The ride was mostly quiet, with an irritating stillness settling between us. Wilde wasn't asking the questions I had hoped for, instead opting to maintain his infuriatingly enigmatic demeanor. Was he serious about playing this silent and mysterious act now? Fine. If that's his strategy, I suppose he can die in silence.
"Bee Wee-wee, do you think I'll be able to—" I began, turning my thoughts inward, but Wilde's voice sliced through the air, low and rough, as if it hadn't been used in a long time.
"Caden asked you to get married."
His tone was flat, devoid of curiosity—it wasn't a question. The words hit me harder than I expected, not because of the information, but because he chose to say it out loud. I already knew he was aware of the proposal, but for him to openly acknowledge it? That wasn't like Wilde. Was this a crack in our usual game of manipulation, or just a new move in his strategy? The idea that he'd willingly give away that knowledge himself unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
I nodded slowly, glancing out the window, playing it cool as if I were merely an observer of this whole mess. The weight of the school uniform on me felt like an anchor, keeping me rooted in the performance I was about to give. My tone was both accusatory and delicate, an intentional balance of helplessness and allure. "You knew," My tone was deliberately coquettish, an artful blend of fragility and seduction. "And you didn't stop me." The accusation was laced with seduction, I wanted him to feel both responsible and entranced, daring him to respond, to feel something, to see me as more than just another player on the board.
He didn't answer, not immediately. Maybe guilt had found a crack in his armor, though the thought seemed far-fetched. Wilde, in his casual dress pants and that perfectly fitted t-shirt that made his muscles look so unfairly good, wasn't the kind of man to succumb to guilt. He was the villain, after all, the man who'd wrecked the world without a second thought. If he felt any remorse, he didn't show it.
I shifted in my seat, the stiff fabric of my uniform rustling against the leather. My legs crossed in a feigned attempt at nonchalance, though I could feel the tension between us thickening like a storm cloud. Wilde's silence spoke volumes, but his eyes, sharp and watchful, stayed fixed ahead. The casual clothes didn't lessen the power he carried; if anything, they only made him seem more dangerous, more real.
Despite my efforts to maintain control, exhaustion began to creep in. The hum of the car, the steady rhythm of the road—it all worked against me, pulling me toward an uneasy sleep. As my eyelids grew heavier, I couldn't help but wonder if this silence between us was just the calm before something far worse.