That night, after Olei ate and slept, I sat by the nursery until dawn.
The next day, I had Anthea's ashes made into a pendant and wore it close to my heart.
One month later.
The ballroom blazed with light, crystal chandeliers scattering brilliant reflections, champagne towers stacked high, air thick with expensive perfume and fake laughter.
I wore a perfectly tailored black suit and stood beside Vanessa. She clung to my arm, accepting guests' congratulations, face glowing with sweet smiles.
"See? Everyone says we're perfect together," she whispered in my ear, breath hot against my skin.
"Yeah," I turned to look at her, replied softly. "Perfect. Like we're heading to hell together."
Vanessa thought I was flirting, giggled, and tapped my chest. Later, she drifted off to socialize with the other women. I grabbed a vodka from a passing tray and headed for a corner of the ballroom.
Pavel approached. He studied me, that scar cutting across his cheek twisting as he frowned.
"Bro," he said, looking me up and down, eyes landing on my hair. He sighed. "You look like hell."
I drained the liquor in one shot. Said nothing.
"How'd you get so much gray hair all of a sudden? You've lost weight..." Pavel paused, searching for words. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I said flatly.
"Don't bullshit me, Silas." Pavel gripped my shoulder, voice unusually serious. "I know Anthea's death hit you hard. I'm sorry too. She was a good girl. But she's... you still have Olei. You have the whole family. You need to move forward."
My hand unconsciously touched the pendant holding Anthea.
"Pavel. If you lost the most important part of your life, could you move forward?" I asked quietly.
Pavel stared at me, speechless.
"I can't," I said, fingers tracing Anthea's name engraved on the pendant. "And I'm not planning to."
I set my glass on the table, face settling back into blankness.
"Come on," I told Pavel. "Vanessa's waiting for the first dance. The show must go on."
I walked into the glittering crowd, toward Vanessa, thinking only of making everyone who'd hurt Anthea pay.
Chapter Seven
Silas
Six Years Later
The fluorescent lights in the basement cast a sickly glow over Vanessa. She was tied to the chair, red hair hanging in tangles around her face, her makeup smeared.
I stood in the shadows and lit a cigarette. Six years.
Six years ago, I swore to make everyone who hurt Anthea pay, so I went through with the engagement party. After that, I played the long game.
At first, I didn't have the power yet, so I had to keep up the charade with Vanessa. She'd show up at the manor all the time, knocking on my door with nothing but lingerie under her coat, trying to crawl into my bed. Every time I pushed her away—too much work, not feeling well.
She didn't buy it, but there was nothing she could do.
"You're still thinking about that dead bitch, aren't you?" she demanded once after I turned her down.
