The walk to the dining room stretched into an eternity. My hand on Vincent's arm felt like resting on coiled steel, radiating cold power and the scent of blood. My carefully manufactured tremors weren't entirely an act; every nerve screamed at the proximity to the man who had ended a life hours ago with chilling efficiency. The opulent hallway, the indifferent portraits .
The dining room was grand, dominated by a table long enough to seat twenty, set for two at one end. Crystal chandeliers cast a harsh, glittering light . Vincent pulled out my chair, a gesture devoid of courtesy, merely protocol. I sank into it, the heavy damask upholstery offering no comfort. He took his seat at the head, the distance between us feeling both vast and terrifyingly intimate.
Silas came in through the adjoining backroom, pouring a deep red wine into Vincent's glass. He didn't pour for me. Vincent lifted his glass, swirling the blood-dark liquid. His grey eyes fixed on me.
"The events of today," he began, his voice a low rumble in the echoing silence. "Unfortunate. Distressing for a… sheltered woman." He took a slow sip, watching me over the rim. "Have you composed yourself?"
I focused on keeping my breathing shallow, ragged. My hands, resting on the cool linen tablecloth, trembled visibly. I forced my gaze to meet his, letting the raw, unprocessed horror I felt shine through. "I… I keep seeing it," I whispered, my voice thin and strained, cracking on the last word. I looked down quickly, as if ashamed of my weakness. "The… the sound…"
A flicker of something – satisfaction? – crossed his impassive face. He wanted her shattered. He expected her shattered. Nyx fed the performance, amplifying the tremor in my lower lip. "It was… monstrous," I breathed, the word barely audible.
"Monstrous?" Vincent repeated, his voice dangerously soft. He set his glass down with precise control. "Justice, Penelope. Swift and final. Necessary for order. For my order." His gaze intensified, pinning me. "Do you understand necessity?"
I flinched, shrinking back slightly in my chair. "I understand fear," I murmured, looking away again, towards the empty expanse of the table. "I understand… silence." I emphasized the word, letting it hang heavy with the weight of his command. See? I'm obeying. I'm broken. I'm silent.
A tureen of steaming soup appeared before us, placed by a silent maid whose eyes remained firmly downcast. The rich, savory aroma, usually comforting, churned my stomach. Vincent picked up his spoon. "Eat," he commanded. "You need your strength for tonight." I gasped, what did he mean by that? " I think it's time we consummate our union,don't you think? He said, his voice taunting.
I picked up my spoon, my hand shaking badly at the sudden realization, the silver clattered against the delicate china bowl. I managed a tiny sip. The broth tasted like saltwater. I focused on the trembling, on keeping my breaths shallow, on projecting an aura of fragile, shell-shocked compliance. Inside, Nyx was a coiled spring, analyzing his every micro-expression, his posture, the cadence of his words. Was he buying it? Or was he seeing through the cracks?
He ate methodically, his movement precise. His eyes rarely left me. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken threats and my manufactured distress. The only sounds were the clink of silverware and the frantic drumming of my own pulse in my ears.
Suddenly, he spoke, his voice cutting through the tense quiet. "Silas intercepted an interesting communication today. Attempted, rather. Before the source was… neutralized." He took another slow sip of wine. "A man trying to send a coded message from a safe house near the docks. Cavalier, he called himself. A foolishly romantic codename."
My blood turned to ice water. Cavalier. Langley's primary field liaison for Operation Gilded Cage. Falcon's warning screamed in my head: ASSET CAVALIER COMPROMISED. COVER BLOWN.Vincent wasn't just probing; he was dangling bait. He knew. He had to know. Or was he fishing? Testing Penelope's reaction?
I forced a confused, slightly vacant expression, blinking slowly as if struggling to process. "C-coded? Like spies?" I injected a note of naive disbelief into my trembling voice. "Here? But… why?" I let my spoon clatter down into the bowl, feigning a loss of appetite overwhelmed by this new, confusing threat.
Vincent's gaze sharpened, like a hawk spotting movement in the grass. "Why indeed?" he mused, leaning back slightly in his chair. "This city attracts vermin. Informants. Agents of chaos seeking to disrupt delicate equilibriums." He speared a piece of roasted vegetable with his fork, the gesture casual, but his eyes never left mine. "This… Cavalier. He was surprisingly resilient. Held out longer than most under Silas's persuasion." He took a deliberate bite, chewing slowly. "Eventually, everyone talks, Penelope. Everyone reveals their secrets."
The implication was a blade pressed to my throat. He was describing Cavalier's torture. And he was telling me. Warning me. Or confirming his suspicions? The soup threatened to come back up. Nyx screamed to maintain the facade. He's circling. He's testing. Don't break.
I pressed a trembling hand to my mouth, my eyes wide with a horror that was now terrifyingly real. "That's… barbaric," I whispered, the word thick with genuine revulsion I didn't need to fake. "How can you…?" I trailed off, shaking my head as if unable to comprehend such brutality.
"Necessity," Vincent repeated, the word a chilling mantra. He placed his fork down with meticulous care. "Protecting what is mine requires… decisive action. Eliminating threats. Securing silence." His gaze bored into me, stripping away layers. "Secrets have a way of surfacing, wife. Like blood in water. They attract predators."
He pushed his chair back slightly, the sound scraping loudly in the silent room. He reached across the table, not towards me, but towards the centerpiece – a simple arrangement of white orchids. His hand hovered, then plucked a single, perfect bloom. He twirled it slowly between his long fingers.
"Take this flower," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "Beautiful. Fragile. Easily crushed." He held it up, then deliberately, slowly, began to shred the pristine petals with his thumbnail. They fluttered down onto the polished table like drops of blood. "But even crushed," he continued, his eyes fixed on the destruction, "it leaves a stain. A scent. Evidence of its existence. Of its destruction."
He looked up, his grey eyes locking onto mine with terrifying intensity. He let the mutilated stem fall onto the pile of ruined petals. "Nothing vanishes completely, Penelope. Not bodies. Not messages. Not… secrets."
The threat was naked now. He knew about Cavalier. He knew Cavalier was connected to something
. And he suspected I was connected. He was dismantling my world petal by petal, watching for the flinch that would confirm his suspicions. The performance of the shattered wife was hanging by a thread. One wrong move, one flicker of defiance or hidden knowledge in my eyes, and the fragile facade would shatter.
Silas reappeared, removing the soup bowls. The next course was placed before us – seared fish, glistening and delicate. It looked obscene next to the pile of destroyed petals.
Vincent picked up his fish knife, the blade catching the light. "Eat, Penelope," he commanded again, his voice devoid of warmth. "You look pale. I wouldn't want you to faint, at least not before I get a taste of you" I swallowed, visibly afraid of the hidden connotations.