Page 13 of Silent Oaths
ButIlet it go—for now.
Instead,Iset my sights on a new distraction.Matteo, one ofMadhouse’smore colorful regulars, is lingering near the buffet, stuffing his face with some overpriced canapé.
Perfect.
“Matteo!”Icall out, throwing my arms wide asIstride toward him, forcing the tension out of my body and into my usual charm. “Youglorious bastard!Howare you?”
Iclap him on the back harder than necessary, grinning likeIdon’t have a care in the world.It’sa lie, of course, but lying is practically my second language.
* * *
Theroom is filledwith the low murmur of conversation and the occasional clink of glassware, a symphony of shallow pleasantries that makes my teeth itch.Lionelstands at the center of it all, his theatrical gestures and saccharine smiles on full display as he schmoozes his audience.Watchinghim is like observing a poorly written play—the kind where the actors are so desperate for applause, they drown in their own melodrama.
Sigh.
Ilean against the wall, swirling the clear liquid in my glass asIhalf-listen to one of theWhitmorelackeys drone on about some business merger.Lionel’svoice rises above the rest as he recounts one of his embellished tales.Hisfavorite kind, where he’s both the hero and the genius.
Theatricsrun in the family,Isuppose.Thedifference is,Idon’t pretend my act is anything more than smoke and mirrors.Fatherbelieves in his own bullshit, and that’s what makes him dangerous.It’salso what makes dethroning him more enticing.
Ipicture it sometimes—ripping that crown right off his head, watching his carefully constructed empire crumble under the weight of his own arrogance.Soon.Butfor now,Iplay along, the dutiful son with a charming smile and just enough mischief to keep things interesting.
Boredomcreeps in.Myfingers drum against the side of my glass asIglance towardJulian, who stands stiffly nearby, his expression carved from stone.Whenour eyes meet, the tension from our earlier exchange lingers.
Hisgaze flickers, andIknow he’s still thinking about whatIsaid.
Igrin, just slightly, just enough to let him knowIhaven’t forgotten either.Hisjaw tightens, his fingers flexing at his sides, but he doesn’t look away.
It’sa game we’ve played for years—this push and pull.
Father’svoice rises above the rest, commanding attention as he steps into his role as the night’s master of ceremonies.
“Goodevening, ladies and gentlemen,”Lionelbegins, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Welcometo tonight’s gathering.Asalways, it’s a pleasure to see so many familiar faces… and a few new ones.”Hiseyes sweep overIsabelandValeriabriefly, and thoughIcan’t see their faces from here,Idon’t miss the wayValeriastiffens, her posture going rigid.
“Fortonight’s entertainment,”Lionelcontinues, his tone growing darker, “we have chosen a game both thrilling and exhilarating.I’msure many of you are familiar with it.”Hepauses, milking the silence, his gaze sweeping the room as if he’s a puppeteer tugging on invisible strings.Theair grows heavy, anticipation buzzing like static electricity. “Wewill be playing… hide and seek.”
Thewords land like a thunderclap, the room collectively holding its breath.Outof the corner of my eye,IcatchIsabeltense, her earlier calm vanishing.Theway her fingers tighten around her glass doesn’t escape me, andIcan almost feel the nervous energy radiating from her even from across the room.
Lionel’ssmile widens, as if feeding off the unease.Helives for this—reveling in the power he holds over everyone here. “Therules are simple.Youhide, and when the clock strikes midnight, we seek.Butbe warned—those who are found…Well, let’s just say that’s when the real fun begins.”
Iclench my jaw, the glass in my hand growing warm against my palm.IfIdidn’t know better,I’dthinkLionelbelieved he was some kind ofGod, his word law, his games gospel.It’snauseating, really.Andyet, here we are, playing along like good little pawns.
Amemory pulls me back, unbidden and unwelcome.Iwas fifteen whenLionelcame for us—me,Theo, andJulian, three boys plucked from a building that reeked of despair.Theowas the golden boy, the one everyone liked.Julianwas the quiet one, always observing, calculating.Andme?Iwas the odd one out.
Theother kids didn’t know what to do with me.Iwas too loud, too unpredictable, too… different.Theycalled me weird, unhinged, a freak.Ididn’t fit their mold, and it pissed them off.Atfirst, it pissed me off too.Then,Ilearned something: if they wanted me to be the villain,Icould be the best damn villain they’d ever seen.Ileaned into chaos, made it my armor.
ButJuliansaw something in me no one else did.
Atfirst,Ithought he was just like the others—passing judgment.However,Julianwasn’t watching to mock or tear me down.Hewas studying me, trying to understand me in a way no one else ever had.Somehow, he did.
Wegot closer in waysInever expected.WhereTheowas always half a step ahead, trying to please,Julianwas there beside me, matching my pace.Hedidn’t shy away from the edges of me that scared others; he met them head-on, challenging me in waysIdidn’t knowIneeded.
Lateat night, when the world outside our shared room felt too heavy, we would lie side by side, whispering about the future.
Iwould feel his breath on my skin, close enough to touch but never quite crossing that invisible line.
Therewere moments when the lines blurred.Ourhands would brush and linger, his gaze would hold mine a second too long.
IsworeIcould feel the hesitation in him, the same hesitation clawing its way up my throat.
