The car hummed softly as they drove, the city lights streaking past like liquid gold. Melissa fidgeted beside Evelyn, eyes wide.
"Evelyn… how do you know him?" she asked finally. "Is it… the Silas I saw once?
The one Stephan mentioned?"
Evelyn's hands tightened slightly on the wheel. She wasn't sure if bringing Melissa here was wise, but there was no choice. Her fake "cousin" cover had to hold.
"I know him enough," Evelyn said carefully, glancing at her. "More than you realize.
That's all you need to know right now."
Melissa's brow furrowed, but she didn't press further, sensing the weight in Evelyn's words.
The moment the car rolled to a stop in front of the mansion, Melissa's breath hitched. She could feel the gravity of the place before she even opened the door—the cold precision of the gate, the dark, polished stone of the driveway, the way the lamps cast sharp reflections across the walls. Her fingers clutched her bag tightly.
Evelyn opened the door first, stepping out with her usual composed grace, and Melissa followed hesitantly, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of rich leather, polished wood, and a hint of something sharp—cologne, power, and wealth all wrapped together. The air seemed alive, humming quietly as if it recognized the two intruders.
Melissa's eyes darted around, taking in the tall ceilings, the sleek lines of the furniture, and the portraits lining the hallway. One painting in particular caught her attention: a man with dark, calculating eyes, the faintest curl of a smile, the aura of someone who commanded without words. The caption read Silas Montclair.
Her chest tightened. She hadn't expected… this. The reputation, the portraits, the house itself—it all spoke of authority, control, and danger. She swallowed hard, trying to steady her breathing as Evelyn led her further down the hallway.
From behind a closed door came a low, measured voice, smooth but edged with dominance.
"…increase my part of the dividend, then, if that's the case," the voice said, calm, but carrying the weight of authority.
Melissa's eyes widened. Her hands gripped her bag strap so tightly her knuckles whitened. "Evelyn… that's him, isn't it?" she whispered.
Evelyn didn't answer immediately. Her eyes flicked to the door, listening for a beat, feeling the presence behind it like a tangible weight pressing down on her.
Then the voice paused. A faint rustle, the sound of papers moving, a quiet exhale.
"Come in...with who ever you're with Evelyn" it said finally.
Evelyn's jaw tightened imperceptibly. She reached for the handle, her fingers brushing the smooth wood. "Stay close, stay quiet," she murmured to Melissa.
Melissa's heart thudded violently in her chest as Evelyn pushed the door open. The room beyond was dimly lit, the glow of a single desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Silas sat behind the desk, dark glasses on, pen moving across a notepad.
He didn't look up, but the air seemed to bend toward him.
"Get in," he said again, almost casually, but the subtle power in his tone made Melissa flinch.
Evelyn stepped inside first, a faint blush rising as she realized that even now, he only acknowledged her presence. Melissa followed, careful to keep her eyes low.
Silas didn't glance at her once. He just kept his gaze on Evelyn, listening, weighing, measuring.
Melissa's stomach churned. Fear, awe, and a strange fascination mixed together. She hadn't expected a man like this—so controlled, so cold, so impossibly commanding. And yet, he only cared about Evelyn.
Evelyn straightened, hiding her own tension. "He knows you're here," she whispered under her breath to Melissa. "Don't move, don't speak. Not until I say so."
Melissa nodded silently, feeling like a mouse in the presence of a lion, every nerve screaming, every instinct screaming, he could crush us in an instant, and he knows it.
Evelyn stood just inside the door, the folder clutched tightly in her hands. She had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in her head, yet now, standing before Silas, the words refused to come out cleanly.
"Silas… Monk is after her," she began, voice low, controlled. "I've managed to… keep Melissa away from the cops. For now."
He didn't look up. He didn't need to. The faint scratch of a pen on paper, the turn of a page—his silence carried authority heavier than any words.
"She can't stay here," he said without raising his head.
Evelyn's brow furrowed. "I—" She paused. "I can manage—"
"You haven't earned that yet," he cut in sharply, finally lifting his gaze. His dark eyes locked on hers, precise, assessing, unyielding.
Evelyn swallowed hard. Every instinct in her screamed to argue, to insist—but she knew better. She could feel it in the room, in the weight of him, in the way he made the air seem tighter, sharper.
"She'll be under Stephan's protection," he continued, flipping another page as if Evelyn wasn't even there.
Melissa's head spun in the back of Evelyn's mind. Stephan? The man she had cried not to ever meet?—now the one chosen to watch over her.
Evelyn nodded, swallowing the surprise that threatened to show. "Understood," she said, her voice steady.
He didn't offer more. " He'll set up a room for her," he added, his tone clipped. "Men will watch over her. That's all I can do."
Evelyn blinked, her chest tightening. She hadn't expected… she hadn't thought anyone—least of all him—would step in to protect her.
"Thank you," she managed softly, bowing her head slightly before turning toward the door.
Melissa, trailing just behind, opened her mouth—questions already forming—but Evelyn's hand pressed gently on her arm, stopping her
.
"Not yet," Evelyn whispered, eyes flicking back toward the closed door. "Not yet. Later."
They exited the room, the quiet hum of the mansion swallowing their footsteps, the shadow of Silas lingering behind like a silent threat, or a promise.
Melissa looked at Evelyn, wide-eyed.
"That… Stephan guy—he's going to protect me? That's… really him?"
Evelyn kept walking, only nodding slightly. Words weren't enough—Silas had made that abundantly clear.
And as the heavy door clicked shut behind them, Evelyn knew one thing for certain: nothing in this game was simple, nothing was safe, and every choice would cost more than she could imagine.
--------
As Evelyn and Melissa reached the car, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, his stance rigid. "Miss Ashford… the boss said Melissa should be sent home. You are to stay."
Evelyn's brows knitted, irritation flashing but held in check. "I don't think that's necessary. She's coming with me."
The bodyguard's gaze flicked toward the security monitor.
The screen flickered as Silas's face filled the frame, calm, composed, unshaken. Evelyn straightened, lips pressed into a thin line, her pulse quickening.
"Ah… my feisty little flower," he said slowly, voice smooth but sharp enough to cut through the room.
His dark eyes held hers, disapproving, measuring. "Why… why are you always so… vulnerable? You've had your first test at the garden, and yet—here you are, letting yourself be caught in situations you could've avoided."
Evelyn's chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to explain, but the weight behind his gaze kept her silent.
He sighed, a small, almost indulgent sound that made her stomach twist. "Enough." He leaned back, tilting his head as though weighing her like a scale. "The lady… Stephan will come himself to get her. You, however, will wait here with one of the guards. I've told you before, lessons are earned, not granted."
The words sank into her chest like ice. Lessons. Earned. Not granted.
Evelyn swallowed, nodding, her voice barely above a whisper. "Understood."