Badass in Disguise (Shadow) novel Chapter 292

Chapter 292

២៩ ០១១

“Can you imagine it? Skinny Silas in the cold winter night, wearing thin clothes, facing the bitter wind, numbly walking home. The city’s bright lights passed him by, indifferent to his existence. He struggled at the bottom of this city for over a decade without a shred of warmth, and he never would find it.”

My voice hardened, edged with razor–sharp contempt. “He fought to stay alive, only to die in a cold street corner. Nobody knew. Nobody saved him. The real Silas died without knowing why he was killed or who killed him. His last moments were filled with confusion and

terror.”

Silas’s face remained impassive, carved from stone, but I saw his pulse quicken at his throat, a small betrayal of the storm within.

“You’re feeling guilty, aren’t you? Remorseful?” I took another step forward, close enough now to see the faint beads of sweat forming at his hairline. “Your mother’s death–that was your doing too.”

His expression changed slightly, a tremor passing through his mask of indifference.

“She was getting better,” I said, my words measured and precise. “I was paying for her treatment. Walter Morrison and Philip Thornton were helping. Things were looking up. She hadn’t even reunited with her other two sons yet. Why would she suddenly want to die?”

I watched his eyes carefully, searching for the truth buried beneath layers of deception.

“You deliberately hid my financial support from her. You found her hidden pills and pretended not to notice.”

He remained silent, his breathing shallow, almost imperceptible.

“You showed her your bruises on purpose, adding to her psychological burden. The real Silas would have hidden his injuries, spared her that pain. You drove her to suicide to gain my sympathy, to get closer to me. That poor woman was indirectly killed by you—the son she’d waited for all these years.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said coldly, but his voice wavered slightly, like a guitar string plucked too hard.

Suddenly, his face contorted in pain. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, knees nearly buckling beneath him. Black blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, stark against his pale skin.

His eyes widened in shock as he looked at me, standing unaffected. “When did you…?”

Understanding dawned on his face, horror mingling with grudging respect. “You switched the poisoned utensils when I was getting the

wine.”

I didn’t bother answering. I’d originally believed the Shadow Organization wouldn’t kill Silas–an ordinary person like him would just be imprisoned as leverage. But I’d forgotten: this guy was also Dusk’s brother. That made him valuable enough as a bargaining chip.

I’d seen it before–Shadow operatives who killed their own family members during missions. Some couldn’t handle the truth and left the organization, only to be hunted down like animals. Others went back for revenge, with predictable outcomes. Most, though, received the news with disturbing indifference. Those were Shadow’s favorite killing machines–the ones they’d broken completely.

More black blood oozed from Silas’s mouth, dripping onto my clean floor. He pressed his hand against his abdomen, backing away step by step, his eyes never leaving mine, then turned and fled from my apartment, the door slamming behind him.

I stood there, my face ashen, the weight of what had happened pressing down on my shoulders.

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