Page 91 of Ugly Truths
William should pay. He deserves to face every consequence, but not in a way that destroys Silas and Natalie along with him.
—
The mansion’s hallways are unnervingly quiet as Silas and I walk down the second-floor corridor. Dinner at Natalie and Davey’s left my nerves frayed, and Silas’s silence feels colder than usual.
Silas stops so abruptly that I keep walking before I realize he’s no longer beside me. I turn back to find him standing in front of his study door. His hand hovers over the biometric keypad, fingers twitching slightly. The pale blue glow of the keypad casts faint shadows across his face, accentuating the tension carved into his features. His finger presses against the scanner.
“Silas,” I call softly, just as the keypad emits a low beep.
The small green light blinks on the pad, and the door clicks faintly, easing open just enough to tempt him further. Instead of stepping through, his hand stays on the keypad, like the act of unlocking it has taken something from him.
“Silas,” I say again, firmer this time. His head turns slightly, just enough for me to catch the turmoil swirling in his eyes.
“Go,” he murmurs, voice devoid of warmth. “I’ll join you later.”
I step closer, reaching out to gently touch his arm. His gaze drops to the contact, and for a second, I think he might pull away. “Come to bed with me,” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “I have too much to do.” The words sound like gravel scraping against stone.
“You can do it tomorrow,” I counter, taking another step closer. “Just come to bed. Please.” My hand trails down his arm. “You need sleep, Silas. You need to let yourself breathe.”
Tension radiates off him in waves, but I still lean in, brushing the corner of his mouth with a featherlight kiss. “Come with me,” I repeat.
For a brief moment, I see him—the Silas who isn’t consumed by rage and guilt and duty. His hand lifts to my waist in a hesitant touch before he nods. It’s small, but it’s enough.
I reach around him to pull the study door closed and then thread my fingers through his, leading him toward the bedroom. His feet are heavy against the polished wood floor. I glance back at him as we walk. Whatever glimpse of him I’d seen a moment ago has been buried again.
In the bedroom, Silas crosses to the closet while I head to the dresser, both of us gathering pajamas. The quiet synchronicity of sharing this space still takes me by surprise. It feels intimate in a way that nothing else does.
I follow him into the bathroom, where the glow of the vanity lights softens the sharpness of his profile. As I set my pajamas on the counter, we slip into a silent rhythm. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I reach for my hairbrush, running it through my hair, but my attention is on Silas through the mirror. He rinses his mouth of toothpaste, though his shoulders remain tight.
All I can see is the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight pulling at the corners of his mouth. He grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white against the marble.
“What?” Silas demands, those cold eyes meeting mine in the reflection. “You’ve been staring at me like you have something to say. So say it.”
I freeze. “I…” The words get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.
He despises it when I hold back, but if I don’t, how will he not hateme?
“Well?” he presses, his voice harsher now.
I take a breath, lowering the brush to the counter. “I’m worried about you,” I say quietly.
He scoffs, turning away from the mirror. “I’m fine,” he mutters as he moves toward the towels hanging next to the bathtub, busying himself by unfolding one he doesn’t need.
“You’re not fine,” I counter, turning to face him. “And I understand why. But this—” My hand gestures vaguely toward him, “—isn’t sustainable.”
He tosses the towel onto the edge of the tub. “What do you want from me?”
“I just want you to let yourself feel it,” I answer. “This isn’t just another problem to fix, Silas. It’s your family. Yourfather.”
His bitter chuckle cuts through me. “That’s not the problem. The problem is that while I’m trying to figure out how to handle all of this, you’re judging everything I do. The way you looked at me during dinner proves it.”
My breath catches. “I think Natalie’s suggestion tonight was impulsive,” I say truthfully. “And dangerous.”
Silas's laugh sharpens. “Suddenly, you’ve found a moral compass. Tell me, Elena, when did that happen? Before or after you fucked me over?” he spits.
I flinch. Even as the ache in my chest spreads, my eyes stay fixed on his. “I’m not saying I’m perfect.” Each pulse of my heart feels poisonous. “God knows I’m not, but aren’t my concerns at least worth considering?”
