After Alaric locked the door, Silas didn't waste a second. The "confused fiancé" look vanished. He jumped out of bed and began searching the room.
"I need a weapon," he whispered. "And I need that drive."
He checked the drawers of the mahogany nightstand. He found expensive watches and silk handkerchiefs, but no gun. He checked the closet—it was full of beautiful clothes that were exactly his size. It was creepy. It was like Alaric had been planning to keep him here long before the accident.
Suddenly, Silas heard a click at the door. He scrambled back into bed and pulled the covers up just as the handle turned.
Alaric walked in, but he wasn't alone. He was followed by a royal tailor.
"You need to be fitted for your wedding suit, Silas," Alaric said with a sharp smile. "The ceremony is in three days. We must be perfect."
The tailor moved closer with a measuring tape. As he leaned in, Silas saw a small tattoo on the man's wrist—a snake. It was the mark of the Vane Mafia family! This tailor was a spy sent by Silas's father.
As the tailor measured Silas's arms, he leaned in and whispered into Silas's ear, "The Boss wants the drive. We are coming for you tonight. Be ready."
Silas felt a rush of hope. He wasn't alone. But then, he looked at Alaric. The Prince was standing by the window, watching them with narrowed eyes.
"Is there a problem, Silas?" Alaric asked. "You look... pale."
"I'm just tired," Silas lied, his heart racing.
Alaric walked over and dismissed the tailor. Once the door was shut, Alaric grabbed Silas by the waist and pulled him close. "I don't like how he touched you," the Prince growled. "Remember, Silas... even if you forget your past, I never forget what belongs to me."