Ava braced herself for the impact of Dominic’s fury. She waited for the door to fly open, for him to step out and roar the word "traitor" into the salt-heavy air until her lungs gave out. She imagined his hands, which had been so tender only hours ago, wrapping around her throat with a different kind of intensity.But the door didn't open. The silence of the docks was broken only by the lapping of the tide against the rotting wood and the distant, lonely cry of a gull.Then, the back door finally clicked open. A figure stepped out, but it wasn’t the broad, imposing silhouette of her husband. It was Silas.A sharp breath escaped Ava’s lips. It was a relief, but a shallow, bitter one. In many ways, Silas was the greater ghost to face; Dominic was a storm, but Silas was the rot beneath the floorboards. He straightened his designer suit, his movements languid and oozing a oily confidence.He didn't speak at first. He simply smirked, a slow, spreading expression that made Ava feel like she
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