Chapter 53: Cold Eyes
Yunice shot Paul a cold look, then stood up abruptly and walked toward the door. Paul panicked and rushed after her, slamming his arm against the door to block her path. He leaned in close, his voice low and tense. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Yunice scoffed. “If you really think you’ve got nothing to hide, then what are you so scared of?”
Paul’s face darkened. He didn’t think he was wrong—he was just pissed that her words hit a nerve and made him look like an idiot. She used to do whatever he said. Now, she challenged him at every turn. And he couldn’t stand it. Who gave her the nerve?
His tone turned jealous and bitter. “You really think you’re somebody now just because Wyatt’s giving you attention?” Paul sneered. “He’s nothing. The Powell family only keeps him around when he’s useful. The second he steps out of line, he’s out. You’ll see. Laying hands on me? Big mistake. He’s not walking away from this—just watch.”
Yunice blinked, caught off guard. To her, Wyatt didn’t seem like someone the Powell family could control. Wyatt was ruthless, sharp, and strategic—and in Silverbrough, his influence was already starting to surpass the Powell family’s. It didn’t make sense—someone like him shouldn’t be answering to anyone.
She raised her chin, her voice sharp. “Wyatt’s just better than you. Face it.”
She was baiting him, hoping to get him to spill something about the Powell family. But Paul didn’t fall for it. Instead, he frowned deeply, like he genuinely couldn’t understand. “Seriously? You’ve barely even talked to him. What’s so great about that guy? Oh, so that’s your type now?”
Yunice stayed silent. The truth was, their history went back further than anyone knew—not just to the black market but to something buried in childhood. Wyatt was the product of one of Jackson Powell’s drunken mistakes. From the moment he was born, he and his mother were tucked away in a back courtyard—kept out of sight, out of mind. His mother didn’t gain status from having a child. Because of that, both of them were treated like garbage. Everyone in the Powell family looked down on them.
Paul, when he was just a spoiled little kid, used to sneak off with his buddies to mess with Wyatt. Yunice had tagged along. They brought thick snakes and shoved them through the crack in the old wooden gate, snickering as they waited for someone inside to scream.
One of the kids got nervous. “What if the snakes bite them and they die? Won’t we get in trouble?”
Paul shrugged, all smug. “So what if they die? My dad says they’re worthless anyway. If they die, that just saves everyone the trouble.”
But they waited a long time, and nothing came from inside—not a sound. Eventually, one of the kids couldn’t help himself and crouched down to peek through the crack in the gate. No one knew what he saw, but he let out a scream and fell straight back onto the ground.
Yunice, heart pounding, stepped closer and looked for herself. Inside, a boy not much older than them crouched on the ground, one hand pinning a snake’s head, the other holding a rock. Then he tossed the rock aside and, in one swift motion, peeled the snake’s skin off. The pale flesh twitched in his hands.
The other kids—pampered, sheltered—lost it. Some screamed. Others turned and threw up. Especially Paul—he gagged and shouted through the gate, “You freak! That was my snake! I swear, one day I’m going to kill you!”
Yunice had been just a child herself, but even then, she knew Paul had crossed a line. She was about to tell him to stop when something made her freeze. She looked through the gate again—and locked eyes with the boy inside. That was the first time Yunice and Wyatt made eye contact. He was standing in that run-down courtyard, and she was outside the gate—in a world that looked nothing like his. His face was splattered with blood. In one hand, he held the freshly skinned snake. And even from that distance, his cold, steady stare pierced through her. The way he looked at her sent a chill down her spine—calm, emotionless, and far more unsettling than the snake in his hand.
Yunice instinctively leaned back, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t done anything—but for some reason, she felt guilty. She hadn’t taken part in Paul’s little stunt. But she was the only one Wyatt had seen. Would he think I was part of it? That I was just like the rest of them?
While her thoughts raced, Wyatt turned and walked back inside, snake still in hand. Paul wouldn’t stop ranting, swearing he’d make Wyatt pay for what happened. Yunice was supposed to go home after all that, but she stayed behind, worried Paul would actually do something reckless. So instead, she quietly stayed hidden somewhere on the Powell estate.
That night, Paul never showed up at the courtyard. But Yunice, peeking through a crack in the gate, saw Wyatt carrying a plate of meat to his mother. “Mom, we have meat tonight.” She recognized it—it was the same snake from earlier that day.
Nothing else happened that night. Wyatt and his mom quietly sat down and, after gently urging each other to eat more, finished the plate of snake meat together. That scene stuck with Yunice more than anything else. It left a mark.
A few years later, when Paul turned twelve, the Powell family threw an extravagant birthday party. It was over the top. Half of Silverbrough’s elite showed up—business leaders, socialites, and anyone who mattered. The ballroom was pure luxury—every detail sleek, expensive, and meant to impress. Jackson and Jensen were the center of attention, standing under the lights while the city’s elite circled around them, hanging on their every word.