinning toward the east wing.
I tore through two bullet-riddled hallways. An explosion boomed ahead—Marcus must've used C4 on the basement door. When I reached it, I saw a descending tunnel and several bodies sprawled at the entrance. They'd held the line to the end, buying Tomaso time.
"After him!" I jumped into the passage.
The tunnel was better built than I expected. Emergency lights lined the walls every few meters. Tomaso, that old fox, had planned his escape route long ago.
After nearly ten minutes, the tunnel split into three branches.
"Damn it." I stopped, chest heaving. "Split up!"
But I knew we were too late. Tomaso had a ten-minute head start. He knew these tunnels. We were blind. All three teams came up empty. I stood in the night, covered in blood, rage boiling in my chest with nowhere to go.
"That old bastard's too slippery!" Marcus spat. "He took Vanessa with him."
I clenched my fists. Tomaso got away. But he wouldn't let this go. We'd just destroyed his headquarters. He'd come back for revenge. And Anthea and Olei—they'd both be targets. I had to finish him before he made his move.
"Send the best tracking team after them," I ordered.
"Yes, Pakhan." Marcus left to clean up the scene.
I wiped blood off my face and walked to my car parked nearby.
Where was Anthea now? Had she eaten? I pulled out my phone, instinct telling me to check her location. Then I stopped. I'd promised her. No more surveillance. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and got in the car.
"Back to the manor," I said.
The car rolled into the night. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes. Anthea was gone. But she was alive. That was the best I could hope for.