His Little Toy
Chapter 1
Silas
The letter had sat unopened on my desk for two days. Something about it had felt off. The envelope was unmarked, the paper inside cheap—nearly translucent, like the kind used for junk mail or fax machines. But the bold, underlined header was anything but casual.
PRIVATE & CONFIDENTIAL
ADDRESSEE ONLY
Mr Silas Voss
The formality was almost amusing. I turned the envelope over and peeled it open. Inside was a single sheet of A4, folded neatly into thirds. Whoever sent it had been careful. Intentional.
I unfolded it. A crude message stared back at me—each word cut from newspapers or magazines and glued into place like a low-budget ransom note. All except the final line, which was typed, clean and modern, as though the sender had run out of patience halfway through.
Your wife is cheating.
Password: 3risCahill
I should’ve been hit by the contents, but what irritated me more was the inconsistency. Either commit to the cut-and-paste drama or type the whole thing—don’t half-ass both. Sloppy work was a personal pet hate.
I turned the paper over. Blank. Of course it was.
For a moment, I simply sat there, letting my gaze rest on the note. Whoever sent it hadn’t done so out of kindness. This wasn’t a friend. It wasn’t concern. No, this had the sour stench of calculation. Someone wanted me to spiral. Someone wanted this to hurt.
I had married Eris eleven years ago. She was three years older, with a sharp mind and a smooth tongue, and back then our ambitions had aligned. I took her daughter in as my own. Provided for them. Protected them. Gave them a name and a life few could dream of. If this was true—if she’d been fucking around behind my back—then it wasn’t just betrayal. It was contempt. It was a mockery of everything I had offered.
A low burn began to kindle in my chest, deep and slow. I muttered a curse under my breath as I reached for the mouse, waking my screen. My fingers moved on instinct. I logged into the email using the credentials. It worked immediately. No two-factor authentication. No security challenge. She hadn’t even bothered to lock it properly.
The inbox was full. Hundreds of emails. Strings of messages. Names, dates, locations, attachments. Hotel confirmations. Flirtatious lines. Photos. I didn’t need to open all of them—just enough to understand the scope.
The earliest email dated back to August 14th, 2016.
Two years into the marriage. That’s all it took for her to fuck someone else.
I stared at the date for a beat, letting the reality set in. Then my eyes dropped to the next name. A different man. Different time. Different lies. Another window opened. More evidence. Screenshots. Smiling selfies in hotel mirrors. Her, in lingerie I bought. Her, calling them baby.
The burn in my chest spread lower—acid in my gut, molten at the base of my spine. I didn’t rage. Not outwardly. I didn’t throw things. I didn’t shout. That was beneath me. But something inside me began to shift, turning colder with every passing second.
I reached for my phone and dialled.
“Silas, my man,” came Conrad’s voice. “Good to hear from you. Still on for next week?”
“I need you in my office,” I said, already clicking through another thread. “Today.”
“Everything alright?”
“No. But it will be.”
There was a pause. “I can be there in fifteen. Just need my PA to move a few things around.”
“See you soon.”
I ended the call without waiting for a reply.
