3. Ophelia
Silas cocks his head, taken aback by my response to his touch, I guess. He reaches for me again. “Ophe?—”
“I said don’t!”
He puts his hands up, palms facing me, and takes a step backward.
“You’re confused. I’m sure. But you’re safe,” he says, and I blink up at him trying to make sense of where I am.
I search the room, eye the door.
“Just relax,” he says, moving to block my view of the door. Does he think I’ll run for it? I’m not sure I could even crawl. I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.
I recall the events that led me here. I remember the night of the gala, dancing with Silas. Silas and me up in that room. Silas making love to me, holding me… then the moment everything changed. When everything went so wrong.
My head throbs and I close my eyes against the pain as it all comes flooding back.
Ethan beating me.
Waking up in that hotel room, those needles on the nightstand.
Sly’s visit. How cold he was. How cruel.
The limousine. The man inside it. Chandler Carlisle-Bent. My uncle.
I press the heels of my hands into my forehead to relieve the pressure, the throbbing.
“Here,” Silas says.
I turn to watch him snap the lid off a bottle of aspirin. He drops two into his palm and holds them out to me. I look at his hand, remembering how it felt when he touched me. When he cradled me against himself. How warm and strong he was. How safe he made me think I was.
“For the pain,” he adds.
My forehead furrows as I recall Ethan saying those same words. He’d been drugging me for days. He drugged me in the car too, stabbed me with a syringe of something that had knocked me out.
Or was it the accident that knocked me out?
I look up at Silas. No, not an accident. It was intentional.
“You’re confused,” he repeats. “I’ll explain everything but know that you’re safe now, Ophelia.”
“You hit us.”
His eyes narrow as he searches my face. He nods once.
“Why?”
“I didn’t think the impact would be what it was. I’m sorry I hurt you. That wasn’t my intention.”
“What was your intention? What was it when you… when we…” My voice breaks, forcing me to stop before I say the words made love. “When we fucked? Was it just a bonus? On top of destroying my home? What was your intention in telling me you bought the house because it was mine? Was it to see how deeply you could wound me?” Warm tears slide down my cheeks. I can’t keep up with them.
“Ophelia, I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t. Whatever those bastards told you, it’s just not true.”
I shake my head, but even that hurts. I can’t look at him though, so I glance down to draw the blanket closer. It’s a faded crocheted thing that must have been bright and colorful once. The nightgown I’m wearing is old-fashioned and soft with wear. The bed creaks, the mattress is comfortable but the metal rungs of the headboard are painful against my tender back.
“I’m tired,” I say, pushing the blankets off on the side Silas is not standing. “I am so fucking tired of being manipulated by men who all want something from me.”
I slide my legs off the bed.
“Whoa, I’m not sure you’ll be able to stand yet.”
“That is not your concern.” I hold onto the nightstand and push myself up with the other hand, immediately nauseated and dizzy.
Silas is there in a split second, and when my knees buckle, he catches me. There’s a moment, a moment in which I hate myself, because my body wants to lean into his, wants to let him hold me.
But I am a poor judge of character, and the men in my life are liars, so I push him away and drop back onto the bed. The room spins. I close my eyes until it stops.
“I told you not to touch me.”
Once again, he is surprised by my reaction. How can he be, though? His expression darkens, and his jaw tightens. I see the effort it takes him to keep his hands at his sides as he clenches and unclenches them.
“Here,” he finally says. He picks up an eyeglass case and opens it. From inside he takes out a pair of glasses. They’re new. “I had them make new ones based on your last prescription. Lourdes picked them up. I thought since you weren’t wearing yours you might need them.”
I shift my gaze from him to the glasses. Does he want me to thank him? I take the glasses and put them on because I need them. I don’t thank him.
I take in the room properly. We’re in some sort of cabin, and it’s nighttime. Snow has collected in an arc on each pane of the two windows, and a fire is burning in the small wood burner. The blanket that had covered me looks like it was hand crocheted, and with my glasses on I can see the care and detail that went into it. There’s a small desk and a wooden chair along the far wall and lace curtains hang open around the windows.
I turn to Silas. “Where am I?”
“About an hour out of Sinistral. We’re in a cabin near the chapel where my mother was buried. Do you remember where that is?”
It takes me a minute, but I nod because I do, vaguely. It’s up along the cliffs. Dad had mentioned where Silas had buried his mother. There’s a national forest up here that I’ve been to with Dad years ago but it’s usually unreachable in winter due to the snow.
“Are you hungry?” he asks.
“How long have I been here?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“Three days.”
“Three days?” I ask, stunned. I seem to be in the habit of losing days in threes.
A knock comes on the door, and we both turn as it opens and a woman carrying a tray walks inside. She stops when she sees I’m awake—surprised, maybe—then smiles warmly.
“There you are,” she says and crosses the room to set the tray on the desk before coming toward me. “I’m Lourdes. I’ve been looking after you, Ophelia.” She takes my hand to check my pulse. “How do you feel?”
I remember her voice. I’d thought it was a dream, but I must have heard her talking while I was semi-conscious, feeling like I was trapped under ice.
The thought has me suddenly panicked.
“It’s all right,” Silas says, sensing the change in me and closing a big hand over my shoulder. “You’re safe now. I promise.”
The touch of his hand on my bare skin, the heat of it, burns. I want to pull away and lean into it at once. My heart twists when I recall his betrayal. The fire. Silas walking out of my house before the fire destroyed it.
What Ethan did, what the Foxes did? It all pales in comparison to what Silas did because Silas means so much more to me than Ethan ever has.
I look up at him and what he sees in my eyes has his growing wary. He draws his hand away, uncertain. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him look hesitant. Silas Cruz is always confident and in control.
“Let’s get you back into bed,” Lourdes says. “Silas, can you help me?” She gestures to Silas to help lift me fully back into the bed.
“I can do it. I don’t need help,” I say.
“I’ll help you anyway,” Silas says, clearly hurt by my reaction. Too bad for him.
“Don’t touch me.”
Silas flinches as if slapped.
“Silas,” the woman starts, setting her hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. Go get a bowl of broth for Ophelia. Emiliano is in the kitchen. Go on.”
I heave myself back into the bed, my body heavy as an anchor. Silas and I watch one another, and I know this isn’t what he was expecting.
“Go, Silas,” Lourdes says firmly.
It takes him a minute but he acquiesces. I’m both relieved and wounded when he goes. I’ve always known that this man could break me, haven’t I?
He leaves the door open, and I see a light on inside, the shadows of another fire burning in another room.
“I need to get out of here,” I tell Lourdes, not sure where I will go or how but knowing I need to be away from Silas, from Ethan. I need to think and figure things out. “Wait. The accident. Was anyone else hurt?”
“Everyone is fine,” Lourdes says and checks some of my bandages. She touches my neck and I wince, remembering. “Whoever gave you this injection didn’t know what he or she was doing. I assume it was some sort of sedative. The effects have mostly worn off but between that and the accident and, well, the bruises from before,” she says that part more quietly. “I’m sure you aren’t feeling your best. I have aspirin but didn’t want to give you anything stronger until you woke up and could decide for yourself. I’m a trained nurse, although these days I mostly just take care of Emiliano.”
“Who is Emiliano?”
“Oh, of course, you don’t know him,” she says, tucking the blanket around my legs. She’s trying to make me feel at ease, but I just need to get out of here. “Emiliano is my brother. He knew Esmerelda. We both did. I think it’s why Silas brought you here. He’s very worried about you.”
“You knew Esmerelda?”
She nods, peels a bandage off my forehead. “This is better already. You heal fast,” she says with a smile. “A few more nights and you’ll be back to yourself.”
“A few more nights? No. I need to go. I need my clothes and I need to go.”
“Oh, dear, where would you go?” she asks with a small, kind smile. “We’re buried under snow.”
Silas walks inside carrying a steaming mug.
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Lourdes says.
“No, don’t go,” I say.
She looks to Silas, who nods. She squeezes my foot, then gives me a warm smile. “You can trust him,” she says.
Before I can tell her you can’t trust anyone, she leaves.
Silas closes the door behind her. He studies me for a moment, as if considering how to proceed, then crosses the room. “Drink this,” he says, holding the mug out to me.
I look up at him. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“It’s not from me. Lourdes made it.”
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s not drugged. That’s Ethan’s MO.”
I glare up at him. “No, you’re right. You want me alert so you can watch my face as you twist the knife.”
“That’s dramatic, don’t you think?”
“It fits, don’t you think?” I retort.
His eyes darken. “Whatever they said about me, it’s not true. They’re liars, O. You should know that by now.”
“I think you’re all liars, Silas. And you’re right, it did take me a long time to see it, but I know now. In fact, I’m very clear now. Where are my clothes? I want my clothes.”
“You’ll get your clothes when you’re being reasonable. And you’re going to need your strength if you want to get out of here, so first things first. Drink this.”
“Or what? You’ll make me?”
He shrugs a shoulder, holding the mug out to me. After a moment, he raises his eyebrows for my response and I have a feeling he would do just what he’s implying. My stomach growls at the scent of hot broth wafting from the mug. He’s right. I do need my strength if I want to get out of here and away from him. Away from all of them. So, I take the mug and sip it. It’s good, the heat of it making me realize how cold I feel inside.
Silas pulls over a chair and sits down, watching me as I sip the broth slowly. I look at the fire rather than at him. He doesn’t speak, neither of us do, and I remember growing up how he’d keep his head down and do his work. Strong and silent type, Dad would say. I always got the impression that Dad felt some sort of bond with Silas even when Silas wasn’t very nice to him.
Once I’m finished, I set the mug down, feeling a little better.
“Whatever they told you, it’s a lie,” he says.
“They didn’t have to tell me anything. They showed me. They showed me the security footage of you leaving my house half an hour before the fire destroyed it.” Tears leak from my eyes. The house is gone. Does Dad even know?
“I didn’t set that fire. Period. The end.”
“I saw you. I watched you walk away.”
“Did you watch me strike a fucking match?” he asks, his tone sharp and cutting. As soon as he realizes it, he gets up and walks away, pushing a hand through his hair and muttering a curse under his breath. When he turns back to me, his expression is guarded. “You saw what Sly and Ethan wanted you to see. There’s more footage you weren’t privy to.”
“Oh? Do you have that, then? Maybe you can show me. Clear your name.”
“Are you and I seriously having this fucking conversation? You know me, O. You fucking know me.”
“I thought I did.”
He keeps his mouth shut, a tick in his tight jaw. I look at his crooked nose, the scar on his temple. He’s lucky he didn’t lose an eye, Sly had said. Sly had beaten him after Silas had broken the door to Ethan’s room and hauled him off me. He was always rescuing me, always turning up right when I needed him.
I shake my head and look away. That was in the past. That was a different Silas. I can’t let myself be fooled by this new, shitty version. The real version.
“What happened after? What did they do to you?” he asks, voice tight, not angry.
“They…” I feel my throat close up, ashamed somehow at having been beaten, weak for being their victim. When I look at Silas again, his hands are fists, as if he knows exactly the thoughts going around in my head. “I have a grandfather. And an uncle.”
He nods once.
“My father lied to me about those things.” I wipe tears from my eyes. “Actually, it seems all the men in my life only ever lie to me.”
“I don’t. I won’t. Ever.”
“Yeah well, here’s the thing. I don’t believe you.” I look out the window, see the densely falling snow. Am I trapped here?
“And your father may have good reason?—”
“Why do you defend him? What do you know about him to defend him?”
“I know he loves you.”
“He kidnapped my mother.”
“You know one version of the story. A version the Foxes want you to know. That’s all.”
“Why do you care anyway?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t need you to rescue me anymore, Silas.”
“I will always rescue you, Ophelia.”
Those words make me stop, make me want to believe, but I can’t. I have to guard what is left of my heart.
“Did Ethan tell you why he was in such a hurry to marry you? Why he didn’t want a prenup?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It does because I don’t think they’re just going to let you go. Let you walk away. This isn’t over, Ophelia. Not by a long shot.”
“I have a headache.”
“Carlisle-Bent, if he’s truly your grandfather, well, let’s just say the fortune he’d leave you is substantial. And considering he’s an old, sick man, I gather that will be sooner rather than later.”
Money. It always comes down to money. What did Ethan say in the car? Something about it being time he got what he was due.
“Ethan never had any feelings for you, O.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I know that. No need to twist that knife,” I say, not sure why it still hurts to hear it. “He showed me his true feelings the night of the gala.”
“I’m going to kill him for what he did to you. I swear it.”
“Oh, please spare me. Do you remember what I told you when we were dancing?” His eyebrows furrow and I don’t think he does. “I said I was finished with men with ulterior motives. That includes you. I just didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now. I don’t need you, Silas and, more importantly, I don’t want you. I just want to get out of here. So, thank you for managing to get me away from Ethan. For that I am grateful. Now, I need to see my father and understand things, and I need to figure out what I’m doing next. My house is gone. All my things inside those boxes, all the memories. All the lies, I guess is more apt.” My voice trembles.
I push the blanket off once more, not wanting to cry in front of him. Wanting to get away. But Silas sets his hand on my thigh to stop me, and his touch does stop me, the heat of it, the burn. It’s like a brand searing my skin and like the masochist I must be, I want more.
“Sweetheart, if you think you can just walk away from the Foxes, you don’t know them very well.”
“I’m not your sweetheart.” I’m on the verge of tears I don”t want to shed. “Let me go.” That last part comes out harried. I try to pry his hand away, but he tightens his hold on my thigh.
“I’m sorry, O, but I can’t let you go. It’s for your own good. You don’t know what these men are capable of. I do. And I think I can guess at what Ethan had planned for you.”
“And what is that exactly?” I snap.
“Your grandfather, if he is that, and I will be certain he is before I allow you anywhere near him or that uncle?—”
“Before you allow me?”
“Gordon Carlisle-Bent is a very wealthy man,” he continues as if I haven’t spoken at all. “And, like I said, he’s also a very ill man.”
I hear him this time. “Ill how?”
“He’s dying. That’s why the Foxes are in a rush to get you and Ethan married. It’s probably why your father is in prison. It’s to keep him out of the way. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“It makes no sense,” I interrupt, but he ignores me.
“If Ethan had succeeded, once you and he were married, Sly would have miraculously located your grandfather who has supposedly been searching for you all your life. He’d reunite the two of you, and Carlisle-Bent would have his new heiress. Once he’s gone, that money is yours. And once you’re gone, it’s Ethan’s.”
This takes me a full minute. And when I get it, when I understand what he is suggesting, I laugh. I laugh an insane laugh.
“You’re saying Ethan’s plan was to marry me and murder me once I inherited this great fortune?”
The turquoise of Silas’s eyes hardens into shards of sea glass.
“Wait, you’re serious. You believe this?” I ask.
Nothing.
“You think Ethan is capable of murder?”
“I don’t, actually. I don’t think he has the stomach for it. But there’s another player. Chandler Carlisle-Bent. And his stomach may be a little stronger. I’m guessing he’s back for his share of the money.”
“Okay you’ve lost your mind now. That or hell, maybe you’re just projecting what you’d do on them now. Ethan may be capable of many things, but murder? What do you think? He’s hiring it out?”
“I know them, Ophelia. I know them better than you ever have.”
“Okay. You’ve lost your mind. I’m leaving now. Where are my clothes?”
“You will get clothes tomorrow. We will leave together then. If you’re being reasonable by then, that is.”
“No. We won’t leave together. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Then you’re not going anywhere at all,” he says, straightening to his full height. When he does, I realize how alone I am, how powerless here in this cabin with this man who can easily keep me here even if I were to fight him with everything I have. For whom it would take no effort at all to overpower me. Lourdes is here, and her brother whom I haven’t seen, but I have a feeling their loyalties lie with Silas.
“I’m leaving,” I say, trying to sound determined.
“Tomorrow. With me,” he reiterates. “Because there’s only one way I can be sure they won’t be able to execute their plan.”
“And how is that?”
“You can’t marry Ethan Fox if you’re already married to me.”