Page 42 of Ex- Factor
He paused at the door, spine rigid.
He didn’t look back when he said, “Stay here.”
I waited until his footsteps faded down the stairs before pulling on a shirt and creeping into the hallway. I couldn’t hear much from the top of the stairs. Shit. I wished his house was bigger.
“—starting a family?” his father scoffed. “With her? That’s your answer to us telling you to mature?”
A glass shattered.
“Don’t talk about her!” Silas roared.
“She has nothing,” his mother snapped. Her voice was precise, surgical. “No connections. No legacy. Is this love, Silas? Or are you just punishing us?”
A fist hit wood. The house shook.
“I didn’t ask to be your fucking heir!”
Silence. Then—
“You took the money. You’ll regret this.”
“I already regret every second I spent as your child.”
“Get out of my house,” Silas ordered.
Seconds later, the front door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame.
The silence that followed hit harder than the yelling.
I crept back into the bedroom and shut the door behind me, heart still thudding like a drum in my chest.
I hadn’t ever thought to Google Silas before. But I did that night.
I typed in his full name:Silas Alexander Whitacker.
Pages came up.
His parents owned the largest sports marketing firm in the state of Florida. Offices in Miami, Tampa, Atlanta, and New York. High-profile deals with NBA and WNBA players. Golfers. Agents. Billion-dollar contracts. Legacy.
He was a rich white boy with parent issues.
It was cliché as hell. But this wasn’t a TV show. I wasn’t about to let some snooty-ass parents run me off like the sniveling girlfriend in the second act.
They didn’t know me.
And I wasn’t leaving.
I held on to Donte’s ass despite all the outside interference, andhewasn’t worth it. Silas was.
I wanted to go find him, but I gave him space.
I peeled off the shirt I’d thrown on and stepped into the master bathroom. I let the water run hot over my skin untilsteam covered every mirror in the room. I let it soothe me. Let it quiet the voice in my head that was already rehearsing what I’d say to him when he came back.
I found him hours later at the kitchen island, a bottle of Spirytus half-gone, his knuckles split.
He’d probably punched a wall.
I watched him take a shot and use myBlack Girl Magicwine as a chaser.
