“Hmm.” Vincent leaned back in his chair. His dark eyes held mine with an indescribable intensity that only he could manage. His ability to read people with a frightening kind of precision was something I had never fully understood. He somehow managed to peel through all the carefully arranged masks they wore, all while never saying a word. Usually, I admired him for it. But at that moment, I hated every second of it. I didn’t want him to call me out for the things I already knew were issues.
The silence between us stretched on, palpable and uncomfortable. I had the distinct feeling that he was simply waiting for me to break first. For me to spill all the dark secrets festering in my mind. To lay out the unhealthy obsession I had with a man who had hired us.
“All right then,” Vincent said finally, breaking the tension. His demeanor changed, easing into something casual as he smiled. “I have Mr. Baker’s after-experience report. He was satisfied with everything overall, so… job well done. The clean-up crew has already started to sanitize everything, Ares has been squared away, and here we are.”
“Good,” I murmured with a slight nod. I fell silent as I watched him rearrange things on his desk and pull out a manila envelope.
“Your payment has already been deposited into your account.”
“Thank you.” I wasn’t worried about that.
“Elena and I are taking advantage of the quiet period by traveling for a little bit,” he told me. Leaning across the desk, he handed it to me. My name was scrawled in his handwriting across the front. I frowned as I accepted it because it was out of the norm for these kinds of meetings. While his traveling wasn’t unheard of, it never came with an envelope. “This is for you. Open it up in a few weeks. I won’t be here, but it’ll make more sense. I promise.”
“You’re being cryptic, Vinnie,” I said.
“Isn’t that what I do best?” he countered. “It’s Society maintenance, Owen. It’s nothing to stress over. As I said, it’ll make more sense in a few weeks.”
“Right.” That wasn’t ominous at all. I glanced at the envelope once more.
“Relax, Owen. Don’t overthink it.” Vincent stood, and I followed suit, recognizing the end to our conversation. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? We’re trying out a Greek recipe Elle found online.”
“As tempting as that sounds,” I began with a laugh, “I’m not nearly as experimental with food as you two are.”
I’d learned that lesson the hard way. My tastes weren’t nearly as curious as theirs were. That, and I didn’t trust viral recipes the way they did.
“Fair enough,” he conceded. He walked me out, stopping only long enough for me to say goodbye to Elena—a feat that took way longer than it needed to because she tried hard to rope me into their food adventure. The more excited she got, the harder it became to turn her down. I almost caved, but Vincent came to my rescue and ushered me out of the house.
The envelope taunted me as I sat in my car. It was such an out-of-character thing for him to do. I had no doubts that it had to do with Society maintenance. Vincent wouldn’t lie to me. But what that was bothered me.
Despite the instruction to wait a few weeks, I tore open the flap. A few weeks wasn’t specific enough, and I’d stick to that. Inside was a single-page letter in Vincent’s handwriting.
Owen,
The Black Silk Society is built on one simple truth: people rarely ask for what they truly need. It is the first lesson I teach my Architects. It is the first thing I ask you to anticipate with every experience.
For years, you have understood that better than anyone. You have looked beyond requests and listened to things our clients have left unsaid. You recognized grief, longing, fear, and hope hidden beneath carefully chosen words. You gave our clients the things they did not know how to ask for, and in doing so, you have changed lives here.
But somewhere along the way, you have forgotten something: Architects are not exempt from the very things they build for others. They are not exempt from the desires and needs they meet.
You have spent years teaching people that they deserve to be seen, to be cared for, and to be chosen without condition. You have orchestrated extraordinary experiences and devoted yourself entirely to the needs and wants of others. And in the process, you became far too comfortable with ignoring your own.
It was only a matter of time before someone reminded you that you are allowed to want something in return.
I wish the very best that life has to offer you, and I do hope our paths will cross once more in the future.
You will always have a home in the Society should you need it. Both of you.
—Vincent
I stared at the letter, my frown deepening with every paragraph. With the letter was a sizable check—the kind that would set me up for life and then some. Except it made no sense.
Was he firing me?
No. There was no way Vincent would do that through a letter… would he?
My gaze snagged on the final line.Both of you. The words were a sucker punch to the gut. For a moment, I simply stared at them. I read them once. And then twice. And then a third time. I kept re-reading them as if they’d somehow change the longer I stared.
Both of you.
