(Silas's POV)Scarlett walked away, but Silas just loosened his tie in annoyance and let out a cold scoff. He didn't chase her.He knew Scarlett too well.Over the last four years, she had gotten mad, cried, slammed doors, but she never left his side.Give it three days, tops. She'd come back with red eyes and ask, Can we make up?He even felt a twisted sense of satisfaction—his fiancée was jealous. It meant she cared.He partied at the club until dawn.For the next three days, Silas drowned himself in the glory of his success. Deals, handshakes, toasts. The entire New York underworld was kissing the feet of the youngest Don at the top of the food chain.He didn't call Scarlett once.Let her cool off, he thought. When she came crawling back, he'd buy her a bigger necklace. Hell, he'd give her shares, titles, whatever she wanted.Late on the fourth night.Silas pushed open the penthouse door, reeking of booze. Out of habit, he called out, "Scarlett, get me my hangover pills—"Dead silen
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