Sighing, I put my fork down, mentally resigning myself to the fact that this is probably not going to be a good day. “What is it, Silas?”
When he shifts in his seat instead of answering me, my eyes narrow and I cross my arms. “Go on. Hit me with it.”
He winces, takes a deep breath. And then—
“Ella and Crispin will be here for dinner this evening.”
The words take a moment to filter through the chaos in my head. My mouth opens, and then closes again. When I look around, all three of them are watching me, not even trying to pretend they’re not.
“Right.” My voice is wooden. “And what do you expect from me at this… dinner?”
Silence. It’s Kit who finally answers, his voice soft.
“They will expect to see that the sentence is being carried out,” he says quietly. Apologetically.
I nod slowly staring down at the table. As if I haven’t been doing exactly what they’vetoldme to do, every single day since I got here.
“Stasi,” Silas says firmly. His dark blue gaze is locked on mine. “This is not to hurt you.”
I offer him a small smile, shoving down the hurt. “It’s fine. I understand.”
When I stand, all three of them follow suit, chairs scraping back.
“Are you… okay?” Rafe’s voice is low.
I want to tell him that I’d take Lazarus and his fucking slimy hands a hundred times over rather than haveEllahere, poisoning this space. Ruining it in any way she can. Dripping her sweet, lying words into their ears until they fall for it. For her.
Everyone falls for her.
But this isn’tmyhouse. It’s just another reminder. I don’t get a say.
So I nod at Rafe. “Fine. I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me.”
But Silas wraps his hand around my wrist as I move past him.
“One night,” he says. “They will come, and they will leave. This doesn’t change anything, Stasi.”
“So I’ll serve you at dinner,” I say softly. “And then… what? Serve you afterwards? Should I wait to be called, or should I wait in your bed until you’re ready, Silas?”
I knew that last night wouldn’t change anything. Knew that I would be back at work today and accepted it. But the thought of serving them, of serving mybitchof a stepsister at dinner, watching as she fawns over them and then Silas expecting me to be with him afterwards… I don’t think I can do that.
He flinches. “It’s not like that,” he says hoarsely.
I hold his gaze. “Isn’t it?”
And then I tug my hand from his, and he lets me go.
35 – Rafe
Stasi sweeps out, leaving us with the weight of our decision. Silas stares after her.
“We should have told her why we’ve invited them,” Kit murmurs.
But I shake my head. “What if we’re wrong, Kit? What if we’re building all of this up in our heads? Just because we want to believe the best of her doesn’t make ittrue.”
He drops back down into his seat. “We’re not wrong. But would it change anything for us?”
Neither Silas or I respond. There’s no point, not when we all know the answer.
