The air in the room was thick enough to choke on, charged with decades
of hatred and the metallic scent of blood. Silas Thorne moved with the lethal
grace of a panther, effortlessly evading Steven Cohen's enraged lunge and
answering with a devastating roundhouse kick that cracked like a whip.
"Do not speak her name to me," Silas bit out, his voice a low, dangerous
growl. "Even from the grave, she plays her games. Deceiving me for over twenty
years with a son who wasn't mine. Now that she's gone, you will pay the debt."
Steven staggered back, his arm throbbing from the impact. He gritted his
teeth, a feral smile twisting his bruised lips. "How dare you? Julian is your
son! She used your sperm for the IVF—you know she did!"
But Silas was already on him again, a blur of controlled fury. Their
struggle was a brutal, visceral dance, each blow meant to maim, to break, to
finally end the war that had simmered between them for a lifetime. The sound of
fists meeting flesh was a sickening percussion in the tense silence.
From the shadows of the corner, Julian watched, a strange, hollow calm
settling over him. The revelation of his identity, or lack thereof, felt like a
distant storm he was observing from behind thick glass. In this moment, death
seemed almost… inconsequential.
Silas gained the upper hand with ruthless efficiency. A powerful punch
sent Steven sprawling to the floor. In an instant, Silas was on him, a knee
pressed hard into his back, forcing the air from his lungs. He fisted a hand in
Steven's hair, wrenching his head back at a painful angle.
"I had the test redone," Silas hissed, his breath cold against Steven's
ear. "Did you think I wouldn't? How else would I have uncovered her twenty-year
lie?" His voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "It was you who drove Dr. Samir to
suicide. You were afraid I'd find the truth."
Forced to look up, his face a mask of swelling and blood, Steven managed
a ragged, broken laugh. "Hah. And if I said I didn't, would you believe me?"
Silas's piercing gaze scoured his face, searching for the lie in the
depths of his eyes. "I would like to know…" he began, his voice dangerously
soft.
Suddenly, Steven's focus shifted. His dark, inkwell eyes, burning with a
strange mix of hatred and confusion, locked onto Julian. "…why he isn't your
son."
Where had it all gone wrong?
The memory flashed, unbidden. Elora, on the verge of madness, insisting
she needed Silas's child to cleanse herself, to become pure again. He, Steven,
who wanted Silas dead more than anything, had been forced to comply, threatened
by her suicidal desperation. He had pulled the strings, procured the sample
from the Winslow sperm bank, had witnessed the birth himself.
So why? Why wasn't the child his?
Elora… what other secrets did you take to your grave?
A shiver, cold and sharp, traced Julian's spine under the weight of
Steven's bloody, dissecting stare. That gaze seemed to strip him bare,
questioning the very essence of his being. A bitter smile touched his lips. The
irony was absolute.
"Elora is dead. Dr. Samir's suicide had nothing to do with you? Do you
take me for a fool?" Silas's voice was like ice, dragging the focus back. "The
child was a scheme, a plot you and she concocted to usurp everything I built.
You bribed Samir to make me believe I was sterile, then planted your bastard in
my house to claim my legacy. Was that not your perfect revenge?" He leaned
closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Dare you look me in the eye
and tell me you knew nothing?"
Steven's lashes lowered, veiling the turbulent darkness within. When he
looked up again, a sinister, triumphant smile curved his bloody lips. "Quite
right. I orchestrated it all." The admission was a weapon. "Watching you raise
that boy, lavishing him with everything that should have been mine… it was the
sweetest retribution for killing her. A true poetic justice. Ha… Too bad you
found out. What a bore."
His malicious chuckle was cut short as Silas slammed his face into the
floor with a sickening crunch.
"Now it is your turn for retribution," Silas snarled. "The moment
Valenti traded you for his own son, you became a ghost. No one will come for
you. I've already prepared your new home—a state facility. You will spend the
rest of your miserable days there, if you're lucky."
A pained, guttural laugh escaped Steven's throat. "I'm afraid… I shan't
grant your wish."
The words were a trigger.
The door exploded inward. Silas's instincts screamed; he rolled
violently to the side as a bullet buried itself in the floor where his heart
had been a second before. In the chaos, Steven scrambled to his feet and lunged
for the window.
Moving with preternatural speed, Silas drew a sleek silver pistol from
his waist. Crack. Crack. Two precise shots—one disarmed the burly intruder, the
next shattered his knee, dropping him with a scream.
Silas was already turning, gun rising toward Steven, who now stood
poised on the windowsill, the night wind whipping at his clothes.
"Steven…" Silas's voice was dangerously calm.
Steven glanced down at the three-story drop, then back at Silas, a
reckless, wild grin on his face. "Care to guess? Will I die if I jump?"
"Try it," Silas said, advancing, the gun unwavering. "If the fall
doesn't kill you, it will leave you in pieces."
"Hmph." Steven's grin vanished. His gaze, cold and final, found Julian
once more. "Remember this, lad. Even if you are not his blood, your mother was
Elora Cohen. And this man—Silas Thorne—is the one who murdered her."
Julian's jaw clenched so tight it ached, his fists balled at his sides,
but he refused to look away.
"Shut your mouth," Silas commanded, his finger tightening on the
trigger.
In that final moment, Steven's eyes met Silas's, and his grin returned,
wide and terrible. "I won't lose to you again."
The gunshot was deafening in the confined space. But Steven was already
in motion, throwing himself backward into the void.
Silas rushed to the window in three long strides. Below, Steven's fall
was broken by the thick branches of an ancient oak. He hit the lawn with a
heavy thud, but, fuelled by sheer will, he staggered upright. He looked up,
directly at Silas in the window, and raised a hand in a mocking, final wave
before vanishing into the shadows of the estate.
A tense silence descended, broken only by the moans of the wounded man.
Then, a sharp, insistent ringtone pierced the air.
Silas didn't move, his eyes still fixed on the darkness where his enemy
had disappeared. Slowly, he pulled the phone from his pocket. The screen glowed
in the dim light.
Ethan.