Page 108 of Sins of the Hidden

Victoria's lips silently formed the words, "Tell us the truth," but Oakley's eyes flicked to me before dropping to the floor. I caught the subtle movement of her counting her breaths, her lips barely moving.

"No. I want to be with V." Oakley's voice was wooden, her fingers unconsciously rubbing at the raw marks on her wrists. Just get through this. Don't let him hurt Mom and Dad. The unspoken words seemed to radiate from her rigid posture.

The clubhouse doors slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls.

Every head snapped toward the doorway. Law filled the threshold, but instead of the explosive rage everyone expected, he entered with methodical calm.

He deliberately avoided looking at Oakley or me—didn't even blink in our direction. Instead, he slowly moved through the clubhouse, nodding to each person by name.

"Husk," he said with a nod. "Knight." A quick gesture. "Victoria. Faith." Each name spoken with perfect composure, each acknowledgment making his deliberate omission of Oakley more pointed. His calculated movements and icy composure created a silence more unsettling than any shouting match.

"Jesus, Law. Someone die or something?" Husk asked sarcastically, leaning against the pool table.

Law's mouth curved into a slow, unreadable smile. "Something like that."

He took his time getting a drink from the bar, making everyone wait in loaded silence, ice cubes rattling loudly as they settled in his glass. The tension stretched like a wire pulled taut across the room. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Oakley spiraled into quiet panic behind me, her breathing quickening with small tremors visible in her hands. Her eyes darted frantically between Law's back and my face, pupils dilated with fear. She unconsciously moved closer to me, seeking protection despite fearing me. The irony wasn't lost on me—Law's silence accomplished what I never could. It made her willingly choose me.

She stood behind me like I was her shelter. Like I was her safety.

Victoria quietly moved closer to Faith, placing herself between my wife and the brewing confrontation, visibly anxious. This silent, protective gesture communicated volumes without dialogue.

"He's not even looking at her," Joslyn whispered anxiously to Victoria.

Law took out a photo from his wallet—a family picture of Oakley as a child. Without looking at her, he carefully placed it facedown on the counter between us, a silent, chilling message: This isn't my daughter anymore.

He set the picture down like a gravestone, and I wondered if Oakley felt the same quiet funeral happening inside her chest.

I deliberately positioned myself between Law and Oakley, baiting him into confrontation.

Law's eyes flicked briefly, almost imperceptibly, to Oakley's shoulder. Jaw muscles twitched, knuckles whitening on his glass—but he still didn't speak. Instead, he took another controlled sip.

I showed him exactly who she belonged to. He drank slowly, like he was swallowing broken glass. But he didn't say a damn thing.

Whispered comments around the clubhouse slowly escalated, making it clear everyone was waiting for Law to explode.

Husk muttered quietly to Grim, just audible enough: "Ever seen Law this quiet before?"

Grim didn't say anything.

"Dad?" Oakley silently mouthed—a tiny, desperate attempt at connection. Law visibly stiffened, forcing himself not to respond, his fingers tightening around the drink until the glass cracked subtly, ice shifting loudly inside.

She shrank into herself like he'd slapped her.

My hand flexed into a fist, imagining Law's breath choked off, fading into silence beneath my grip. He was breathing borrowed air, living only because Oakley wouldn't forgive me if he died. I could visualize the precise angle needed—the exact pressure point at the base of his throat, the proper grip to cut offblood flow to his brain. One quick, practiced motion. The way his eyes would widen in that fraction of a second of realization before the lights went out permanently.

Grim settled into a chair, legs stretched out, openly amused at the tension, adding another layer of uncomfortable entertainment to the unfolding drama.

"Not gonna lie," Grim said, his voice carrying across the now-silent room, "this silent-treatment shit might actually be worse than yelling."

He stood from his seat, eyes cold and calculating, though I caught that flicker of satisfaction at having created this particular storm. He hadn't shouted, hadn't needed to. The authority in his tone was unquestionable. "You two." He turned his gaze to Law and me. "Office. Now."

He turned to Oakley, his tone conversational, almost casual. "Congratulations. If he tries to kill Law in my office, you want to know, or prefer plausible deniability?"

Oakley shrank back from Grim's gaze, her shoulders curving inward as if trying to become smaller in the presence of the man who had witnessed her nightmare beginning.

As I stepped away to follow Grim, her fingertips grazed my sleeve, featherlight, trembling. She understood now.

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