silence

Evelyn came downstairs slowly and sank onto the sofa in the living room. The house felt unnaturally large at this hour, every sound swallowed by the walls. She sat there for a long moment, hands folded in her lap, trying to decide where she was supposed to go now.

Nowhere felt like an option.

Footsteps echoed behind her, unhurried but unmistakable.

She turned her head and saw Mr. Ashford standing a few steps away, his presence filling the room without effort.

She straightened instinctively. “Mr. Ashford.”

“Father,” he corrected, his voice calm. “You’re part of this family now. You should address your father-in-law properly.”

The correction was gentle, almost kind, yet it pressed on her chest all the same.

Evelyn adjusted at once and offered a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Father.”

He studied her, his gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary. “What are you doing down here at this hour? You should be in your room. It’s your wedding night.”

The words stung more than she expected.

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. How could she explain that she had nowhere to go? That the room meant for her had been shut to her before the night had even begun?

Her awareness shifted to her clothes. They were modest, fully covering her, yet too informal, too private to be standing in front of him like this. It made her feel smaller, like a guest who had overstayed her welcome.

“I was feeling thirsty,” she said finally. “I came down to get some water.”

Mr. Ashford dismissed the explanation with a faint wave of his hand. “You should ask the servants.”

“Yes, Father,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tightness in her throat.

“It’s late,” he said, already turning away. “You should sleep.”

He wished her good night and walked toward his own room, leaving behind silence that felt heavier than his presence.

Evelyn remained standing there for a few seconds after he disappeared, staring at the space he had occupied. There was no one left to ask. No one left to explain herself to.

With no other solution in sight, she made her way back to the bedroom she now shared with Silas.

The door opened to quiet darkness.

Silas lay asleep on the bed, still dressed in his suit as if the day had drained him of the strength to remove it. His tie was loosened, his breathing slow and even. She watched him, waiting for something to soften inside her.

Nothing did.

Her gaze wandered around the room, searching for somewhere that did not feel like his. Somewhere she could exist without being noticed. Her eyes landed on the coat he had discarded earlier on the sofa.

She picked it up and tossed it onto him, a small, sharp act of defiance.

He didn’t stir.

She lay down on the sofa instead, the cushions firm beneath her, the absence of a blanket immediately noticeable. The cold crept in, curling around her limbs. She muttered his name under her breath, not as a call, but as a curse.

She shifted, then shifted again, pulling her knees toward her chest, trying to preserve what little warmth she had. No position felt right. The room was quiet, but her thoughts were anything but.

Her mind drifted to the Calder mansion. Her room there. The familiar comfort of her bed, warm and untouched by anyone else. The peace of falling asleep without fear of being unwanted.

She closed her eyes, longing for a place that no longer belonged to her.

Then another memory surfaced, uninvited.

The night Silas’s mother died.

She had been awake then too, staring into the dark, heart heavy with things she hadn’t known how to say. She had wished she could stop time, undo that night, change the course of everything that followed.

But time had moved on without her permission.

All that remained was regret, quiet and persistent.

Her body finally gave in to exhaustion. Curled tightly on the sofa, surrounded by cold and memory, Evelyn drifted into a restless sleep.

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