Page 23 of The Silent War

The smallest victory. Enough to spiral over until the next time.

I almost smiled. Just enough for her to see. Because she was right, it wasn’t her shutting me out.

Maybemeant I could press again. Tomorrow. The next day. Every day until she broke and gave me what I wanted.

And it gave me permission to stalk her the way I already planned to, trailing her routes, intercepting her hours, asking her again and again until she admitted she wanted it too.

I opened the car for her.

“Goodbye, Emilia.”

She looked at me, and I saw her pain. I wanted to hug her, tell her all the ways I’d make this up to her.

Instead I closed the door with care, softer than I meant to, my hand dragging a second longer.

So close and still so far away from me.

Seeing her was supposed to be a relief, ease some of the pain of not having her. Instead it’s worse. My need to take her pain, nearly fucking paralysing.

The car pulled into traffic.

Driven by a driver who was trained by Bastion, who drove her as if his life depended on her arriving safely, because it did.

The car warmed because our girl never deserved to sit in the cold.

That’s what we did, we made the world bend around her.

I lit another cigarette. The tail lights got further away and I pulled my phone out to message Bastion. Tell him how beautiful our girl is. And how it was going to take time.

Chapter Ten

EMILIA

The glass doors closed behind me with the finality of a sentence I hadn’t read yet.

Three men stood as I entered — black suits, dynasty insignias stitched into their lapels, the air around them tight with the weight of legacy.

I’d grown up at the edge of this table. Watched these men whisper into my father’s ear. Seen them shake the hands of Dynasty kings while they dismantled empires over wine.

But now they were watching me.

“Miss Adams,” Corvin said. “Happy birthday.”

I said nothing. Because I wasn’t stupid enough to take that as a conversation starter.

The chair at the head of the table — his chair — was pulled out for me. I sat because I was told to. And I had learned how to breathe through panic.

Corvin gave a small nod to Marcus, who slid a matte black folder across the table.

My name shimmered across it in platinum embossing:

EMILIA V. ADAMS XII

The roman numeral felt like a brand.

“This is the final sealed clause of your father’s will,” Marcus said. “Unlocked upon your twenty-first birthday, as per dynasty stipulations.”

I kept my fingers tight in my lap.