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An hour had passed. Evelyn was still perched on the edge of the bed, her body rigid, heart hammering. Every shadow in the room felt like it could be waiting for her, every creak of the floor a threat. She feared that the moment she closed her eyes, her world might end.
But exhaustion eventually claimed her. She drifted into a restless sleep, still sitting upright, hair messy despite her attempts to tame it, mind buzzing with everything that had happened tonight—the attackers, the chase, Silas, the fire, the city, the case…
Her sleep was shallow, but it was interrupted by a presence. Strong arms slid beneath her thighs, lifting her carefully, almost reverently, until she felt herself nestle further onto the bed.
A shiver ran down her spine, and for a heartbeat, her body froze under the contact. But exhaustion weighed heavier than fear, and she shut her eyes, surrendering to the strange, protective closeness.
Behind her, another weight pressed lightly against her back.
She felt herself shift again, pulled fully under the blanket's warmth, the soft rise and fall of a steady breathing beside her. Her mind, tired and muddled, traced the outline of him in the dark. God damn him—this man had saved her life.
Just as he seemed about to leave, her voice, quiet and unexpected even to herself, broke the silence.
"Silas… thank you," she whispered.
The words barely left her lips before she sank fully into the bed, her cheek pressed against the pillow, eyes still closed.
A faint smirk touched Silas's lips. He moved away slowly, taking a seat in the chair by the fire, his gaze never leaving her for long.
"It's not necessary," he murmured, tilting his head back and letting a long sigh escape him. Then, almost playfully, he waved a hand over her eyes.
"Rest."
Evelyn didn't move, didn't blink, didn't respond. The room fell into a quiet rhythm—the crackle of the dying fire, the soft whir of the air conditioner, the subtle creak of Silas shifting in his chair.
After a moment, he rose again, moving with deliberate quietness toward the nightstand. His fingers hovered over her phone. Without a word, he pressed something, and it unlocked with a soft click, bypassing her password. He held it for a beat, smirking slightly as he transferred files to his own device.
"No… Evelyn," he murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself, "thank you for being vulnerable tonight."
He lingered over her WhatsApp, scanning the screen just long enough to weigh the temptation, his dark eyes flicking toward her sleeping form. Should he scan through it? Or leave it be? His smirk deepened.
He leaned back slightly, the firelight catching the edge of his sharp jaw, and whispered quietly, "Some things… are more interesting when you choose to share them."
Evelyn shifted in her sleep, restless but unaware of his words, the tension of the night slowly giving way to the fragile comfort of protection—even if it came from a man she didn't fully understand, didn't fully trust, yet couldn't deny had saved her life.
******
Morning crept slowly into the room.
Thin rays of sunlight spilled through the heavy curtains, dust motes dancing lazily in the golden light. The faint warmth from the dying fireplace lingered, and the scent of last night's ash still clung to the edges of the room.
Evelyn stirred, eyelids heavy, brain sluggish from the chaos of the night. The events replayed in fragments—attackers, the chase, Silas, the hotel, the firelight in his eyes.
She pushed herself up, a dull ache radiating from her skull, and noticed a faint murmur of voices outside the door.
Men talking.
Her pulse quickened—not in fear, exactly, but in… reassurance.
She turned—and froze.
Silas was sitting on the couch across the room. Calm. Controlled. Dark eyes sharp and unyielding, fixed on her like he'd been waiting for this moment. One arm draped lazily across the back of the sofa, the other hand resting on his knee, fingers tapping slightly.
Her chest tightened.
"God—" she whispered under her breath, closing her eyes for a heartbeat, then stepping closer.
Up close, his expression remained neutral. Unreadable.
"Let me guess," she said, crossing her arms lightly. "You didn't sleep all night… because you didn't want to?"
A slow exhale, then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Are you… caring for me now?"
The question landed softer than she expected.
Evelyn looked away, a small, reluctant smile tugging her lips.
"Don't flatter yourself. I'm just… being appreciative. At least I have a heart."
Her gaze flicked downward—and froze.
Her phone.
Not on the bedside table. Not where she had left it.
"Silas…" she said softly, lifting it in one hand. "What did you do to my phone?"
He didn't look at her. Leaned back lazily, exuding boredom.
She stepped forward, voice sharper.
"I'm talking to you."
Silas's sudden movement startled her—he rose fluidly, the height difference and his presence making the air itself feel heavier.
"I told you to stop talking," he said quietly, eyes locking on hers.
Her jaw tightened. Fine.
She lunged to grab his phone from the table—but a hand caught her wrist, cold and unyielding.
"Don't."
Her brows furrowed. "Let go of me."
He didn't even flinch. With one effortless motion, he caught both her wrists in one hand, lifting them above her head like she weighed nothing. His other hand snatched the phone from her grip, tossing it onto the bed.
Her back met the wall as he guided her backward. She struggled, but his strength was absolute—humiliatingly so.
Just before her head could strike the wall, his palm slid behind it, cushioning her.
His face hovered close. Voice low, calm—but impossibly dangerous.
"This is your warning, Evelyn. You can be intrusive. You can be disobedient. But don't ever question my orders again. Don't make me repeat myself."
He released her wrists. Just like that.
Evelyn's lungs drew in a shaky breath as he stepped away, picking up his phone from the bed without another glance.
"Get dressed," he said casually. "You're leaving."
She planted her feet stubbornly, refusing to move.
Silas paused, head tilting slightly, and a small, almost imperceptible smile crept across his lips.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Most don't last until the following morning. But here you are… standing. Breathing."
Her chest fluttered unexpectedly.
"You know nothing about me, Evelyn. I suggest you stay away."
He passed her to grab a towel, but halfway there, he stopped. Slowly, he turned, smirk curling at the corner of his lips.
"Unless," he said, voice soft, teasing, deliberate, "you're starting to like me. You sounded… very sincere last night."
Evelyn's heart skipped.
Her mind raced.
What did I say? What did I do?
"S… sincere?" she stammered, fingers tightening nervously.
He nodded slowly, eyes darkening slightly.
"Yes. And it scared me."
Before she could respond, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving the sound of running water behind.
Evelyn stood frozen, trying to digest the storm of emotions pulsing in her chest. Fear. Confusion. Gratitude. And something… far more dangerous: curiosity.
What did I say last night?
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