Page 2 of Wicked Salvation
I run a hand along my eyebrows, trying to get rid of the anxious energy in my fingers.
She’s seated beside Silas—their families on either side of them. A picture perfect aristocratic union. Well, only to those without a well-trained eye.
Silas Peregrine-Ashford III’s damn near sweating through his old Italian suit—imposter syndrome clearly suffocating him—while Viscount William Lockhart looks like he would rather be anywhere else in the world. And even from this distance I can see the possessive grip Silas has on Eden’s shoulders. She sits ramrod straight, more composed than I’ve ever seen her.
Her mother’s sitting right beside her, stone-faced.
Can’t she tell that her daughter is being abused?
When Viscountess Lockhart turns her head to say something to Eden, so many things start to make sense. The severity of her expression, the dismissive way she looks at her own daughter.
Probably she does know.
But why would she care?
She doesn’t know that the Peregrine-Ashfords are one emergency away from bankruptcy. It’s not uncommon for mothers to look the other way as long as social mobility is involved. She’s probably stuck in a loveless marriage herself, trying to fill the gap with social engagements, charity galas, brunches and dinners with other high society wives.
My stomach churns at the thought that she wants the same for her daughter, even though she has more bruises than she can count. Silas knocked her unconscious because he saw us together, andEden forgave him.
If Vivienne didn’t tell me she saw it with her own two eyes, I wouldn’t believe it.
Can something like this really be Eden’s choice? Does she truly understand the situation she’s in? Not only is she Silas’ golden goose, she’s also his punching bag.
I’ve seen it too many times.
Apologies from abusers are as empty as the love they claim to have for you.
It’ll only be a matter of time before Silas starts to rampage again—and I need to talk to her before then, even if it means talking to her in his presence.
I don’t give a fuck about him.
But I’m not going to let him destroy Eden before she even realizes what’s going on.
The priest starts to speak—his voice a dull, practiced rhythm.
“Vivienne was a bright light among us, one that was extinguished too soon. She has returned to the arms of our Lord. May we honor her memory and find peace in his divine plan.”
I gag.
Some of the emptiest words I’ve ever heard.
But what else should I expect from a man whose whole life is dedicated to leading a structure that suffocates people, makes them scared of living their lives, all in exchange for achanceat a better one when they die.
Vivienne didn’t die because of some divine plan. She died because someone wanted her dead—I can feel it, and my gut feeling is hardly ever wrong.
But it’s easier to bury a girl than to uncover the truth.
I sit through the rest of the ceremony—I don’t know how long it is, because time blurs as my thoughts bounce around in my head. When I finally come to, the recessional is taking place.
Vivienne’s family walks behind her coffin. Once they disappear through the doors of the cathedral, the other mourners rise and start leaving.
But I don’t move, and I won’t.
Not until Eden does.
I hang backfor a few minutes until Eden and her family walk past me.
She looks like she’s in a daze—so much so that she doesn’t notice me. Silas has a tight grip on her wrist, engaged in conversation with Eden’s family. There’s no gentleness in his touch, no grief on his face. Nothing that would indicate that he just attended the funeral of someone the people in his life regarded as close.
