Chapter 16 #2
As I follow her to the room, the lights seem too bright, too golden.
My heart beats against my ribs like it’s searching for a door.
I wish I could melt away into the floorboards, hidden for an eternity.
I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to let her know that I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this—that no God would want this life for me.
I want to shatter the illusion for good.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I let them paint me.
I let them lace me up.
I let them conceal and powder the bruise until it disappears beneath Dior and diamonds.
Throughout it all, my mother hums as if this is the happiest day of her life.
It probably is.
And that’s the scariest part of it all.
They say a bride glows in the weeks leading up to her wedding.
At first glance it might be true of me. On the inside, though? I’m the afterimage of something already extinguished, barely a smoldering ember—let alone a glowing flame.
I stand at the top of the steps.
My gloved hands are clasped around my clutch so tightly the diamond on my finger bites into my skin. The ring is obscene in its brilliance. Back at school, it seemed more normal. But here, as I’m about to attend my engagement party, it almost looks gaudy.
Actually, it would be if it was on the finger of anyone but someone of my station. My mother says it catches the light like a halo. To me, all I see when I look at it is Silas’ face—wearing a pair of horns.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sound of the huge gates of the estate screeching open. A blacked out Bentley Bentayga pulls up the gravel drive. I know who it is, but my breath still catches when Silas steps out.
He’s tailored and polished like a bespoke illusion.
His dark hair is perfectly slicked back and styled, his svelte body in an immaculately tailored suit, crisp white shirt, golden cufflinks, Italian leather shoes.
He moves up the steps toward me like he owns the air, like even the wind bends to him.
When his crystal eyes land on me, he gives me a smile—pristine and practiced. That’s the very smile that fooled me when I first met him. If you take Silas at face value, he’s the perfect Christian man.
Never take anyone at face value.
I’ve learned that now.
How many bruises did it take? My own thoughts mock me.
“My love,” he says as he takes the steps two at a time. “You look like a vision of heaven.” He gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, his cologne lingering like smoke—oud, leather and cold ambition.
Silas strokes my cheek lovingly.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He offers me the crook of his arm and we take the steps slowly. He fans away the driver and opens the door for me himself. Like the perfect gentleman. Like the perfect fiancé. Like the man that everyone thinks I’m lucky to have.
I slide into the seat.
He closes the door, sealing me off from the outside world.
When he slips into the car from the other side, the first thing he does is put up the privacy screen. The driver has barely made it out of the estate driveway before he begins to speak.
“I meant it, you know,” he mutters. “You do look beautiful. I wish you’d be more appreciative of the fact that I think that.” He takes my wrist a bit too harshly. “This night is ours, Eden.”
I give him another polite smile. “I know, Silas. I won’t do anything to upset you.”
“Perfect,” he holds my chin. “You know how much I love you. That’s why I proposed to you, that’s why we’re getting married.”
I swallow thickly.
For all the talk of going to Augustine to find a husband, the fact that I’m actually on the verge of walking down the aisle, my stomach goes cold.
“My father brought me up to speed on the planning process,” he says. “You were right, by the way.” That makes my eyes widen. “I’m sorry for not taking everything seriously when we’re so close to the wedding.” He squeezes my hand. “I hope you can forgive me.”
“Is that really the only thing that happened at the restaurant that you think went wrong?”
Silas gives me a blank stare.
“Are you sure you want to have this conversation on the way to our engagement party?” He sneers through his teeth. “You look beautiful. Every relationship has rough patches. Are you planning on calling everything off because I have a bit of an issue with my temper?”
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
I open it again to say, “No, I don’t want to call it off.” My body is cold, my stomach hollow. “I just want you to admit that you lied to me when you promised that you’d never hurt me. I want you to say that you know it’s wrong.”
Silas hauls me across his lap, giving me a bruising kiss.
“Are you all cranky because we haven’t had sex in a while?
” He presses a kiss to my neck. “I promise I’ll make it up to you after the party.
” His voice grows husky and deep, and my body betrays me because I feel moisture gathering between my legs.
“Be a good girl, and we can sneak away when everyone is champagne drunk. I’ll get you roses.
” He plays with the necklace that’s dipped into my bosom.
“I’ll take you back to my estate to show you your future home.
We can go for a night swim—” He leans in. “Naked.”
I find myself resting my head on his shoulders.
Closing my eyes tight so the tears won’t fall.
Silas is my destiny, and if I behave myself everything will be alright. He only hurts me when he’s upset—and if I never get him upset, he’ll never hurt me. I can behave. I’ve always been well-behaved.
But why does it feel so wrong?
The place hosting our engagement gala is more opulent than even my own.
It’s a palace disguised as a hotel—columns and carved gargoyles, ivy-clad towers, balconies dripping in light.
Music drifts from somewhere deep inside, soft strings and laughter tangled in champagne bubbles.
The streets of London are alive, whispering to me.
At the entrance is a red carpet, lined on each side with photographers. This is when it dawns on me just how important all of this is. A decision made in the secrecy of the Scottish countryside has made it to the ears of everyone who is anyone in England.
And they’re all here awaiting us.
“I didn’t expect it to be like this,” I mutter to Silas.
Our car is queued up behind two others on the street. I watch in awe as men in tailored suits and women dripping in couture and diamonds pose for the cameras. “Are we going to be in the news?” I smooth out my dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
I’ve never been the center of attention like this.
Sweat starts to spring in places I didn’t expect, like the place where my thighs touch. Fortunately, I’m wearing stockings—but I have no idea what the night has in store for me.
“Front page of the Sun and Daily Mail more than likely,” Silas says, adjusting his cufflinks. He looks like he’s been preparing for this moment his entire life. “We might only get a one or two page spread in the papers across the pond.”
I’m horrified.
“I…” My mouth is dry. “I didn’t expect it to be this…big.”
Silas turns to me, giving me one of those smiles that endeared me to him the first time I saw him on social media before my first day at Augustine.
He takes my hand. “Don’t worry, my love.
You’re the most beautiful woman here. Just hold on to me.
” He kisses me briefly. “I’m here for you, I promise. ”
A promise from a wolf is still a promise.
When our car pulls up to the entrance, it’s like the whole world goes still.
People wait.
Not guests. Not friends.
If anything, they’re witnesses to all of this.
Silas helps me from the car. Cameras flash like lightning. I raise my chin, my body suddenly remembering the years of training my mother put me through.
“Smile,” he whispers as we ascend the marble steps.
So I do.
We pose for pictures, men with cameras call my name. Future Duchess is tossed around in the crowd. I smile and wave, and do everything the way I should. The way I was taught.
But something inside me withers with every step.
The ballroom is a living jewel box—everything aglow, everything gleaming.
Gold filigree dances along the ceilings, candles flicker in wall sconces, and crystal chandeliers throw fractured light across the marble floors.
Tables clothed in lace and delicate silk, elaborate white flower bouquets and golden chargers.
Chairs that glisten under the sparkling lights.
I hold on to Silas’ arm so tight I can feel his muscles beneath his well-tailored suit.
The room is teeming with London’s elite.
I catch glimpses of the women my mother has afternoon tea with, my fathers’ counterparts—they’re all looking at us.
Their expressions are unreadable, but that’s how high society is.
They’re probably envious more than anything.
My stomach feels light, like it’s about to fall down to my feet.
The crowd parts as soon as we enter.
We’re announced from the stage—the host is Count Wessex, my father’s closest friend.
He’s always been nice to me, so even though I didn’t choose him to host my engagement party, I don’t mind.
Even though my father paid for this entire party, he’s not the type to be the center of attention like this.
“The Duke and Duchess-to-be!”
That’s the cue.
The crowd descends upon us like moths to a flame. Compliments are showered. My ring is examined—there are oohs and aahs—and my lineage is dissected. I play the role with terrifying ease. My entire body has gone cold, it seems to be moving on its own.
My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
Silas thrives. Handsome and composed, he offers smiles like gifts, shaking hands, accepting praise like a king crowned early. My mother beams from her corner, surrounded by wives she once envied and now outshines.
This party is straight out of everyone’s dreams.
Well, everyone but me.