(Elena POV)
There was something deeply unsettling about certain kinds of silence.
Not the peaceful kind. Not the comforting kind.
The kind that pressed down on you, thick and heavy, making your skin crawl because every instinct screamed that something was wrong.
That was exactly how I felt walking through the penthouse that evening.
The place was unnaturally quiet. Most of Silas's men had vanished after the incident at school, and Silas himself had been locked in his office for hours, dealing with "business."
Threatening people.
Or killing them.
With him, it was never clear which.
I should have been relieved he was occupied.
Instead, I felt restless. Annoyed.
And irritated with myself for even noticing his absence.
Pathetic.
I sighed and wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge just to have something to do. Nothing looked appealing—not even the expensive desserts that would have made teenage me weak. I grabbed a bottle of water instead.
Boring.
Fitting.
The moment I turned around, I froze.
A sleek black box sat in the center of the island counter.
I hadn't left it there.
I approached slowly. No note. No name. Just a matte black ribbon tied neatly around it. A strange chill crawled up my spine.
I should have called someone.
I should have walked away.
Instead, curiosity won.
I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
Inside was a doll.
My blood turned to ice.
No.
Blonde curls. A blue dress. A cracked porcelain face with one missing eye.
I knew that doll.
My fingers gripped the edge of the counter as my stomach dropped. I stumbled backward, my hip slamming into the marble.
"No…" I whispered.
That wasn't possible. That doll was gone. It had been gone for years.
The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. My chest tightened as memories I had buried deep clawed their way to the surface.
I was seven years old again. Rain hammered against the windows while my mother screamed downstairs—not yelling, but screaming. The kind of sound that twisted your stomach.
I remembered hiding under my bed, clutching that exact doll to my chest while my father destroyed the living room in one of his drunken rages. Glass shattering. My brother shouting. My mother crying.
And me—trying not to breathe too loudly. Because if he found me, it always got worse.
Much worse.
The bedroom door slamming open.
Heavy footsteps.
The stench of alcohol.
Then his voice: "Where is she?"
I squeezed my eyes shut in the memory, holding the doll tighter, praying.
Until the hand grabbed my ankle and dragged me out.
I snapped back to the present, gripping the counter so hard my knuckles ached. My breathing was ragged.
Nobody knew about that night.
Nobody.
Not my friends. Not even Allie.
My family had buried it, pretending the bruises never existed, pretending my father had "changed."
But he never really did.
I stared at the ruined doll, horror sinking deeper into my bones.
Who the hell sent this?
My hands trembled as I reached into the box again. There was something underneath the doll.
A card.
I opened it with unsteady fingers.
Four words were written in elegant handwriting:
Still hiding under beds?
The world tilted.
My heart slammed against my ribs so violently I thought I might be sick.
A soft clap echoed behind me.
I spun around.
Valentina stood at the entrance of the kitchen, elegant and terrifying in all black. Her long brown hair cascaded over one shoulder, and her green eyes sparkled with dark amusement.
"Well," she said softly, "that reaction was even better than I imagined."
Rage cut through my panic like a blade.
"You sick bitch."
Valentina smiled slowly.
"Oh, there she is."
"How do you know about that?" I demanded, my voice shaking.
"About what?" she asked innocently, tilting her head.
"You know exactly what."
Her smile widened. "You'd be surprised what powerful families manage to hide, Elena."
A chill slid down my spine.
"You've been digging into my past?"
"Of course I have," she replied, sounding almost offended. "You're living with a man who once belonged to me. Did you really think I wouldn't want to know what makes you so… interesting?"
"I'm not special."
"No," she agreed softly. "But you are interesting."
I hated the way she looked at me—like she could peel me apart piece by piece.
"You should leave," I said quietly.
Valentina laughed, a soft, chilling sound. "Oh sweetheart, if Silas wanted me gone, I would be. But he doesn't."
The words stung more than they should have.
She noticed.
"Aw," she mocked gently. "Did that hurt?"
"What do you want?" I snapped.
She took a slow step closer, heels clicking against the marble. "To help you."
"You're insane."
"Am I?" Her voice stayed calm. "Because I don't think you understand what's really happening here."
"I understand enough."
"No," she whispered. "You really don't."
Her amusement faded, replaced by something colder.
"You think Silas is protecting you because he cares?" she asked. "He's obsessed, Elena. There's a difference."
I swallowed hard.
"He watches people the way predators watch prey. Haven't you noticed?"
I said nothing.
Because I had.
Valentina moved even closer. "He will burn the world down for you," she whispered. "And one day you'll realize that also means he'll burn you."
Something twisted painfully in my chest.
"You don't know him."
Her expression darkened. "Oh, I know him better than anyone."
The silence between us grew heavy.
Her gaze drifted back to the doll. "Trauma is such a fascinating thing," she murmured. "You spend years burying it. Convincing yourself it no longer hurts. And then one tiny thing rips you open again."
My breathing grew unsteady.
"That fear in your eyes?" she said softly. "That's the real you."
"Shut up."
"You're still that little girl hiding under the bed—"
"SHUT UP!"
My scream tore through the penthouse.
For the first time, Valentina smiled like she had truly won.
Then a cold, lethal voice cut through the air.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Everything stopped.
Silas.
He stood in the entrance, still wearing his black suit. The moment his eyes landed on me, his expression shifted. He saw everything—the panic, the trembling, the tears I hadn't realized were falling.
Then his gaze moved to the doll on the counter.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
I had never seen him go that still before.
He looked at Valentina, and the air turned dangerous.
"What," he said quietly, "did you do?"
Valentina didn't flinch. "She's emotional. That's hardly my fault."
Silas stepped forward, terrifyingly calm. "You touched something that belongs to me."
My breath caught.
Valentina's expression hardened. "Don't start pretending this is love."
Silas ignored her. His eyes flicked back to me for a brief second, something raw flashing across his face—pure, protective rage.
Then he looked back at her.
"You have ten seconds to leave before I forget every reason I've ever had for keeping you alive."
The deadly softness in his voice made the threat ten times worse.
Valentina's smile finally faltered.
"You're proving my point, Silas."
"One."
"You're choosing her over everything."
"Two."
She shot me one last look, pure hatred burning in her eyes.
"This isn't over."
She turned and walked out.
The second she disappeared, my knees buckled.
Silas caught me instantly, one strong arm wrapping around my waist.
"Hey," he said quietly, his voice suddenly gentle.
That gentleness nearly broke me.
Because no one had ever spoken to me like that after something like this.
"You're okay."
I shook my head, tears slipping free.
"No," I whispered.
And for the first time in years, I truly meant it.