Page 37 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Elena

“P lease don’t take this the wrong way because I always love when you visit,” Natalie starts, her gaze fixed on me from atop the small step ladder just inside the guest bathroom. “But why did you want to come over so badly today?”

The piece of wallpaper she’s been battling for over ten minutes peels away from the top of the wall, draping over her head. The groan she releases sounds more demonic than human. I press my lips together, trying to suppress a laugh, but a snort escapes me anyway.

Natalie shoots me a glare as she pins it back into place, her tongue peeking out between her teeth in concentration. With one hand, she reaches for the scraper on the step near her chest to smooth out the bubbles. I smile at her from the floor and lean my head back against the wall.

I’d already offered to help her several times in the past two hours. She’s attempting to correct her disaster DIY project from the spring when we were both confined to our homes. Each time, she’s declined.

“Well?” she prompts.

My eyes wander, taking in the neatly pressed linens and the tidiness that makes it feel more like a hotel room than the place where I'd scattered my clothes just over a month ago.

Even as I try to distract myself from answering, Natalie waits.

“Silas needed space,” I finally admit .

It was one of our bad days. I’ve told Natalie enough about them that she doesn’t need more details. Not that I want to particularly relive them, anyway.

I could tell how the day was going to go the moment my eyes met his in the bathroom mirror this morning.

Silas was fresh from his post-workout shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. The resentment was etched in every line of his frown, the crease between his eyebrows, and his gaze hardened the moment he realized I had entered the room.

The shame that flooded me was enough to fill the free-standing bathtub behind him and drown in it.

I must be a glutton for punishment because I still tested the waters, brushing my fingers lightly against his bare back as I passed to my side of the vanity.

He recoiled just enough to confirm what I already knew.

So, I withdrew, too embarrassed to ask if I did something in particular or if it was just the sight of me this time.

Instead of asking questions and hurting my own feelings more than they already were, I gave him the space he clearly needed and went back into the bedroom. Only when he was dressed and retreated to his study did I get ready for my day and try to be as small as possible.

Silas stayed locked away all morning. I didn’t even dare to walk past his door, let alone try to speak with him. With Davey occupied at the office and no tasks for me, I was left to stew in my own thoughts.

After cooking myself breakfast alongside Kendall and a few hours of mindless television, the vastness of the mansion and the unbearable silence became too much.

So, when I texted Natalie and learned she was wallpapering, I seized the opportunity and asked Lloyd for a ride to her townhome on his way to take over for Paul at the satellite office.

I left a note for Silas on the window seat of the music room, where I spent a lot of my free time now. I didn’t want to insert myself into his thoughts with a text when he obviously wanted to avoid me. Leaving the note in the place he’d look for me felt like the best compromise.

“Ah,” Natalie muses, lips pursing as she considers her next words. “It feels like it’s been a longer stretch this time, at least? ”

I give her a thin smile. She isn’t wrong. Every bad day seems to be spaced further apart now. It’s progress, although it’s no less painful each time it happens. It’s starting to feel worse, actually.

“How’s the holiday party planning coming?” I ask, eager to pivot the conversation anywhere else.

Natalie is in the early stages of booking the venue for Wells—which feels crazy to be thinking about in September—but she tells me it’s completely normal.

Even though her gaze narrows, she details the places she’s toured, particularly an industrial event space closer to the suburbs, which is ideal since most staff don't live in the city.

We brainstorm potential activities to focus the evening less on the free alcohol, though it's always the main attraction.

While discussing how she might go about a partnership with a car service or rideshare company, my phone buzzes. I pull it out to see Cillian's name flashing on the screen.

“Hi Cillian,” I say, answering.

“Where are you?” The sharpness of his tone makes me pull the phone away from my ear.

“I’m at Natalie’s,” I reply, glancing up at her. Her brow furrows. “Why?”

Cillian exhales loudly. “Jesus,” he mutters. It sounds like I’m on speakerphone and he’s typing. “How did you get there?”

“I asked Lloyd to drop me off when he was leaving for the office,” I respond slowly. Natalie steps down from the ladder, eyes trained on me.

“Silas is going to call you. Please answer him,” Cillian says, then hangs up without waiting for a response.

Before Natalie can get out a single question, my phone vibrates again. I don’t even bother to look at the screen before sliding it open.

“Si,” I say immediately and pick myself off the floor, “is everything—”

“You can't do that, Elena.”

My pulse spikes at the pure venom dripping from his words. Suddenly, I’m not in Natalie’s guest bedroom; I’m back in that cold holding cell, tied to a chair with coarse rope digging into my wrists.

The edges of my vision blur, and I blink the darkness away.

“What can't I do?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

“You can't just leave like that,” Silas hisses.

My ears ring in the silence.

I glance toward Natalie, and with a sympathetic nod, she wordlessly excuses herself, rounding the bed and closing the bedroom door behind her.

The quiet only seems to make the ringing louder, and the heat buried in the center of my chest starts to expand outward like a tea kettle ready to boil over.

My inhale is shaky. “I left you a note in the music room.”

Silas scoffs, and there’s a rustle, maybe him running a hand through his hair. “Another note? Really?” he mutters, almost to himself.

The heat is doused by an icy cold as the meaning of his words hits me.

I squeeze my eyes shut and sink onto the edge of the bed. The mattress gives under my weight, grounding me just enough to remind me which way is up and which way is down.

Silas’s next words come out fast, “I went to look for you and you weren’t anywhere. Not in the bedroom, or the kitchen, or the attic. Not even in that goddamn guest room. ”

His heavy breathing is the only sound between us for several heartbeats. My free arm curls around my middle, but it brings no comfort.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to text you when you needed space.” Guilt washes over me as I continue, “I forgot to tell Lloyd that you didn’t know where I was going. That’s my fault.”

Another pause. “Did you think I’d be angry if you texted me?”

I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “I don’t know,” I admit.

Silas swears softly.

“Elena, no matter what’s happening, I don’t want you disappearing like that.” His voice strains, and I can almost picture his grimace. “I didn’t even make it to the music room before I called Cillian because I thought you wouldn’t answer my call.”

It’s hard not to imagine his panic growing as he failed to find me in every room he checked, wearing the same expression he had in the kitchen the night I left last time.

I clench my hand into a fist, my fingernails digging into my palm to distract from the aching in my chest.

How did I mess this up so badly?

I whisper another apology, but he’s quick to interject. “Please stop apologizing. This—you shouldn’t feel like you can’t text me.” The line goes silent for a long moment before Silas breaks it, his voice gentler. “Can I come pick you up?”

My mouth opens to answer, but nothing comes out.

Is that even a good idea? Once the relief settles, will he go back to hating me for the rest of the day? I’m not sure I can handle that at the moment. The idea of being left alone in that house when I have nowhere else to go feels like its own form of punishment.

He brings me back with the softest request, “To talk about it in person. Please.”

A sad smile curves to my lips at his defeated plea.

“Okay.”

Silas exhales. “Thank you,” he whispers. “I’m sorry. It’s not an excuse, but I’m still trying to figure this out.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I know, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

A small, pitiful laugh bubbles up from my throat before I answer, “I’ve done plenty wrong.”

He sighs. “I mean, when I get like this, I…” he trails off, letting out a frustrated huff while searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be like this.”

I wince .

It’s impossible to wrap my brain around the idea that I’ve been unraveling the discipline of a man whose emotions are so tightly reined in that they might as well be engineered, thread by thread.

Or the fact that he still wants to forgive me for everything I’ve done.

“How about we just focus on today?” I suggest, running my fingernail along the seam of one of the subtle florals stitched on the comforter. “Let’s work on that and see how it goes.”

“I can do that,” he agrees. “Let’s fix today.”

My mouth turns up into a more genuine smile. “Okay.”

“Hang tight. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“See you soon.” I don’t wait for his response before hanging up.

My lock screen illuminates as I tilt my phone, displaying the photo I took in the attic last week. There’s a blurred movie in the background, my bare legs tangled with Silas’s sweatpant-clad ones on the couch. The soft lighting makes everything in the image seem muted and warm.

It’s the most courage I’ve had to take any photos of him or us together. My cheeks were so hot when I took my phone out to snap the picture, and Silas barely tried to hide his smug smirk as he watched.

His composure only seemed to break the next morning when he realized I had set it as my wallpaper. In seconds, his eyes turned molten as they flicked back and forth from me to the phone.

“We’re done talking,” I call out, turning my head just enough to see Natalie crack open the door with a sheepish look on her face.

She opens it wider, but leans against the doorframe instead of entering, her fingers still on the handle. “You okay?” She scans my face from top to bottom.

I shrug. “I think so. He’s coming to pick me up so we can talk.”

Natalie’s jaw works as she considers my answer, arms crossing over her chest. “If there was anything remotely normal about this relationship, I’d be telling you to run for the hills because this hot-and-cold treatment is very unhealthy.”

The space between my eyes starts to ache, and I rub it, nodding .

She picks herself off the door and rounds the bed, patting my knee as she returns to her ladder. “He’s going to figure it out,” Natalie continues, trying to convince herself of it as much as she is me. “By the end of all of this, it’s going to be worth it.”

I bob my head again at her words.

She’s right and wrong.

If this were any other relationship, I’d walk away, but it’s not.

It’s Silas. And no matter the outcome, there hasn’t been a moment it hasn’t felt worth it.

Because, somehow, every time things fall apart, we find a way to drag each other back to the surface.

And what’s left of us is so consuming that it almost feels clean, like all the damage burned off on the way up.

And nothing compares to the days we both believe we want this.

So, I wait for the sound of his footsteps down the hall, ready to unapologetically pull me away from his sister, because after knowing what that high feels like, I’d rather it incinerate me than let it go.