Chapter 62 She'd be in a jumpsuit, not wearing diamonds
CHAPTER 62: She'd be in a jumpsuit, not wearing diamonds
Silas
I moved toward the tall windows that overlooked the manicured, moonlit grounds of the estate, my mind hammering with Chauncey’s question.
I could feel his eyes on my back, waiting for a confession I wasn't sure I was ready to give.
“I want her to pay for what she did,” I said, my voice like grinding stones. “I want Vera to understand the gravity of what she has done. That hasn't changed, Chaunce.”
“Really?” he straightened, stepping closer, his footsteps silent on the rug. “Because from where I'm standing it looks like there's something else there. Something that doesn't look like revenge, brother.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It looks like an obsession. Or…or worse—”
I spun around quickly, my gaze sharp enough to draw blood.
“Careful, brother. You don't know what you're talking about.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Well I happen to know what I'm talking about.”
It irked me to admit it to myself, but he was right. I wanted Vera to pay, but there was also something there.
Maybe it was my desire for her. Or maybe it was something I neither wanted to confront nor acknowledge.
Revenge and desire were easier.
“I know you better than anyone,” he countered softly. “If this is about—”
“I want her to realize that her freedom is a debt she will never be able to settle. Not as long as I breathe,” I interrupted coldly.
Chauncey didn't blink, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his gaze never wavering.
"I don't believe you, Silas. If you truly wanted her to pay the price of her crimes, you wouldn't be keeping her locked in a gilded cage in the middle of Manhattan.”
I tilted my head. “Would a shanty in the slumps have looked better on my intentions?” I asked with a dry, dark humor. “I think it's hardly fitting for my reputation.”
He dragged his hand down his face.
“Exactly my point. You’re basically playing this twisted, self-indulgent game of judge, jury, and executioner in your own living room while the world thinks you’re just a devoted husband.”
“That was the desired result,” I replied flatly. “I am doing what is necessary to ensure justice is served on my terms, while managing the delicate optics of this family.”
“And you think that's more important than morality?”
I chuckled. But there was no mirth nor warmth to it.
“That's rich coming from you, brother. There's a new girl making a fool of herself on the Internet every week because you kicked her to the curb.”
“That is beside the point—”
“No. The point is that there is a larger picture here that you are choosing to ignore because you've developed some misplaced sympathy for a woman who doesn't deserve it,” I cut in hotly.
He let out a short, hollow laugh that lacked even a trace of his usual humor.
“And what could that larger picture be, brother? Justice? Or your own disturbing feelings and desire for a woman that you're meant to despise.”
My fingers curled tightly.
He exhaled deeply, continuing on a lighten tone.
“Stop this right now, Silas. Hand her over to the police. That video is conclusive evidence enough. If you want her in a cell, put her in one and be done with it. Stop playing this god-complex routine.”
I felt the muscles in my jaw bunch, a white hot anger, beginning to coil in the pit of my stomach as I stared down at my brother.
“I am not letting her off that easily. And do not assume that you can stand there and attempt to tell me how to handle my wife, or my grief!”
Chauncey shook his head, a look of genuine disappointment.
”Your wife?” he challenged, his voice rising just enough to echo in the silent room. “Is that what she is to you now? I thought we were talking about a condemned criminal right now?”
I had no idea when I let that slip.
“In the eyes of the world, Vera is my lawfully wedded wife. What difference does it make?”
“The difference is that if this was really about her punishment, she’d be in a jumpsuit, not wearing diamonds. You're keeping her here and playing judge because it gives you a reason to never let her go.”
“No. This is also about the partnership with LutherCorp," I countered sharply, waving the professional shield to deflect his personal attack. “I cannot and will never hand my wife over to the NYPD for murder, in the middle of a multi-billion dollar merger and in effect, incinerate my plan and our reputation.”
Chauncey rolled his eyes, like he was tired of the excuse.
“The partnership is already well on its way,” he pointed out. “The contracts are being drafted. You told me so.”
“The alliance isn't stable enough to survive a scandal if it broke out, and you know it.” I paused and paced slowly in a circle. “Tell me something, Chaunce.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“You seem to care about Vera, but you seem so eager to see her behind bars.”
He sighed. “There's only so much that one could take before they are forced to fight back…or spiral into resentment.”
I halted. A brief silence ensued.
“You think I'd care if she grows to resent me?” I scoffed. “You think I care what Vera thinks?”
Did I?
The question flickered in my mind like a dying flame.
He shrugged. “I believe you alone can answer that question.”
“Well, here's an answer for you. What Vera thinks or feels is of no consequence to me. She's simply a means to an end.”
He looked at me for a while, his head tilted, dark eyes boring into mine with a terrifyingly perceptive light that seemed to see right through the walls I had built around my heart.
The next question he asked cut through my annoyance with a single, devastating thought that made the world around me go deathly still, the air in the room suddenly feeling too thin to breathe.
“Maybe you don't care what she feels,” he whispered, his voice cutting through like a cold, surgical blade. “But tell me something, brother... what happens if you fall in love with her?”