The shock gave my grandmother a stroke. But Sylvester didn't come out unscathed either.
Lucy, eager to prove her loyalty to her new backers, personally orchestrated my death.
Before I died, all I'd wanted was one honest word from him. Just one.
As for now, I stared at the closed door in front of me.
And suddenly, none of it mattered anymore.
Sylvester Farley was the prettiest blade in Matriarch Farley's arsenal. Good breeding, stunning looks, formidable ability.
But that blade had never been drawn for me.
I smiled faintly, turned around, and walked away.
Better to go drink. Find some real fun. At least the smiles on those people's faces were genuine in their desire to please me.
What I didn't see was that shortly after I left, the light behind that door flickered back on.
Sylvester sat alone by the floor-to-ceiling windows.
He stared out at the Graystone skyline and didn't move until dawn.
In the morning, the housekeeper pushed the door open to tidy the room and found him in the exact same position as the night before. The man nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Mr. Farley? You haven't slept all night?"
Sylvester looked terrible. Dark circles carved deep bruises beneath his eyes.