Chapter 117: Holy Water and Poison
Damon’s POV
Something was definitely fishy here.
I sat back in my chair, narrowing my eyes as I watched the shift in Mr. Miller’s face the exact second Noah uttered the word kidnapping.
If his father was just a normal, strict parent hearing about a crime involving his son’s schoolmate, I would have expected surprise, anger, or maybe a flick of mild concern. But that twisted expression on the old man’s face wasn’t shock. Not even a bit close. His jaw didn’t drop, and his eyes didn’t widen in alarm. Instead, his eyes narrowed into a cold slit, his lips pulling thin in a look of quiet realization.
It was the look of a man who didn’t just know about the crime... it was the look of a man who knew about it from the other side of the fence.
’Holy shit,’ I thought, my heart thumping hard against my ribs as a dark wave of excitement mixed with pure disgust hit me. ’He knows. He actually knows about Sunny’s kidnapping. Or worse... he’s the one who was responsible for it.’
"Don’t be shocked, father," Noah said smoothly, his voice dropping into that calm, pleasant, holy tone that made my skin crawl. "Micah has been doing good by helping her and her family. That’s the only reason he was unable to answer your calls. The exact same thing happened with me."
Noah took a slow sip of his water, letting the lie settle in the air like heavy smoke.
"She is a very close friend to Micah," Noah continued, not blinking once. "That is why I spent my morning helping search for her. So please, don’t send Micah away to the army or the church over a simple misunderstanding."
I couldn’t just sit there like a bump on a log while my darling captain was pulling off a masterpiece of a lie. I needed to back him up.
"I completely agree, Mr. Miller," I chimed in, leaning forward with a polite, earnest smile. "Micah was just being a good, loyal friend. You should be proud—"
SNAP.
The head of the Miller family snapped his gaze toward me so fast. He didn’t say a single word out loud, but the venom in his eyes was crystal clear.
Shut the fuck up, Silver. Do not dare speak in my presence, and do not get involved in my family matters.
A thrill of dark amusement shot straight through me. Fine, fine, Mr. Miller. Message received loud and clear. I immediately clamped my lips shut, putting on my most innocent, harmless expression. I would keep my cute mouth shut for now, but there was no way in hell I was leaving this house. Coming here to eat dinner instead of staying home in my boring bedroom was the best decision I had made all week. The raw, toxic drama in this room was absolute perfection.
Mr. Miller cleared his throat, the stiff white collar around his neck looking tighter by the second. He listened to Noah, processing every single word, and to my astonishment, he bought the lie completely.
It made my stomach turn a little bit. If poor Micah had tried to explain himself using those exact same words, his father would have called him a liar, slapped him across the face, and dragged him out the door by his hair. But because the lie came out of Noah’s pristine, golden mouth, the old tyrant swallowed it whole.
"I see," Mr. Miller spoke flatly, adjusting his dark sleeves. "Then I take back what I said. Micah will stay here."
Micah let out a soft, trembling breath, his shoulders sagging with overwhelming relief. "T-thank you, father..."
"Don’t thank me yet," Mr. Miller cut him off instantly, his harsh face contorting back into a dark frown as he pointed a long finger across the table. "If I see a single flop in your academic life, or if I get a single piece of news that you are involved in any kind of public scandal... I will send you straight to the army without a second thought. Do you understand me?"
Micah swallowed hard, his face still pale as paper. "Understood, father."
"Good. I am done eating," Mr. Miller declared. He tossed his napkin onto his plate.
I blinked. Wait, that’s it? It ended that fast? I mentally groaned, clutching my fork. I wanted way more drama! I wanted shouts, broken plates, maybe a full-blown verbal war! Tsk. What a letdown.
I was just about to reach across the table to scoop another massive portion of roast beef onto my plate when the old man suddenly stood up from his chair. His shadow loomed large over the table.
"Let us start the prayer now," he said coldly.
My hand froze in mid-air. My mouth dropped open.
"Huh? Prayer?" I accidentally groaned out loud, horror washing over me like a bucket of ice water.
Mr. Miller turned his icy eyes back onto me, his eyebrows raising in sharp disapproval. "Didn’t Noah explicitly state that he invited you to our home tonight for prayer?"
FUCK.
The realization hit me like a freight train. I had completely forgotten about the pathetic, holy excuse Noah pulled out of his ass when he first walked into the kitchen! It was just a stupid lie to cover up why a Silver was standing in his dining room! The old man didn’t actually have to enforce it!
Panic flared in my chest, but I caught Noah glaring at me from the side of his eye with a look that promised pure, bloody torture if I ruined his cover now.
I forced my facial muscles to cooperate, slapping a bright, fake, extremely eager smile onto my face as I pushed my chair back and stood up.
"Yes, sir! Of course!" I chirped, my voice sounding a little too high-pitched. I turned toward Micah and nodded with fake enthusiasm. "Let’s pray! I love praying!"
Fuck my life.
Micah and Noah stood up immediately. We gathered in a circle near the center of the dining room, folding our hands. Mr. Miller stood at the front, took a deep breath, and launched into an agonizingly long, aggressive, ear-splitting prayer.
It wasn’t a normal prayer. It was a hostage situation.
He rambled on and on about sin, divine wrath, the wickedness of the youth, and the burning fires of damnation waiting for those who disobeyed their elders. Ten minutes passed. My knees started aching. Twenty minutes passed. My back felt like it was going to snap in half. My foot went completely numb. I squeezed my eyes shut so tight I saw flashing stars, silently crying weeping tears of absolute agony inside my own mind. I swore right then and there that if I ever survived this night, I was never letting the word prayer cross my lips ever again.
By the time he finally uttered "Amen," thirty agonizing minutes had bled away into eternity.
"Amen," I gasped out, practically collapsing on my feet, wiping a real tear of pure pain from the corner of my eye.
Mr. Miller didn’t waste another second. He walked over to the side table, grabbed his leather bag, and checked his expensive watch.
"I will visit again when the time is near," he stated vaguely, his tone clipped and cold. "I have important matters to attend to tonight."
Micah looked up, his big, anxious eyes flickering with genuine confusion. "You... aren’t going to the church, father?"
Father paused at the doorway, his back turned to us. He didn’t even bother looking back over his shoulder.
"Where I am going is none of your business, kid," he spat coldly.
And with that final, heartless dismissive sentence, he walked out the front door. A second later, the heavy wooden door slammed shut.
We all stood in silence in the middle of the grand room. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. We just stood there listening intently until the sound of his luxury car engine roared to life in the driveway outside, followed by the sound of heavy tires crunching over gravel as he drove off.
The moment the sound faded into the distance, the fog that had been hanging over the entire house instantly lifted.
Micah let out a massive, trembling gasp of air, his legs completely giving out. He stumbled backward and crashed heavily into a dining chair, burying his pale face in his shaking hands.
"What the absolute hell was that dinner?" I groaned out loud, running both hands through my styled hair and collapsing onto the nearest seat. "I feel like I just survived a interrogation by a religious dictator."
Noah didn’t even glance at me. The second his father was gone, that fake, gentle, golden boy persona melted off Noah’s face like hot wax. A dark, intense frown rushed onto his features as he immediately stepped over to Micah’s side, leaning down with rare, raw concern flashing in his eyes.
"Are you okay?" Noah asked. "That fucker almost tried to send you away tonight."