Chapter 8 #2
Silas Delano sits across from him, perfectly composed, holding a glass of my father's best scotch. The man looks like an older version of his nephew, but with Valdemort vibes.
My stomach drops.
"Peyton." My father's voice is cold, controlled. "How kind of you to finally come home."
I force my expression to be neutral. "I texted both you and your assistant. Said I was staying with a friend."
"A friend?” Silas smiles at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Is that what we're calling my nephew now?"
"Mr. Delano." I nod politely, but don't take a seat. "I wasn't aware my father was entertaining this morning."
"I invited myself. We had things to discuss." Silas gestures to the empty chair. "Please. Join us. This concerns you as well.”
"I'd rather stand."
"Peyton." My father's tone sharpens. "Sit down."
It's a command. The kind he's been giving since I was a child, expecting obedience because he's never been told no. I sit down, though, not because he ordered it, but because I need to know what Silas knows and, more importantly, what he wants.
"Your father and I have been having a fascinating conversation," Silas says. "About family legacies. About obligations. About the choices young people make when they think they're acting independently but are actually being manipulated."
"Manipulated by whom?"
“Let’s take my nephew, for example. Blake has a talent for making people believe he's protecting them when he's actually using them for his own purposes." Silas leans forward. “Yeah, Blake’s a smart one. He had a full academic ride to Syracuse that he blew fucking all the young things there.”
I swallow uncomfortably but try not to show it.
“Tell me, Peyton, did he mention that he's been in contact with the Kingsley family? That he's been feeding them information about you for weeks?”
Even though I know it’s a lie, the accusation still lands like a slap.
"That's not true," I say. “We haven’t even known each other for three weeks.”
“My dear, he doesn’t need to know you, to investigate you. Think about it. Blake came back to Wintervale three weeks ago. You've been under surveillance for three weeks. Interesting timing, don't you think?"
“You’re the one who brought him to Wintervale,” I assert while still trying to maintain a respectful tone, keeping in mind what Blake and Talia have told me about their uncle. “If anyone has me under surveillance, it’s you.”
My father interjects. "I hired additional security when the threats started. They reported seeing Blake Delano watching you. Following you. Long before the Evergreen event.”
Ice slides through my veins. "You had me followed, Dad?”
"I had you protected. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I stand, anger burning through the shock. "You had me surveilled. You knew someone was threatening me, and you didn't tell me. You just watched. Let it happen."
"I was trying to identify the threat before taking action. If you hadn’t quit your job, you would have been under my security detail anyway.”
"The threat was real, Dad. It is real. And while you were 'identifying' it, they tried to kidnap me."
Silas's eyes gleam with interest. "Did Blake tell you that's what happened? Or did he orchestrate the entire scene to make himself look heroic?"
"He saved my life."
"Or he created a situation where you'd need saving. It's an old trick, Peyton. Create the crisis, then offer the solution. By the time the victim realizes they've been played, they're too invested to walk away."
My father's watching me carefully, cataloging my reactions. "The question is whether you're too invested. Because if you are, we have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"The kind where your association with Blake Delano destroys your credibility and mine." He stands and moves around the desk. "I'm running for reelection. My opponent is already using the old senator can't control his own daughter’s behavior against me, so why should we trust him with policy?"
"My behavior?”
"Leaving the gala with a known criminal. Spending the night God knows where. Being seen with—" He stops himself.
"Being seen with what, Dad? A Delano? Someone you think is beneath us?" I laugh, sharp and bitter. "That's rich coming from the man who married strategically the second Mom's body was cold."
His face hardens. "Your mother's death was the saddest day of my life.”
"My mother's death was a murder, and you know it.
You've always known it." I step closer, let him see my fury. I didn’t want to have this conversation in front of strangers, especially Silas Delano, but here we are.
"They paid you off, didn’t they? The Kingsleys.
The same people who killed her paid you to keep quiet, to move on, to bury the truth along with her body. "
Deadly silence.
My father's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Guilt, maybe? Or just a calculation about how much he thinks I know and what kind of damage control this conversation will require. Finally, he makes a weak attempt at defending himself.
“I would never hurt your mother. That man has filled your head with lies.”
“Yeah, that's a serious accusation," Silas says quietly. "One that could destroy your father's career. I wonder if Blake knows you're planning to make it public?"
"Blake knows everything. About Mom. About the Kingsleys. About you." I turn to face Silas directly. "He told me about White Ember. About what you did. About why he walked away."
“He’s got you all twisted, doesn’t he? Let me explain something to you, young lady,” Silas scoffs. “Blake is a murderer who burned down a legitimate business.”
"Blake is a hero who saved six girls from being trafficked through your so-called business.” My voice is steady, deadly calm. "And now he's protecting me from you and from everyone in this godforsaken town who thinks I'm a dollar sign instead of a person."
“There it is.” Silas sets down his glass with careful precision. “So you know who you are.”
“Yes, I know everything.”
“Then let me just lay it all out. I came to your house today to warn you and your father. You're making a mistake, Peyton. The Delanos do not condone any of Blake’s rogue behavior. He is not your savior. He's not even on your side. He's playing his own game, and you're just a piece on the board."
"Maybe, but at least he's honest about what he is." I look at my father. "Which is more than I can say for you."
“You don’t need him.” My father's jaw tightens. “I’m your father and will always have your best interest at heart. We can navigate the Kingsleys together. Our lawyers will–”
“So you knew too,” I interrupt with sadness in my voice. “Mom would be so disappointed with who you’ve become.”
“Peyton, if you walk out of this house back to Blake Delano, don't come back."
The ultimatum lands exactly as he intends—heavy, final, forcing a choice. I should feel devastated by the loss of my father’s approval, but I’m not even sure who this man in front of me is. When did he lose his way? When did he lose his humanity? Or did he ever have it?
"Okay," I say simply.
"Okay?" He wasn't expecting capitulation. "That's it?"
"That's it. You've made your choice. I'm making mine. I’m going upstairs to grab a few things from the attic, and then I’m out of here. You’ll never have to worry about me again.”
"Peyton—"
I exit the room and up the stairs with my head high and my heart hammering. Behind me, I hear Silas say something to my father. He’s too quiet to make out the words, but the tone is clear.
I’m sure it’s a threat and the beginning of whatever move he's planning next.
Peyton
I’m focused and don't look back at either of them as I head up the stairs to the attic. I decide that I’m just going to get my Mom’s things and as much of mine as I can pack quickly.
I decide when I text Blake not to tell him that Silas is here, an easy choice.
If he knew, it would probably turn into an even worse shit show than it already is.
Me: I’m packing up. I need about fifteen minutes.
Blake: You good?
Me: Yep.
Outside, Blake's car is parked at the end of the driveway. He's leaning against the hood, arms crossed, looking like violence barely restrained although I’m not sure why.
He grabs the duffel out of my hands. "You're four minutes early."
“And you’re mad about that?”
“You look rattled. Who was in there?”
“I’m not rattled,” I look away from his stare. “But I did have it out with my father.”
“And who else, Peyton?” He opens the passenger door for me. Always the gentleman, even when he’s pissed. “You can’t lie to me if I’m going to protect you. You can never lie to me.”
“It was Silas.” I slide into the passenger seat. "Silas was there.”
“What?”
“He was sitting there when I walked in.” I exhale harshly. “He’s been telling my father that you've been manipulating me. That you're feeding information to the Kingsleys and have been for weeks. And that you manufactured a threat so you could be the hero and save me.”
Blake's expression darkens. "He's trying to isolate you. Make you doubt me."
"I know."
"Did it work?"
I look at him, really look at him.
"No," I say. "It didn't work. Because, unlike my father, unlike Silas, and unlike everyone else in this town, I believe that you’re the only person who’s never lied to me."
Blake is quiet for a moment. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, and some might infer that it’s out of some misplaced guilt, but I bet it’s just him considering whether I’m actually sincere or just saying what he wants to hear.
“You’ve got more here than a dress and some jewelry.” Something in his expression softens. “Did your father kick you out?"
"Essentially."
"How do you feel about that?"
“We’re sharing feelings now?”
“Peyton.”
"Relieved, okay? I feel relieved.”
He starts the car in silence. I think he may still be angry, but I’m not sure. I haven’t figured out the context of all his ‘silences’ yet.