Page 102 of Vows of Silence

Sure, he didn’t want people finding out about me, I got that. But… no, this was too messy. It didn’t explain his absence in a way that was satisfying. Because Silas would find a way to stay here if he could.

Another article sat directly beneath the death announcement.

This one featured a face I recognised immediately.

Adrien.

Even frozen in a still photograph, he looked furious. His expression was thunderous as reporters crowded around him,microphones pushed into his face whilst he pointed aggressively toward somebody just outside the frame.

The accompanying article painted a picture of a devoted fiancé desperately searching for his missing future wife.

I snorted, the sound echoing embarrassingly loudly around the office.

Devoted.

That was certainly one interpretation. He was devoted to making sure he got what he wanted. Which was my dad under his control.

Still, as much as I wanted to dismiss the entire thing, I couldn’t ignore the fact that he looked genuinely angry. Whether that anger stemmed from concern, humiliation, wounded pride, or simple possessiveness was another matter entirely.

My gaze drifted back toward the search bar. Without fully thinking about it, my fingers moved across the keyboard once more, and this time I typed the name of my family home.

Almost immediately, a pop-up box appeared in the corner of the screen, as if it was programmed to appear with the mention of the name Carbone.

I clicked on it, and was immediately taken to a live feed in my father’s office. I cringed, my stomach tightening immediately.

I hadn’t seen my family since the night Silas took me. I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to. For weeks, I’d built countless versions of this moment inside my head. I imagined my father standing over maps and photographs, barking orders into phones whilst men scrambled around him. I imagined Marco refusing to sleep, searching every lead he could find. I imagined my mother crying, because that part at least felt inevitable.

What I hadn’t imagined was this.

The office looked exactly the same as I remembered it. The same dark shelves lined with expensive books nobody ever read. The same leather chairs positioned in front of Dad’s desk.The same paintings hanging on the walls. It was strangely comforting seeing it all untouched, as though the room itself had been frozen in time.

The people inside it, however, looked different.

My mother paced relentlessly across the floor, twisting her hands together so tightly I was surprised she wasn’t hurting herself. Her normally immaculate appearance had completely disappeared. Her hair had been hastily pinned back, loose strands escaping everywhere, and even through the camera feed I could see the exhaustion written across her face.

She looked as though she hadn’t slept properly in weeks.

“How can you just sit there?” she demanded. “There must be something we can do. Someone else we can speak to!”

Dad didn’t answer. His attention remained fixed on whatever documents were spread across his desk.

My mother stared at him in disbelief.

“Did you even hear me?”

Nothing. The silence only seemed to agitate her further.

“She’s ourdaughter, Vittorio! How can you just give up so easily? We have all the money in the world, but all of it is fucking useless if we can’t use it to find our baby!”

My throat tightened. For a second, I almost forgot I was watching through a screen. Almost forgot that I wasn’t actually there.

I wanted to answer her. I wanted to tell her I was alright. I wanted to tell her she could stop looking like the world had ended. I was safe. I was okay. Even if I couldn’t return home, I wanted to give her closure, instead of keeping her frozen in time, always suspecting the worst.

Instead, I sat frozen in Silas’s chair whilst my mother continued arguing with a man who barely seemed present anymore.

Marco stood near the window with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He looked exhausted too, but unlike Mum, his grief had nowhere to go except anger. Every part of his posture radiated tension. His jaw remained clenched. His shoulders were rigid. Every few seconds he shifted his weight as though physically restraining himself from intervening.

A small part of me found comfort in that. At least somebody in the room still looked ready to fight.