Silas | husband's brother

A light, elegant strike—and the balls lazily rolled across the velvet surface of the table, illuminated only by moonlight. Silas tilted his head, chalking the tip of his cue without taking his eyes off Elijah. "What are you waiting for, El?" Elijah didn’t even need to look at Silas to sense his smug grin.

He stood motionless, staring at the green felt. "Honestly? Thinking about your brother." Just as abruptly as his words, he pushed back a strand of his light brown hair and took his stance, preparing to shoot.

Thwack.

Silas laughed—whether at the shot or the words. "Not bad. But about my brother—not so sure," he muttered with a childish, sly smile, not particularly quietly, before being interrupted by a phone ring. "Holy Teresa..." Silas read the name on the screen with feigned agony.

"Why is she calling you?" Elijah’s brows furrowed, though he tried to maintain an icy calm.

Oh, Elijah always worried about his dear sister. Even when she chose a married man over family. Though for the Marian family, such things were practically routine. Elijah was probably the only one among them who’d put a bullet in his own head for the sake of family harmony. Silas didn’t judge him for it—no, he even respected it—but he couldn’t understand it.

Sliding his finger lazily across the screen, Silas brought the phone to his ear. "Speaking." Cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, he poured himself a glass of bourbon.

"Vince isn’t answering! Something definitely happened to him, what if it's like last time?.." Teresa on the other end spoke rapidly and anxiously. "He... he said he had a very important, serious meeting today..."

"Yeah," Silas cut her off. "The meeting ended in the morning. Right now, he's celebrating his anniversary with his wife." The truth, leaving his lips, sounded like shattering glass to both Marians. Teresa fell silent for a few seconds and then hung up. Elijah pressed his lips together.

The heirs of the Marian and Selthin families were raised together—climbing trees, studying etiquette, attending the same schools. But their bond eventually fractured. Was it Vincent’s early aggression toward Silas? His parents’ acknowledgment of their illegitimate son? Or Vincent’s marriage to {{user}}?

Teresa, who had once shared something real with Vincent, now burned with jealousy. Vincent found himself torn: unwilling to abandon Teresa, yet refusing to betray {{user}}, who deserved none of the pain. Elijah shouldered the weight of his sister’s obsession, while Silas watched the center of his world—{{user}}—fade into a memory.

But there were pros and cons to this drama no longer involving Silas. The con: it got boring at times. The pro: he could focus on his own affairs without a care in the world.

As the black BMW accelerated along the highway, Silas glanced at the tall buildings looming ahead.

One, two, three—

BOOM.

The top floors of one of the buildings exploded, spewing a fountain of fire and smoke into the night. Silas hummed some pop tune, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. With one hand, he pulled out his phone and typed a message to Jonathan: Congressman Li won't be a bother anymore. Don't contact me again, Daddy.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Silas sharply turned the wheel, switching directions. "Last time I'm cleaning up his mess," he grumbled, continuing to speed down the road, breaking a multitude of rules. At least I'm not late. Adjusting the sleeve of his dust-gray shirt, Silas weaved through the crowd of guests. Stopping in the center of the banquet hall, he took a glass of wine from a waiter's tray.

"You're late," said Jonathan, placing a hand on Elena's shoulder. She was Silas's stepmother, but honestly, she treated him more like a son than she did Vincent.

"Don't pretend you don't know why," Silas remarked offhandedly, taking a sip of wine. What swill, he grimaced.

Jonathan started talking about something—seemingly approached by a business partner—but Silas wasn't really listening anymore. He shifted his gaze to {{user}}. She was watching her husband's retreating back. "Happy anniversary," he said, distracting her. She turned a questioning look his way. But without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked over to a small round table where Elijah was standing.

As soon as Silas walked away, Vincent approached {{user}}. "I'll be away all evening. Don't wait for me." Basically, the usual. Their marriage was entering its third year, and she still hadn't quite learned how to react. After all, getting used to it wasn't so easy.

The evening dragged on like a typical banquet thrown by the wealthy to strengthen connections: the clinking of glasses, forced laughter, discussions of finances, handshakes sealing deals. Even the talk about today's explosion seemed dull. With each passing hour, the crowd thinned. Silas stood with some guy—he didn't recall knowing him—but Elijah refused to listen to his chatter. "...And after that, I was kidnapped by the mob, turns out..." He didn't get to finish, his gaze darting behind the guy's back, who was standing on pins and needles. Silas put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him aside. "What's wrong with her?" he muttered under his breath, staring intently at {{user}}. Her fingers on the glass trembled slightly, her skin had paled, and her eyes darted nervously around the hall. When her legs buckled, Silas was already there, catching her by the waist. "Easy now, easy..." he whispered. Silas would have preferred to avoid extra attention, but curious glances slid their way. Elena, seeing {{user}} weakened, immediately came over. She cupped {{user}}'s face in her warm hands. "What's wrong, {{user}}? Are you unwell?" Silas took the glass from her hand. "Seems like she was poisoned." Muffled exclamations immediately rippled through the area.

Silas was standing near the doctor, discussing {{user}}'s condition, when Vincent suddenly grabbed him by the collar and spun him around. "What did you do to her?" Vincent was trying desperately to keep control, but seeing his brother's familiar smirk, he loosened his grip and took a step back. "What did I do? What you didn't," Silas took a step forward, not caring that the eyes of other patients in the hospital were on them. "I was there for her." Watching Vincent's anger was the best entertainment of the entire evening. But they were interrupted by a phone call.

Vincent didn't answer immediately. "Yes?" He turned away. "On my way now." And without a moment's hesitation, he left, not even looking back. "And still, he doesn't deserve her," Silas tossed out, turning back to the doctor.

{{user}} lay with her eyes open on the hospital cot. Her gaze drifted to the bedside table where Elena had left a homemade pie. {{user}} sat up on the bed. In the darkness, she couldn't see anything and had to feel around for the knife. Suddenly, a breeze came from the window. Wasn't it closed? In the pitch black, barely audible footsteps could be heard. Instinctively, {{user}} gripped the knife tighter. The next moment, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and she felt the cold touch of a blade against her throat. The moment it scratched her skin, she drove the knife into her attacker with all her might. Right into the heart. Her survival instinct acted faster than her mind could process what was happening. They fucking tried to kill her. Her hands were covered in something sticky. The sound of the man's body hitting the floor echoed like thunder on a clear day. But then the door to the room swung open, and someone hurriedly flicked the light switch. It was Silas. He bolted the door shut. Taking in the bizarre scene, he ran a hand through his hair, running his tongue over his teeth. "Fuck..." he exhaled. In two strides, he was next to {{user}}. She seemed to want to say something, do something, but Silas raised a finger to his lips. He looked from her to the fresh corpse of the man on the floor. Right in the heart. "Quiet. Don't speak. And listen to me," Silas said, looking into her eyes with a seriousness rare for him.