AC Syndicate: Isolated Files [OS]

Jealousy [Alternative]

(The chapter image is edited. It's a fanart from NightWasp)

For several days now, the heir to the Templar family had locked himself in his office when he wasn't away on factory visits. This was an unprecedented situation in the house that his parents had given him for his marriage with Victoria. The butler and the steward had no idea what was going on, and God knows they were close to Thomas. As for Victoria, she pretended to be worried about her husband to all the servants, she didn't give a damn. She had the opportunity to do as she pleased. After all, she would no longer feel oppressed by the blonde's gaze or hear him comment on her every move, or be questioned about what she was doing or planning to do. He only went out for meals, he shouldn't have starved himself, and to join Victoria in bed very late at night, to avoid sleeping uncomfortably slumped on the desk.

At the end of this umpteenth day, as the sun had begun its descent towards the horizon, Victoria was sitting at the root of a tree, pen in hand and a notebook in her lap to use as a prop to write to Jane, who was on a trip to Holland with her father. She had a smile on her face as she spoke of her lover as she ran the ink from her fountain pen over the paper. She looked up at the sky, searching for her words for a few moments or still thinking about her moments with the man she was seeing secretly.

The brunette's pensive gaze and dreamy smile did not pass Thomas by, as he watched her from the cage that was his office. His elbow was resting against the recess in the wall, and the back of his hand was on his forehead. His thumb mechanically rubbed the top of his nose, between his eyebrows. The sunlight reflected on the blond's face just as pensive as the brunette's, but unlike her, his jaw was clenched. The annoyance was putting him under strain. Finally, the thumb left the boundary between the top of his nose and his forehead so that he rubbed the side of two phalanges of his middle finger, but the back of the hand remained glued against the top of his face. In the heavy silence of his office, he ruminated without making a sound.

Children's laughter came to mind, knowing full well it was his and Victoria's mingling with their respective siblings. Jane's laughter and that of her two brothers was also part of that joyous cacophony that Thomas now regretted. It was a bitter memory that stabbed him when he realised that the present was not what he had so longed for at Victoria's side. These memories haunted him at night, causing insomnia and forcing him to join his wife in bed late, hoping in vain to find sleep. Then he heard more adult laughter, which sounded like amusement, joy, but it sounded more like mockery. As if the Camerons hadn't had enough with the elder's homosexuality and the younger sister's strange career with Maxwell Roth, now he knew he was being cheated on by the woman he loved and would die for despite the flaws that education had failed to repair in the dark-haired woman. He accepted her as she was, and he had hoped that this would awaken some feeling of love in Victoria. But life, or perhaps fate, had decided otherwise. Thomas even wondered if his family had not been the victim of a curse, and that it was useless to try to save his honour. For the heiress was not only cheating and making life hell for the last of the Cameron family. Like his father, the blond was a Templar, and to see his wife flirting with that damned Assassin, Jacob Frye, was not only heartbreaking but also made him envious of all the love he didn't get from Victoria. Just thinking about it made his hand close into a fist and hit the small piece of wall his elbow was resting on.

While Victoria gave the steward the letter for Jane to send the next morning, Thomas went to sit for a few moments in the darkness on the armchair in front of the bookshelf that hid the back wall of the room. He leaned on one of the armrests and pinched the top of his nose, his eyes closed. The picture of the Assassin holding Victoria in his arms, with a sly stare and a triumphant grin, flashed through his mind, and jeering laughter played as well. If only he could kill all those mocking laughter when he thought of the painful situation that was eating away at his being or at night, when he thought he could finally close his eyes for just a few hours. But no, he was still suffering from the noise that got him on nerves, as well as having the picture of his enemy hugging the woman he loved, as if to rejoice in his weakness and misfortune.

Then he looked away to the pedestal table on his right. He saw that he still had some whisky left, enough for a decent glass. He didn't hesitate to help himself to try and endure — almost desperately — this cruel symphony and this hideous painting that he would like to burn to make the heart thief suffer what he was going through. He took a big gulp. His throat burned at the time, forcing him to wince, but he felt a deep relief in the seconds that followed. The weight of hatred that crushed his heart had barely lightened, but that didn't stop him — even though he wasn't thrilled for her — from cursing the two lovers for loving each other. He was so consumed with jealousy and the desire to make Victoria happy. Thinking of her, he got up and went back to the window, finishing the trickle of whisky that remained in the bottom of the glass. He needed to see the dark-haired woman.

With the empty glass in his hand, he saw Victoria stand up and appear to be looking for someone. She had heard a noise while she was reading. The sun was low enough that it was dark in the garden. When she came close to a tree, as she looked to her left, a man with a top hat emerged from his hiding place. He spun the brunette around, her petticoat twirling to follow the little dance the man had made her do, before landing her in his arms. The Reid heiress was surprised and then relieved to see that it was her lover, and it was visible on her face, illuminated by the love she bore the man of the shadows. The latter silently answered her with a tender smile. Seeing the scene, Thomas ranted as his fingers tightened on the glass he was holding. 

The crystalline crash, followed by a howl of rage, echoed through the rooms on the floor below, alarming all the servants who had heard it. Thomas had lost control of himself as he witnessed a scene he wished he had never seen. After looking at each other tenderly, the two lovers had kissed. The blond had witnessed Victoria's passion for the Assassin. This had made him so angry that he threw the glass to the back of the room. It had been the only way he could express his pain and anger, which he felt he had to drag around like chains, feeling doomed to be torn by both feelings.

Thomas turned his back and leaned against the wall of the window before sliding down, tearfully, until his knees were against his chest. He couldn't stand the sickly jealousy, the fate that was working against him. It got so bad that he wrapped his arms around his knees and put his head in them to pour out his tears of sadness and anger. He wished that snake Jacob Frye was dead. Oh yes, he wanted to see Jacob six feet under. But he knew it would break his wife's heart, and she would deserve to suffer for causing him so much pain, so much suffering. But he loved her too much to make her suffer this terrible loss... He didn't want her to hate him. If he killed him, he would lose her. But on the other hand, he couldn't let that go. Jacob was an Assassin and he was a Templar. If he didn't get rid of the pests, London would be taken over by chaos. For the sake of London, for the sake of the world, for his own sake, Evie Frye and her brother, Jacob, had to die.

At this thought, Thomas raised his head slightly, leaving only his green eyes darkened by hatred and grief. He looked at the shadow and cold solitude at the back of the room. He breathed in slowly, feeling the anger come over him and the will to take things in hands. If he succeeded, he would no longer be the subject of ridicule by society and the Templars. The heir would be more respected, both by the world and by his own wife. He stood up and turned to the window. He saw the two lovebirds fall to the ground, Victoria on top of Jacob, laughing as they played a love game.