The clink of silverware echoed through the grand dining hall, a stark contrast to the silence that surrounded him. Silas, stooped over in his usual servant-like posture, placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of his wife, Lilian. She didn’t acknowledge him. She rarely did. “Too cold,” she said, pushing the cup away with a flick of her manicured hand. Her voice was sharp enough to slice through his heart. “I’ll make another one,” Silas murmured, his tone almost apologetic. “Do it quickly,” her mother Veronica, seated at the head of the table, snapped. “And this time, don’t embarrass us with your incompetence.” Silas nodded, avoiding eye contact. His shoulders sagged as he turned to the kitchen. The scorn in their voices no longer stung as it once had. He had grown numb to the daily barbs and sneers. Yet, deep down, a small part of him still longed for a kind word, a glimmer of approval—especially from Lilian. In the kitchen, the staff exchanged pitying glances but said no

Lilian sat at the head of the table, her long, elegant fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. Across from her sat Damien—a well-dressed, confident man who leaned in just a bit too close. Plates of half-eaten food cluttered the table, accompanied by an expensive bottle of red wine Silas didn’t recall opening. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. “Lilian?” Silas’s voice trembled as he stepped forward. She turned, startled at first, but her expression quickly hardened. “What are you doing out here?” she snapped. Silas held up the box, his voice breaking. “I… I bought you this.” Damien raised an eyebrow, amused, leaning back in his chair as though savoring the unfolding drama. Lilian stood, crossing her arms. “You think you can fix this with a gift? It’s too late, Silas. I’m done.” The box slipped from his hands, landing with a soft thud. Silas stared at her, his eyes filled with disbelief and pain. “After everything… after all we’ve been through, you’re just

Silas stopped a few feet from him, his eyes cold. “You’ve got a big mouth for someone so small. A real man shouldn’t be seen in a compromising position with another woman.” Damien straightened, his smirk fading. “Careful, Silas. You’re in no position to talk to me like that. Do what I said you should do and I’ll save you from completely disgracing yourself.” Silas’s voice dropped. “You think I’ll kneel for you? I’d rather drink from a basket than beg for anything you offer.” Damien’s lips twitched, a mix of anger and amusement flashing across his face. “Is that so?” Silas turned to leave, his steps deliberate and slow, as if daring someone to stop him. “Wait!” the receptionist barked. Silas froze and turned back to the receptionist. “To hell with you all, you’re not worth any penny from me.”“Guards!” she called, her voice sharp. Two uniformed men emerged from the nearby hallway, their footsteps heavy against the polished floor. Silas turned, confusion etched on his face

Damien smirked, leaning casually against the counter like this was just another show for his amusement. "He's lying," Damien said as the policeman was about to give Silas the phone to call, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Whatever sob story he’s cooking up, it’s pathetic. Probably stole that card off someone who actually matters." Silas glared but stayed silent. It was obvious his words didn’t seem to matter here. The double doors to the lobby swung open. A man in a sharp suit strode in, exuding authority. His presence alone silenced the murmurs in the room. “What’s going on here?” His baritone voice was calm but carried weight. The kind of voice that didn’t need to yell to command attention. The receptionist perked up, straightening her posture. “Mr. Whitman! Thank goodness you’re here.” “Explain,” Whitman said, his eyes scanning the scene. The receptionist gestured at Silas, her tone laced with disdain. “This man tried to book a room using a stolen card. We called

The phone buzzed in Silas’s pocket as he was stepping out of the company’s headquarters. He frowned, pulling it out and glancing at the screen. Unknown number. His thumb hovered over the decline button, but something about the timing made him pause. With a sigh, he answered. “Hello?” “Mr. Silas?” a hurried voice asked on the other end. “This is Mercy Hospital. Your contact information is listed as the emergency number for Mrs. Lilian Lawson. She’s been in a car accident. We need your immediate presence.” Silas froze mid-step. Lilian? His ex-wife? The name felt like a punch to the gut, bringing with it a rush of old memories he’d buried deep. “Is she…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is she okay?” “She’s stable but critical,” the nurse explained. “She needs surgery, and we require your consent to proceed.” Silas gripped the phone tightly, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’ll be there,” he said firmly, already moving toward the garage. “Than