The roar of the helicopters was a physical blow, vibrating through the heavy velvet curtains and rattling the crystal glasses on Silas's nightstand. The red and blue strobe lights of the police cruisers began to paint the dark bedroom in a chaotic, rhythmic pulse.
Evelyn sprang from the bed, her heart a frantic engine. She stood in the center of the room, her skin still warm from Silas's touch, her mind already shifting into a cold, tactical gear. "They're here," she whispered, looking at the door. "Arthur didn't even wait for dawn."
Silas didn't move with the same frantic energy. He sat up slowly, his scarred chest glowing in the flickering light like a landscape of ancient battles. He looked calm—terrifyingly so. "He thinks he caught the tiger in its sleep," Silas said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "He's about to find out the tiger has been waiting for him."
Silas reached for his shirt, but his hand faltered for a fraction of a second, a sharp spasm crossing his face. The physical toll of the night's digital war was finally catching up.
"Don't," Evelyn said, moving toward him. She took the shirt from his hand. This was the 'daily' life of the Nightwoods—a dance of care and calculation. She sat on the edge of the bed and began to dress him. Her fingers moved with a practiced grace, buttoning the crisp white fabric over his scars. It was an intimate act, her knuckles brushing the heat of his skin, her breath hitching as Silas watched her with an intensity that made the helicopters outside seem a world away.
"You have to be the victim, Evelyn," Silas whispered, his hand coming up to rest on her waist, pulling her closer until their foreheads touched. "When those doors open, you are the frightened heiress who was coerced into this marriage. You look at me with fear, not with fire."
"And you?"
"I'm the broken monster," he said, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "A man who can barely stand, let alone orchestrate a forty-two-million-dollar heist."
He transitioned into the wheelchair just as the sound of heavy boots echoed in the hallway. Marcus's voice rose in a calm, professional protest outside, followed by the sound of Arthur Vance's arrogant bark.
"I don't care about the 'Master's privacy'! I have a warrant and a witness! My daughter is in there!"
The double doors burst open.
Arthur Vance stormed in, followed by a phalanx of state troopers and a middle-aged woman in a severe gray suit—a high-priced lawyer Evelyn recognized as her father's 'cleaner'. Arthur looked triumphant, his face flushed with the thrill of the hunt.
"Evelyn!" Arthur shouted, his eyes darting around the room until they landed on her. She was standing by Silas's chair, her silk robe wrapped tightly around her, her hair a deliberate mess of dark waves. "Get away from that man! Officers, arrest him! He's been holding her against her will, using her to facilitate illegal financial transfers!"
Evelyn didn't move toward her father. She let out a small, sharp sob—a sound so fragile and pathetic it made Silas's jaw tighten. She shrank back, her hand clutching the armrest of Silas's wheelchair as if it were her only lifeline.
"Father?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What... what are you doing? Why are you doing this?"
"I'm saving you, you fool!" Arthur stepped forward, but the lead trooper held him back.
Silas sat in his chair, his head bowed, his eyes partially shielded by his hair. He looked frail, his breathing labored. "Mr. Vance," Silas rasped, his voice sounding thin and weak. "To wake a man and his wife with such violence... is this how you celebrate your merger?"
"Merger? You stole forty million dollars from my subsidiary accounts tonight, Nightwood! We traced the node to this estate! Don't play the cripple with me!"
"Forty million?" Silas let out a dry, hollow laugh that turned into a coughing fit. Evelyn immediately leaned over him, rubbing his back with a look of pure, agonized devotion.
"Please!" Evelyn cried, looking at the lead trooper with eyes that were suddenly brimming with tears—a masterclass in 'White Lotus' acting. "He's ill! He hasn't left this room all night! How could he steal anything? My father is... he's upset because I chose to stay with my husband instead of returning to him!"
"She's lying!" Victoria's voice suddenly cut through the room as she appeared in the doorway, her face twisted in a sneer. "She's a blacker, Officer! She's been obsessed with computers since she was ten! She's doing his dirty work!"
The lead trooper, a man who looked like he had daughters of his own, looked at the scene: a fragile woman protecting her disabled husband against an aggressive, shouting billionaire father. The optics were a nightmare for Arthur.
"Mr. Vance," the trooper said, his voice cold. "We've checked the routers. The IP address you provided? It's currently pinging from a public library in Queens. There is no trace of that transfer on the Nightwood servers. Your IT team made a mistake."
Arthur's face turned a violent shade of purple. "That's impossible! I saw the red light! I saw—"
"You saw what a ghost wanted you to see, Father," Evelyn thought, but she didn't say it. Instead, she buried her face in Silas's shoulder and let out another heart-wrenching sob. "Please, make them leave. They're scaring him."
The troopers began to back away, the 'cleaner' lawyer already whispering frantically in Arthur's ear about a defamation lawsuit. Silas looked up then, his eyes meeting Arthur's. For a split second, the frail mask vanished, replaced by a look of such absolute, icy triumph that Arthur actually took a step back.
"Get out of my house, Arthur," Silas whispered, the threat as sharp as a razor. "Before I decide that 'forty million' is a very small price for the insult you've offered my wife tonight."
The silence that followed the departure of the police was more deafening than the helicopters. The estate returned to its velvet stillness, the red and blue lights fading from the walls.
Marcus closed the doors and locked them. "The perimeter is secure, Sir. The media is being handled."
Silas didn't move for a long time. He stayed in the wheelchair, staring at the closed doors. The energy of the performance was gone, leaving behind a heavy, philosophical weight. Evelyn stood beside him, her 'White Lotus' facade dissolving, her eyes returning to their usual sharp, blue brilliance.
"That was quite the show, Mrs. Nightwood," Silas said, his voice returning to its deep, dangerous baritone.
"Chapter ten, section one," she replied, her voice low. "In a world of monsters, the best mask is a victim."
She knelt before him, her hands resting on his knees. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a profound, hollow exhaustion. "He won't stop, Silas. He'll come back with something else. He knows I'm 'V'. He just can't prove it yet."
Silas reached out, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw, pulling her gaze up to his. "Let him come. He's fighting a war on the surface. We're fighting a war in the marrow."
He leaned forward, his face close to hers. The morning light was starting to gray the room, making everything look soft and uncertain. "Tell me, Evelyn. When you were crying... when you were holding onto me like I was your only hope... how much of that was the actress, and how much was the ghost?"
Evelyn looked into his dark, impenetrable eyes. The tension here was different now—not the fear of the police, but the fear of herself. The 'daily' life of their contract was blurring into something far more permanent.
"In this house," she whispered, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, "I don't think even I know the difference anymore."
Silas didn't answer. He didn't need to. He reached down and pulled her up into his lap, his strength effortless even in his exhaustion. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her, the silence of the room wrapping around them like a shroud.
They weren't just husband and wife. They were two survivors clinging to each other in a storm they had created.
"Sleep," Silas commanded, his voice a soft rasp against her ear. "The world thinks we're broken. Let's let them believe it for a few more hours. Tomorrow... tomorrow we finish the job."
As Evelyn closed her eyes, her head resting on Silas's shoulder, she realized that this was the most dangerous part of the game. Not the police. Not the hackers. But the way the 'Golden Cage' was starting to feel like the only place she ever wanted to be.