Page 32 of The Silent War

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way she said them. The quiet strain in her voice. She didn’t meet my eyes when she said it. But I heard the truth even if she wouldn’t look at me.

That it had hurt.

ThatIhad hurt her.

And she wasn’t asking for an explanation.

She reached for her drink again and finished it in a single sip. I watched her fingers trace the empty glass. The slight tremor in them

“I’m sorry.”

That word meant nothing compared to hurt I felt. How much it hurt being away from her.

She stared at the empty glass. “And I love sea urchin soufflé now.”

My eyes dropped to the untouched plate in front of her.

“The lies we tell,” she murmured, “just to make other people comfortable.”

And fuck—I felt that.

She wasn’t talking about the soufflé.

She was talking about us.

About all the years of silence. Every message we left unanswered. The calls she made that were never answered. She was right to throw it back in my face.

I didn’t speak, not because I didn’t have the words—but because anything I said would just be another lie.

But one day—one day—she’d know.

One day, I’d get to show her.

Every deal, every empire, every fucking line of blood spilled since she left—it was always for her. To make room for her, clear a path no one could block again.

But tonight wasn’t that night.

So I leaned back. Loosened my grip on the edge of the table. Forced myself to stay silent, one more time. Because she didn’t need an apology.

She needed proof.

And I hadn’t earned the right to give it.

“Well. As I told Luca. It’s all in the past.” She sighed, and brushed us off.

With the kind of poise trained into girls who weren’t allowed to break. Not even when their hearts were shattered by boys who disappeared without warning.

She looked away, and then smoothed a hand over her dress and asked, “Do you think they’ll serve dessert?”

It wasn’t a real question.

It was dynasty small talk. A graceful deflection. And still, it gutted me.

Because that was our good girl—still being polite. Still offering conversation. Even to the man who broke her heart and never gave her the goddamn closure she deserved.

I nodded. “Probably something with a French name you’ll pretend to like.”

Her lips twitched. But it didn’t touch her eyes.