Page 86 of Wicked Salvation
Diamonds taken from his mother’s collection.
I yank it off, and even though my finger screams it feels good.
“I’m notfuckingmarrying you!” The words fly out of me and I’m surprised by my own words, but I don’t let it stop me. All the fire that’s been stopped up in my heart, my throat. It comes out of me in a rush. “Leave me alone!”
I hurl the ring.
It bounces once, twice, and then vanishes between the stones.
Silas’ face hardens, then he smiles. That cruel, cold smile that once made me feel chosen. Now, it curdles my stomach. “Go search for the ring,” I spit. “You need every dollar it’s worth.”
“You were never going to leave me, Eden,” his voice comes off so smooth, so sure. “I own you.”
My heart turns to ice.
We’re an arm’s length apart.
I’m about to start running again, when there’s movement.
My mother appears behind him, a few feet away. She stands on the street, untouched by the chaos. A statue in couture and diamonds. Her eyes sweep over the entire scene with clinical detachment.
No emotion, just disgust.
She doesn’t speak—but I can hear exactly what’s going through her mind. That look says it all, and my heart twists and my stomach turns. My vision starts to blur even more, tears rolling down my face, dripping from my chin. But just when I feel defeated, caught between a rock and a hard place, another voice cuts through the tense chaos.
My father.
“Eden?” He approaches.
My father has always been a formidable man, but right now he seems ten feet tall. His frame is backlit by the streetlamps, his dark hair and dark eyes, the well-tailored suit—and in that moment I realize how much we resemble each other. He walks between Silas and my mother, not glancing at either of them.
Just quiet, steady, intent.
He reaches for me. “Come with me.”
I go with him.
His hand closes around mine—not forceful, not pleading. Just certain. It’s warm, calming, even. In the middle of the chaos, he’s a steadying force. He walks me to a waiting car. The door opens like an escape hatch.
I don’t look back.
Let them find the ring.
Let them chase the headlines and do damage control, that’s all they ever think about anyway. How everything looks. My mother seemed to like Silas more than me.
All I know, they’ve both lost me.
The door shutswith a quiet finality.
Silence folds around us in the back of the car. The city flickers past the windows, distant and golden. The soles of my feet sting, my throat burns, my hands tremble in my lap. I’m shaking like a leaf, my face wet, makeup smeared all over my face.
My father rolls up the privacy screen.
I’m a mess.
But he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t ask questions, he doesn’t sayanything. Instead, he reaches into his coat and produces a handkerchief—plain, white, pressed.
I stare at his outstretched hand holding it.
