Chapter 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.”