The morning after Caleb was forced out of the house, the manor didn't just feel quiet; it felt dead. I sat at the long, mahogany dining table, the silver cutlery gleaming under the heavy crystal chandelier like sharpened teeth. Silas was at the head of the table, his face hidden behind the morning paper, his coffee steaming in a bone china cup. To anyone else, we were the perfect picture of a billionaire power couple enjoying a peaceful breakfast. To me, we were just two people haunting the same house, waiting to see who would break first.
“The gala for the Sterling Thorne foundation is this Friday,” Silas said. He didn't look up from the paper. His voice was clipped and professional, the exact tone he used when giving instructions to a high ranking employee he didn't quite trust. “I’ve h
