Scarred, Shot, Still Standing

Tessa’s POV

I woke up to the sound of laughter. For a few seconds, I honestly thought I was still at the hospital.

Then Amy’s extra sugary voice drifted through, reminding me that I was back at my own home.

I bit down on my lip and forced myself upright. The ache flared so sharply I saw white at the edges of my vision.

I didn’t even get the door fully open before the smell of fresh bread and melting butter hit me.

Silas was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. Amy sat at the table, smiling at him.

“Morning,” Amy smiled as soon as she spotted me, “Silas made me breakfast. Join us?”

I said nothing. Just turned around and headed straight for the bathroom.

Behind me, Amy’s voice floated out—sweet but intentionally loud. “Silas, do you think Tessa’s mad you stayed with me all night?”

“Don’t mind her. She just woke up,” he casually said.

I shut the bathroom door and faced the mirror.

God, I looked exhausted.

I’d barely splashed water on my face when the door burst open. Amy slipped inside and shut it firmly behind her.

“I’m almost done,” I said, toothbrush in hand. “If you don’t mind—”

Gone was the innocent, soft-voiced girl she played in front of Silas. Amy arched a brow, her smile wiped clean. “Drop the act, Tessa. If you think looking fragile is going to make Silas pity you, cut it out.”

I paused mid-brush, rinsed my mouth, put everything away, then turned to her calmly.

“I’m fine with him taking care of you,” I said. “Just don’t stand here making empty threats.”

For a moment, she actually looked thrown—surprised, suspicious. But she recovered fast, stepping closer.

“Aren’t you curious,” she murmured, “Why Silas has never seen you as anything more than a tool?”

I didn’t reply. I just looked her dead in the eyes.

“You might be his girlfriend,” she continued, “but we both know that’s just a prettier title for doing his errands. Silas doesn’t need an assistant. He needs a proper lover, someone like me. Someone you’ll never be—no matter how hard you try.”

I brushed past her, bumping her shoulder deliberately. “Then so be it. I can’t become you. You can’t become me. And who knows—maybe one day Silas gets tired of playing caretaker to a fragile doll. What will you do then?”

“You—!” Amy shoved me hard into the wall. “Don’t be so arrogant, Tessa. You won’t stay Silas’s girlfriend for long.”

I only smirked, straightened, and walked out.

Silas was loading dishes into the washer. “What took you so long in there?”

“Nothing,” I said, already turning toward the bedroom.

“I’m heading to the casino today,” he called after me. “Amy’s coming too. Do you need a ride?”

“No. I’ll go later. I have personal errands to handle first.”

…

Silas usually did business at his casino—but the casino was just the surface.

Behind the glitz and poker tables, his reach extended far deeper. Drug trades. Arms deals. Laundered money. He practically ran half of New York’s underground.

To the world, I was his secretary. His only trusted assistant. But nearly no one in the group knew I was his girlfriend.

I used to wonder why he never said it out loud—why he didn’t introduce me as anything more than “the assistant.”

He said to me then, “Who would take you seriously if I called you my girlfriend?”

And I… believed him.

Back then, it made sense. If I was just his girlfriend, people would stop seeing what else I could be. And I was more than that. I had to be.

Over the years, I learned how to move like him. How to deal like him. I negotiated trades, sat through meetings with cartel leaders, memorized the books, knew when to smile and when to threaten.

In business, I was his sharpest weapon.

At home, I was soft, sweet—his girlfriend.

I thought I could be everything to Silas.

Except… I overlooked one thing.

Amy.

She’d always been there, lingering at the edges. Silas’s childhood sweetheart. Raised in the same neighborhood. Came from a mafia family, too—but hated it. Silas told me once that Amy ran away from her family, only to get kidnapped by their rivals.

PTSD. Nightmares.

Since then, everyone treated Amy like a porcelain doll—too fragile to confront, too broken to upset.

I didn’t saw Amy as a threat at first. To me, Silas treated her more like a sister than a lover.

But time passed. And the whispers started.

People called her the future Mrs. Vale. They asked when Silas was going to marry her.

I asked him once if he’d heard the rumors—if he’d ever bother to shut them down.

He just laughed, ruffled my hair like I was a kid. “Don’t mind them,” he said. “You know I love you. That’s enough.”

Looking back now, I should’ve known better.

Silas never meant to clear those rumors.

He probably liked them. He probably liked her.

And me? God, I was such a fool… I believed him for far too long.