Table of Contents
The Alastair Affair 4: Sylvain
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
The End.
News from Scarlett
The Alastair Affair 4: Sylvain
A Dark Romance by
Scarlett Edwards
www.scarlettedwards.com
Copyright © 2016 Edwards Publishing, Ltd
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Cover design by Scarlett Edwards
First Edition: January 2016
Chapter One
2008.
Sylvain Alastair could not drown out the sounds of his sister’s screaming.
The nightmares had started again. It had only happened once before, seemingly a lifetime ago:
Sylvain was twelve. His sister had just turned seven. They’d celebrated her birthday the usual way families do. But when they went home and Sylvain retreated to his room to study, something occurred between his sister and their father… and all night long, followed by every single night for the remainder of the month, Bianca screamed and screamed and screamed, lost in the throes of her night terrors.
Sylvain shuddered at the memory. That was one he’d managed to suppress for a very long time, and for good reason. His mother had taken the brunt of the blame for Bianca’s behaviour. Likewise, his mother had been the recipient of his father’s wrath, every time the screaming started up again.
But now… Sylvain ground his teeth together and tried to bury his head deeper into the pillows. Now there was nobody to take the fall.
It was no use. The constant screams pierced the down of the pillows as easily as a cold wind through a summer fleece. The acoustics of the castle were such that all the sounds from the White Tower carried into the chamber where Sylvain slept.
The irony was that the only person immune to the screaming was his near-crippled father. The tower he resided in was barred in such a way to prevent any outside sounds from penetrating.
Leila stirred beside Sylvain. She seemed to have less trouble sleeping. But she still awoke every once in a while.
She opened her eyes and looked at him. From the faint flickering of a nearby candle, Sylvain could tell they were bloodshot.
So, not fully asleep, but pretending to be, Sylvain thought. He disliked that. Leila seemed to be stepping on eggshells ever since he took her into his bed.
That must have been… two weeks ago? Maybe a little bit more?
Still. He did not want the mother of his child to be meek. Especially not around him.
That was probably a habit she’d picked up spending time around his father. Sylvain would have to rid her of it. Soon.
“She hasn’t stopped all night,” Leila complained. “Isn’t there something you—we—can do?”
Sylvain grunted. Leila knew perfectly well there was not.
“She screams in her sleep,” Sylvain answered, with the bare modicum of patience. “The only way to get her to stop is to wake her up. But she needs her rest.”
That much was true. The daily sessions with Doctor Patterson were taking their toll, mentally, on Bianca. Sylvain wished he had a better understanding of how her mind worked. The activities she and the doctor did together did not seem taxing to Sylvain. They were simple things, like engaging in a game of chess or recounting some distant memories—but the doctor assured Sylvain they were stressful.
“Can’t we go somewhere else then?” Leila persisted. She pushed herself up on one arm. “Please. The sounds can’t carry through the whole castle.”
Sylvain regarded Leila. He did not speak. He was tempted.
But the only place he knew that would shelter them from the sound was underground. After his childhood experience getting trapped down there…?
Sylvain had no intentions to return.
Not even if resistance cost him most of his sleep.
“They do,” Sylvain said bleakly. Another sudden scream ripped through the air. Leila started.
“I know for a fact there are other rooms,” she began.
“I am not sleeping anywhere else,” Sylvain said. He’d given up too much of his comfort, made too many compromises, in his return to the Alastair Estate, already.
Changing bedchambers would not be one of them.
“Fine,” Leila huffed. She wrapped an extra sheet around herself and got out of bed. “You might be happy here, but I can’t take another night like this. I’m finding a different place to sleep. Goodnight.”
She waited for him to respond. Sylvain said nothing.
Finally, with an insulted glare, Leila turned around and left.
Sylvain watched her, fairly impassively.
She closed the door. Sylvain settled back down and looked at the ceiling. A dark thought formed in his head:
Leila is no Alicia.
Immediately he hated himself for allowing his mind to turn to his former lover. Alicia had made her stance clear. Sylvain could not keep thinking of her.
He closed his eyes, trying to force his body to rest. Just as he was starting to relax…
Another harsh scream pierced the night.
Sylvain cursed. He got up and strode to the window. The black sky was starting to grey.
He’d get no more sleep tonight, he knew. And although he would never bed in the basement… he sure as hell could go work there.
After all. That’s where all his computers were.
**
Numbers and digits flashed on the screens. Dozens of stock market tickers were open all at once.
Each one demanded his attention. Each one, to the untrained eye, could appear just as valuable, just as appealing, just as seductive as the next.
Luckily, Sylvain had a head for numbers. Numbers, and patterns.
Pattern recognition was his greatest gift. The digits all swirled together in his mind to make one massive flurry. But from there… Sylvain could uncover hidden commonalities.
Of course, the algorithm he’d developed—and used to hide the existence of the Trojan—could pick out such patterns as well. Yet Sylvain yearned to put his mind to use. He wanted a challenge, something he could confront, and overcome, with nothing but the determination clear in his head.
So he switched off the algorithm… and started trading.
**
Hours later Sylvain sat back. He was exhausted, mentally drained, but ultimately satisfied.
He’d just made himself nearly two hundred thousand euros. Two hundred grand, in what, three hours? Slightly less?
He glanced as his watch, and his eyebrows went up. Not even, he thought. Two and a half.
Well. Luck definitely had a part to play in that. As did his skill.
He couldn’t help the feeling of accomplishment as it enveloped his body.
He stood up. A few taps on the keyboard and his algorithm was once more operational. He hesitated for a moment... then moved his cursor against his instincts and clicked.
He just dumped everything he’d made into a stock he was sure was going to plummet tomorrow.
Just like that, all his work was erased.
He smiled. He’d only come here to exercise his mind. He had no need for another paltry two hundred grand.
In fact, the showing of waste gave him more pleasure than earning any of the money in the first place.
It took a certain intellect to accumulate as much wealth as he just did… and it took an even greater display of character to throw it away a moment later.
Well—that’s what Sylvain told himself.
He left the room a moment later. He locked the door and engaged the security process. Leila, his father, and Bianca knew that all his computers were down here.
Not one of them knew what their purpose was.
Chapter Two
Back above ground, Sylvain strode into the kitchen. He eyed the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. It was hot—freshly made.
He cradled it in his hands and joined his family at the enormous wooden table.
Bianca was there, quietly spooning her oatmeal. She gave no outward sign of having slept badly. Their father was at the head of the table, eyeing everything with great suspicion.
Leila, who was sitting directly across from Bianca, was the only one to give Sylvain any notice or acknowledgment when he sat down.
Even that was nothing more than a brief, cursory flash of the eyes.
Sylvain leaned back. He waited. Sooner or later, his father would begin one of his diatribes lamenting the loss of the Alastair family legacy, the downfall of the Alastair name, or other such nonsense.
The morning gathering had become something of a ritual. Sylvain was there, and endured his father’s lectures, for only one reason:
His younger sister.
She was still not speaking to him. After the dead cat disaster, Sylvain had scarcely been able to get a word out of her.
But he thought they were making progress. Each day Sylvain sat one chair closer to Bianca. If she stiffened when he took his new position, he would halt there for a number of mornings, until she once again became acclimatized to his proximity.
Today, he was only four chairs away.
Suddenly, and completely without warning, Bianca looked up. She had a brilliant smile on her face as her eyes moved right to Sylvain’s.
“Daddy says you should have your coffee,” she announced.
Sylvain started from shock. There were two reasons:
One, she addressed their father as “daddy,” which she hadn’t done since she was ten years old.
And two, she’d spoken to him directly.
Sylvain exchanged a look with Leila. She appeared just as surprised as he. He turned back to his sister.
“Of course,” he told her, softly, smoothly, so as not to spook her. He did not know who was more in their own head in these interactions, he or she.
He, because he was always so worried about doing the smallest thing wrong that might set her off. She, because…
Well, because of who she was.
Sylvain raised the cup to his lips. Bianca watched him like a hawk. This is wrong, he thought, but didn’t know why.
Even their father had turned his attention to him,
Sylvain took a sip… and nearly spat it out when he felt the bite in the drink. It was spiked with liquor.
He forced it down. He set the cup on the table.
A muscle in his face twitched.
Everybody at the table knew that Sylvain was sober. Sylvain noticed the corners of his father’s lips twist up.
“The whole thing!” Bianca insisted. “Big brother, you must drink the whole thing!”
She could hardly contain her mirth at his discomfort.
“No,” Sylvain said finally. “I will pour myself another.”
“No, you have to have that one!” Bianca cried out. “That one, that one, that one!”
Sylvain winced. This could be the beginning of an awful tantrum…
“Bianca,” he said, keeping his voice level. “I’m not going to—”
“THAT ONE THAT ONE THAT ONE!” She slammed her fists against the table. “I want you to drink THAT ONE!”
Their father leaned over and patted Bianca’s arm. “There, there,” he said softly. “Don’t get yourself upset, my poor, simple child. Your brother will do as he’s asked.” His eyes turned to Sylvain. They had an evil glint. “Won’t you… son?”
Sylvain did not react right away. This was a direct challenge to his authority.
And now Bianca was looking at him with those big, soulful eyes… eyes that were close to glistening now, extraordinarily close to tears.
He hated himself for it, but he picked up his mug and drank the rest. For Bianca’s sake.
Although the whole time, he did not move his eyes from his father.
“Excellent!” the old man proclaimed when Sylvain was done. Quite conspicuously, he reached into his vest and pulled out an aluminum drinking flask. He added a generous amount to his cup, then reached across, and poured a smaller serving into Bianca’s.
She watched with eager, happy eyes.
“Congratulations, son,” his father said. “You are now a little more of a man. Of course, still nothing like your sister…”
He stood and offered Bianca his arm. “Would you walk with me, my sweet? I want to see the gardens, but I’m afraid these old knees won’t hold my weight without your support.”
Bianca giggled and bound up. Instantly Sylvain was forgotten.
“Of course, daddy,” she told him, her words full of honey.
“Oh,” Sylvain’s father added, picking up Bianca’s cup and handing it to her. “We don’t want you to forget your medicine.”
Chapter Three
“He’s playing me against her,” Sylvain growled. He paced the dining hall in front of Leila. “And I’m fucking feeding right into their little game.”
Leila looked at him, her expression a mix of concern and compassion. “You couldn’t have helped—”
“I could have,” Sylvain interrupted. He stopped walking and dug his fingers into the back of one of the chairs. “I could have refused the damn drink. I shouldn’t have let him give her alcohol!”
“Have you spoken to the doctor?” Leila asked softly.
“No, I haven’t spoken to the fucking doctor!” Sylvain roared.
Leila shied back.
Sylvain cursed. This is what happened when he got alcohol in his blood. He lost control of that ever-present dark ball of hate in the back of his mind.
He moved two fingers to his forehead and rubbed his temple. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s…” he gestured vaguely at his drink. “It’s the liquor. This is why I don’t drink.”
“It’s okay,” Leila offered. But everything about her, from her body language to the frightened shadow in her eyes, gave truth to the lie.
“Your father respects the doctor,” Leila continued after taking a moment to compose herself. “He trusts him. That’s why he brought him in. And Sylvain? No matter how hard it might be for you, I think you should see what the doctor says. I know you don’t want to be associated with people linked to your father. But Bianca’s the common link. You came to the castle for her. Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the people you love.” She sighed. “Don’t let her get away.”
Sylvain kept his expression blank as he looked at Leila in thought. Did he detect a certain trace of… sadness… in her word? When she spoke of the people he loved?
Could the fool girl be jealous of Sylvain’s love for his sister?
Or could she be anxious because he hadn’t once said he loved her?
Dammit, but that was just another complication he didn’t want or need. He did not love Leila. Certainly not. It was impossible; he could not love anybod
y this early, this soon in their relationship. The fact that he’d impregnated her had no bearing.
But… he was almost certain that she had fallen for him. A stupid revelation, that, yet there it was. Sylvain had come to the castle to help Bianca… but along the way, he’d rescued Leila, too.
He walked around the table and sat down in the chair next to her. She didn’t move. He reached out and took her hand.
Her fingers were so cold.
“I am sorry for yelling,” he told her once more. Sincerity flowed through his voice. “It is not proper for a man to yell at a woman. It’s an enormous sign of disrespect.”
Leila cast her eyes downward. “That’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m used to it. Your father—”
“I am not my father,” Sylvain said. “Nor do I ever wish to be.”
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Your father yells sometimes, yes, but it is nothing compared to what I experienced at home. That’s the reason I came here. It’s why… I never looked back.”
Sylvain’s brows furrowed. He thought back to the dinner he’d hosted for Leila’s family two weeks ago. They were all well-behaved, seemingly respectable people.
Funny how easy it is to wear a mask.
He tightened his grip on her hand. “I’m sorry for that, then,” he said. Maybe the girl was foolish, maybe the girl was young, but he vowed then and there that he would not insult her further by remaining cold to her affections.
She was tied to his future, after all.
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly.
Sylvain searched her eyes. “We barely know each other, don’t we?” he asked.
“I know you,” she said.
“But I hardly know you.” He made a swift decision then to change that. “Forget about my sister for a day. Let’s spend today together, just you and me. Let’s get away. Do you want to go down to the village? You can show me where you grew up.”
Her face brightened. “Are you sure… are you sure that won’t be boring, for you?”
He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it.
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