A low, pure chuckle rumbled from Silas's chest. He moved closer, his eyes studying her every nuance before he stepped back, as if teasing her sanity.
"Your mental fortitude… impressive," he murmured, voice smooth but edged with something sharp.
His gaze shifted, a rare seriousness cutting through the playful darkness.
"What's so enticing about Stephan?"
Evelyn's brow furrowed, fury prickling through her veins. He had the audacity to question her thoughts. How dare he make me feel this way?
"His touch… magnificent. His voice… excellent," she admitted, voice tight.
Silas's dark eyes narrowed, sharp as blades.
"So he did touch you."
Evelyn's eyes went wide. Was this man dumb? Stephan? Of all people? Her thoughts raced—but Silas interrupted them before they could finish.
"He has a punishment coming… for touching you," he said, his eyes flicking to the faint mark on her chin.
"Why?" Evelyn asked, heart thumping.
Silas stretched his hands toward her, bending slightly, waiting. Take my hands, his posture commanded without words.
"Forget about Stephan. He's useless now."
Evelyn's eyes lingered on him. His jaw was tight, his expression lethal. Jealousy? Over Stephan? Even a harsh touch from that man had Silas… furious?
Reluctantly, she placed her hands in his. The moment she did, he lifted her effortlessly, her legs weak and trembling beneath her.
"I can walk," she tried to protest, frowning.
But less than three seconds later, her body betrayed her. She faltered, almost collapsing, and Silas caught her with one steady hand on her shoulders. In an instant, he raised her as if she weighed nothing, her body small and fragile in his arms.
"Disobedient flower… or should I call you a pest?" he murmured, voice low and teasing, his heat radiating against her.
Evelyn said nothing. She let herself lean against him, feeling the solid warmth of his body—the same warmth that had terrified and fascinated her before.
At least I've achieved two things, she thought, a rush of defiance curling in her chest. I've satisfied my foolish urge to feel him close… and I've collected proof. I know now just how dangerous he is. The possibility of him being involved in illegal business… very high.
She closed her eyes, letting her mind sharpen despite her body betraying her.
Am I… actually enjoying his warmth while plotting his downfall?
Her pulse raced, a mixture of fear, adrenaline, and something far more dangerous: desire.
------
The door to the large room swung open as Silas used his knee to push it wide; it wasn't locked. He bent to drop her onto the bed—but she clutched his shirt, staring straight at him.
Silas froze, gaze dark and serious. "They won't touch you here. Let go—I need to work."
Evelyn hesitated for a heartbeat, then reluctantly released him. She watched as he adjusted the collar of his shirt, every movement precise, controlled, exuding that unshakable authority that made her pulse spike.
"You can leave when you want," he said, eyes piercing hers. "Tell them Silas Montclair said you're free to go." His voice was calm, but it carried a weight that felt like a divine command.
He walked out, and the door clicked shut behind him. Evelyn exhaled sharply, tension leaving her body in a rush.
Wasting no time, she scanned the room. Her fingers brushed across every surface, every paper, every corner. Lifting her gown slightly, she reached into the tight of her clothes and retrieved the mini recorder she had stashed there. She pressed play—the voice confirmed everything. Then she scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper the name she had glimpsed on the desk earlier:
Van Monks.
She folded the paper and sank onto the bed, muscles trembling from exhaustion and adrenaline. For the first time that evening, she allowed herself a small smile. She had something—proof—but Silas? He had returned to his work, silent as ever.
Quickly, she gathered her bag and dashed to the bathroom to check her appearance. Her phone blinked 6:38 PM, dozens of missed calls from Tyler. She tugged a scarf over her hair to shield herself from prying eyes, tucked her heels under her arm, and moved like a shadow through the hallway.
Outside, the evening air was fresh, crisp, and almost sacred. She didn't look back as she ran toward Tyler, slumping into his arms with a shuddering breath. Tyler froze for a moment, then steadied her, letting her pour her exhaustion onto his shoulders.
As he opened the car door for her, Evelyn's gaze flicked upward—and froze. On the third floor, by the window, a shadow moved. Silas. His eyes met hers, unblinking, unreadable. He saw her cling to Tyler, saw her vulnerable.
Heart pounding, Evelyn quickly looked away and slid into the car. Tyler followed, none the wiser to the storm of emotions swirling inside her.
When Tyler glanced up again, the window was empty. Silas had disappeared, leaving nothing behind but the lingering impression of control and danger. Tyler started the engine, and the car pulled away, leaving the night—and Silas Montclair—behind them.
****
Evelyn tried to steady her thoughts as the car pulled up at the station. The thought of sleeping alone at her apartment made her skin crawl—not after the recent news of those who had crossed Silas or gotten close to her being "eliminated" despite bail. Her colleagues walked past her as if nothing had happened, their eyes blind to the storm churning inside her.
Tyler had already contacted the higher-ups. Mr. Collins arrived ahead of her, a stern man in his fifties, his gaze sharp enough to cut glass. Medics hovered nearby, preparing a kit for Evelyn, who was still trembling slightly, though she forced her legs to move.
Minutes later, she was standing in front of the panel of higher FBI officials. The sterile lights reflected off their polished suits, casting long, cold shadows.
"Miss Ashford," one began, voice clipped and professional, "we are considering the risks this task has exposed you to. Regarding the lack of tangible evidence you've provided, we are inclined to reassign this case. Someone else will continue from here."
Evelyn's heart dropped into her stomach. No—her career couldn't be ruined because of one man. She gritted her teeth, fingers tightening so hard around her notebook that her nails bit into her palm.
"Have you gathered any evidence?" another voice demanded.
Evelyn's chest heaved as she tried to steady herself. The car ride had felt endless, her mind replaying every moment: Silas at the brothel, the way he had saved her, the way he had looked at her like… like he knew she couldn't be harmed, yet he terrified her all the same.
Why had she doubted herself? Why had she thought she could handle this without him? Her hands tightened around her bag, her fingers trembling, betraying her resolve. Every nerve in her body screamed—he was dangerous, unpredictable, and yet… she had survived because of him.
She had proof. She knew it. But a part of her hated that she owed her survival to him. She had wanted to stand on her own, to fight, to get evidence on her own terms—but now, faced with the panel of higher FBI officials, all she could feel was the sting of her conflicting emotions.
Her gaze fell to the recorder tucked safely in her bag. She could prove everything: his dealings, his illegitimate empire, the trail of manipulation and power. But could she separate the man from the monster in her mind long enough to use it without fear?
"Miss Ashford…" The voice cut through her spiral of thoughts. Stern. Impatient. Unyielding.
Her stomach tightened. The words echoed in her ears.
"Do you have any proof?"
Evelyn swallowed hard, her throat dry, her heart hammering—not from the question itself, but from the memory of the man who had just saved her life, the same man she was supposed to expose.
Her mind raced. Could she do it? Could she hand over the proof and risk everything—including the part of her that felt… strangely indebted to him?
The room went silent. Her hands gripped her bag tighter. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She was caught—between duty, fear, and a dangerous, forbidden admiration.
"Miss Ashford… do you have any proof?"
The words repeated, sharper tghis time, slicing through her resolve.
Evelyn's chest heaved. Her fingers curled around the recorder. Her mind screamed. Her heart betrayed her.
And then everything stopped—except that single, burning question.
"Miss Ashford… do you have any proof?"