Page 40 of The Silent Princess

The sink next to mine is empty. No toothbrush. No makeup scattered everywhere. No lotions and things women seem to use. Empty. Even the marble mocks me. And still, if Ella were here, I doubt she would be the kind to use those things.

I gave Paul his day off since he has been working far more hours lately and has a family waiting for him at home. That must be nice. To have someone waiting by the door, cooking for you, children running around, clinging to your legs.

I have never imagined this for myself. Why would I inflict the solitude of late hours of work on a woman who deserves comfort and attention? Why would I distract myself from my duty as firstborn, to steer the ship, keeping my eyes on the storm at all times? And what woman would ever want to endure the coldness of my personality, the risk implied in sharing a life with me? A target on her back. That is all she could gain. For the Vodianovs to aim right at my heart, offering them a way to kill me on a silver platter.

My father loved our mother in his messed up way. And Nate loved his wife.

Love was not out of the picture, nor a foreign concept to me. I was born into it, nurtured into understanding its power and the sacrifices it required, especially as I watched my mother from the last step of the staircase, waiting for my father to return home after dark. Sometimes I would hear her cry and run to him as he passed the door, as if the wait had been unbearable. Sometimes I would hear her cry because he wouldn’t even take her in his arms. She wanted to spend every second of her life with him and would always tell him that it was never enough, to which he would respond with an inaudible, exasperated grunt. Now my mother had turned into a shadow of herself, cosplaying the woman she used to be when her heart was still beating for him.

One black coffee later, I am in my garage, adjacent to the house, holding six cars, each one with a dedicated purpose. With Paul off duty today, I slide into a black Mercedes, keeping the music off as I repeat the steps in my head. Drive to Ethereal Design. Catch Mara Brooks off guard in her office. Drill my point into her skull. It takes me thirty minutes to arrive at her headquarters, the Westhaven traffic is slow since the sun has not fully risen yet.

It is not the way I thought I would start my Monday, but some tasks do require a little more flexibility, which I admit is not my strongest suit. Since it is about Ella, who, for a reason I cannot explain, has taken possession of my thoughts and desires, I will correct my aim in whatever direction is needed. On the other hand, her headquarters are exactly what I expected. Large, clear, bright, and airy. I climb the wide stone stairs, the exterior resembling ancient Roman ruins. I have to give it to her: despite the building's newness, she did manage to give it something of a soul, even with its superficial, fake exterior. Two translucent sliding doors open, which surprises me, given that it is only seven, and from the empty parking lot, I can see that there aren’t many employees here yet. A young woman with black hair pulled into a knot and a fitted dark purple dress greets me. Her smile trembles as she recognizes me.

“S-sir, I…”

“Where is Mara Brooks’s office, please?” I snap, wishing I could end this faster just so I could go back to more pleasurable leisure, such as finding a way to see Ella.

Or, if need be, track her down. How would she feel about carrying a GPS device in her purse? Would that be crossing a line? And why does the thought make me grin from ear to ear, a foreign sensation I have not honestly experienced in a while? Something about Ella tells me she would not care that much. That perhaps, perhaps she would actually like that. Or she could push me away, signing the word creep with her pretty fingers and telling me off. I will need to sort this out.

“Down…down the hall, sir then to your right,” the woman stammers. I offer her a curt nod, almost feeling bad for her. Kathy would never be this unprofessional. I recall her greeting an extremely rude businessman who once called her “grandma.” A man I have long killed and bought since, economically speaking, I mean. His remark was a personal offense, since my employees are to be cared for and work in a respectful environment.

I follow the woman’s directions down a long white corridor with a series of crystal chandeliers and large prints of press appearances, articles, and praise for Mara Brooks, “CEO of the Year,” until I am facing a tall door, the sign Mara Brooks, CEO stamped on it in an elegant, rounded font. She has been around for a while, her company carrying a sleek reputation all around Westhaven, among the highest spheres. Until Brenton’s report, I had only heard good things about it. Safe to say, monsters do hide in plain sight, with blood and mud on their hands while we shake them, unaware of the contamination. To her credit, I too have blood on my hands. Blood from opponents fighting in the rings, sharpening my instinct and sense. So it does not bother me in the least to step here and straighten things out. Without knocking, I press on the handle, a feminine voice calling from behind the door.

“Lydia, I told you not to-” Looking down at a piece of paper, piles and piles of paperwork crowding her sleek transparent desk, she does not finish. A large laptop and a flower vase decorate the surface. The office is large and airy, much like her brand guidelines: everything white, with touches of orange and bright pink on the cushions. A large sofa sits on my left beneath the window, and bookshelves stand on my right, filled with what looks like endless books of fabric samples and decor inspiration.

“Mrs. Brooks,” I cut her off, standing in front of her desk as she stumbles over her words and hurriedly stands, offering her hand after dropping the piece of paper in an ungraceful manner.

“Mr. Ashford,” she coos in a breathy voice dripping with honey. “I…I don’t recall us having an appointment.” She catches herself in a rushed tone, smoothing the side of her cream-colored, long, fitted skirt, a same-colored vest and blouse on top, the whole thing looking like a first-lady outfit.

“We don’t,” I state, gawking at her raised hand, picturing it cut and detached from her arm. That is an enticing idea. Hitting Ella with one hand and losing the latter as a result.

Not a violent man, not a violent man, damn it, focus.

Where was I?

I cannot reveal my attachment to Ella, or she could weaponize it against me, especially since she is connected to the Vodianovs. And the last thing I want is to put Ella in harm’s way. Following my plan, the one I carefully crafted all night, I continue. A prey does not step into a trap without being seduced into compliance.

“I have to say, Mrs. Brooks, I find myself in quite a delicate situation.”

“How so?” She tucks a nonexistent hair behind her ear, her lobe adorned with a thick beige pearl. There is a distinctive smell of old money emanating from her, yet somehow, it seems like a costume that could slip off at any moment. “Might I ask what made you visit us this early in the morning?”

“Well, here I was, hearing all around about the quality of your firm, and imagine my surprise when I was informed that one of my employees was carrying a fresh wound on her face while working in my office.”

“You can’t be serious. I would never…”

“Of course. Of course. I would not want to think badly of you and imagine that you would be responsible for such a disgraceful and undeserved action. But since it was noticed on my company grounds, I had a moral obligation to discuss it with you so you could remedy it.” I tilt my head to the side, faking a wince. “You see, anyone working for me is under my responsibility, and I would be extremely displeased if such an act were to occur again. In which case, I would have to think of…” I pause, letting her fear for the worst, “drastic measures.” She flinches. “It’s only the morning; let’s stay civilized. I would just say… consequences should be expected.”

“C-consequences?” she murmurs. I shrug, careful not to incriminate myself if I am being recorded.

“Irreversible ones. You know, the usual.” She shivers.

“I had no idea, sir, that…um, I guess the person you’re referring to is my stepdaughter. I didn’t know that she was working for your company. That girl is trouble; I would not be surprised if she found herself in a shady situation, which is how she obtained the bruise.” I try not to show any sign of emotion as Ella’s name is bounced onto the table after being spat from this woman’s mouth.

She hit her. Calm down. Breathe.

“I didn’t say bruise.”

“Right,” she swallows as I zero in on her, catching her on the spot, “I’ll make sure she is, um, protected from whoever did this.” I adjust my cufflink, removing a speck of dust from my arm.