Silas's POV
I walked to the table where empty wine glasses sat abandoned, lipstick marks staining the rims like evidence of a crime. The air still held traces of expensive perfume and echoes of laughter that now felt like mockery. A bottle had tipped over, its contents creating a steady drip onto the hardwood floor. I ignored the mess and grabbed the nearest bottle, white wine, the kind she always preferred. I lifted it to my lips and drained what remained in one bitter gulp.
The wine tasted wrong, too sharp or maybe too cloying. Perhaps it had been sitting out too long, or perhaps nothing would taste right after tonight. Either way, it did nothing to cool the rage burning through my veins.
I slammed the empty bottle back onto the table, the sound echoing through the penthouse like a gunshot. Without hesitation, I moved to the mini bar across the room.
