Chapter 86 The Claim
CHAPTER 86: The Claim
Vera
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't think.
My entire world and everything around me froze.
But the man’s words didn't stop ringing in my ear. Neither did it just hang in the air; they felt like a physical weight, bearing down and crushing the oxygen out of my lungs. The world lost its footing, tilting around me and the glittering chandeliers of the ballroom spun into a dizzying blur of light and shadow.
My hand moved instinctively, protectively, to the curve of my stomach, my fingers curling into the velvet as if I could shield the life inside me from the ill gaze of this man.
“What…” My voice was a broken whisper. The ghost of a sound that I didn't even recognise as my own barely made it past the heaviness in my throat.
Chauncey stared at me with a mix of sympathy and anxiety.
But I didn't look at him. I stared at the stranger, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs. “What did you just say?”
I searched the stranger's face, desperate for a spark of recognition… a nose, a jawline, the scent of him, a mark; anything that would reconcile him to the faceless shadow from that drugged, horrific night in Damien’s club.
But I was left with nothing.
That night, Damien had ensured that I'd put up no resistance and wouldn't remember a thing, but at least there had to be something. There was no flash of recognition, not even a feeling. Nothing but the sickening, proprietary glint in his eyes that made my skin crawl.
“Vera, don't,” Silas’s voice sliced through the air, cold and lethal. He didn't look at me, his heated focus was entirely locked on the stranger, his posture that of a predator ready to pounce and snap a neck at any point.
He stepped partially in front of the smug-faced man, his body a wall of rigid, charcoal-clad muscle.
“Do not say another word. Do not indulge this man for a single second. He's not worth it.”
“I think it's better if you just walk away now,” Chauncey warned, an edge to his voice.
My eyes quickly scanned around the ballroom. Thankfully we had yet to attract attention. Just a few occasional glances from people who possibly assumed we were exchanging greetings.
Silas's eyes narrowed into two slivers of dark flint. “My advice,” he said, the word vibrating with a quiet, terrifying violence. “Choose your next words very, very carefully. Because they might very well be the last ones you speak in this city if you aren't careful. Try me.”
The man didn't flinch. If anything, his smile broadened, revealing a row of teeth that looked too white and fake against his gelled, slicked-back hair.
“Relax, Rutherford. I’m not here to cause a scene. I’m not looking for a scandal or a headline,” he said, his tone conversational, as if we were discussing the stock market rather than the destruction of my life.
Chauncey stepped forward. “Well, it doesn't seem like it.”
He smirked. “I’m simply here because the truth always has a tendency of finding its way home,” he said. “It’s undeniable that eventually, everything returns to its rightful owner.”
“Whoever you think you are… walk away,” Chauncey hissed, taking another threatening step close to him. I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, his usual light and humorous side completely incinerated. He was terrifyingly a mirror of Silas in that moment. “Walk away right now while you still have all your teeth. You're in over your head, pal.”
The stranger did a double take at Chauncey, then his gaze slid to me. Strangely felt like he was memorizing the fear on my face. He turned to Silas, leaning in to speak in a low, poisonous tone
“If you care about your reputation, Rutherford, and more importantly, the reputation of the woman you call your wife, then you wouldn't try to deny me my rights.”
“You seem to be at the wrong address,” Silas gritted.
“No. We both know what happened at La Notte,” he grinned. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth “We both know that I'm saying the truth. You can't just claim a child that belongs to someone else.”
Chauncey frowned, confused. “What the fuck are you going on about?”
I saw Silas’s arm jerk, his fist clenching so hard the fabric of his sleeve strained. He was definitely on the brink of an explosion, a volcanic rage that would surely level the entire hall and everything that he had worked hard for.
All because of me.
Because of a night I couldn't even remember.
Thankfully, Chauncey saw it too, and he quickly reached out, his hand grounding Silas by the arm, a silent plea for restraint.
“Brother, don't,” he muttered urgently, glaring at the smirking stranger, then his eyes darted to the nearby tables where people were starting to whisper. “Don't draw attention. The press is already hovering like vultures. Not here. Not like this.”
Silas took an uneven, shuddering breath, his jaw set in a line of pure granite. When he spoke, it was so chilling, with an absolute finality that made the air around us turn icy.
“There is nothing of yours in my wife's possession. Not a single thing,” he growled. He reached back and grabbed my hand, his grip crushing, almost trembling. “I am walking out of this hall with my wife right now.” He took a step forward, his aura reckless. “I dare you to try and stop me, or utter more of your useless lies.”
For the first time, the man’s expression faltered, giving way to something that looked like apprehension.
I was trembling so violently I feared my legs would give way beneath the weight of the storm inside me.
Silas didn't wait for a rebuttal. He began to drag me toward the exit, his stride purposeful and urgent, with Chauncey following closely behind us like a silent guard.
We moved through the throng of elite guests, a path clearing before Silas’s sheer force of will. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Cherry trying to get my attention, waving in my direction. But I couldn't stop with Silas pulling me towards the exit.
But as we crossed the threshold of the ballroom, the man’s voice echoed close behind one last time, cutting through the muffled music like a death knell.
“This isn't over, Rutherford! You can't hide her forever! This is not yet over!”