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“I told you, Ethan. I’m not in love with you. We broke up?—”
He snorts, walks away.
“I’m not marrying you. I don’t care what you say.”
A commotion in the outer room draws both our attention. The door swings open, no knock, and in walks Sly Fox. His teeth gleam, appearing sharp as he smiles wide, dressed impeccably in a bespoke suit, hair slicked back, diamond cufflinks glinting at his wrists. He looks refreshed but I see through him, finally. I see how different the turquoise of his eyes is from that of Silas’s.
Silas.
Did he really do it? Burn down my house beforecoming to the gala. Before doing what we did? Is he so duplicitous?
“She’s awake. Good.” Sly says, closing the door. He drops his smile when he looks at his son, and I watch them together, remembering what Sly insinuated. That he beat his son. I remember it was Sly who demanded my punishment. But Ethan protecting me by whipping me? No, that’s not how you protect someone.
He turns to Ethan. “Why isn’t she dressed?”
Ethan leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest. “Phee? You want to tell my father what you just told me?”
I tug the blanket over my chest and am glad when Sly speaks because I don’t want to tell him anything. I’m afraid of him. More afraid of him than of Ethan.
Sly grins. He must sense that fear. “Phee. I assume Ethan has explained what will happen next?”
“I’m not marrying him.” My heart thuds as I say the words.
Sly’s lip curls. “No? I think you are.”
“Where is Silas? What did you do to him?”
“Me? I didn’t do a thing. He did it all himself. He’s in jail, Phee. For arson.” He turns to Ethan. “Thought you’d have told her that.”
“I did.”
“Switch on the TV,” Sly tells Ethan who walks across the room to do as he’s told then hands the remote to Sly who clicks through to what he must have recorded earlier. It’s from the night of the gala. I see thedate in the corner of the screen as the reporter talks about the fire that consumed my house in record time.
I watch, trying not to cry.
“This is what’s left of your home, Phee. All your things that were inside are gone. And this,” he continues, clicking into a different channel. It’s the security footage from the house. I thought we’d canceled the contract a while ago, but I guess not. “This is your boyfriend. Do we call him that? No, that would be an insult to my son. My family. This is the real Silas Cruz in the flesh. Look at the time stamp. That’s while you were at the gala.”
“While you were searching the crowd for him,” Ethan adds.
“Hm.” Sly says, watching Silas walk out of the house in his tux, something tucked under his arm.
“Does my father know it’s gone?” I ask.
Sly turns to me. “How should I know? I don’t have contact with Horatio. He’s in prison for fucking me over, remember?” He returns his attention to the screen and replays the scene, zooming in on Silas’s determined face.
“Shut it off,” I tell him.
He doesn’t but he sets the remote aside and comes to me. I press myself against the headboard.
“Dad. Give her some space,” Ethan says.
Sly ignores him though. “Did he rape you, Phee?” he asks, faux concern in his tone.
I shake my head.
“No? Because that’s how it could look. I mean, there were witnesses.”
“He didn’t…” I can’t say the word.
