Warm steam still clung faintly to Evelyn's skin as she stepped out of the bathroom, her damp hair falling over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed—not just from the water, but from the memory of his voice outside the door.
Bare… or not.
Her lips pressed together as she exhaled, trying to steady herself.
Then her eyes dropped to the bed.
Clothes.
She walked closer… then stopped.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The dress laid neatly folded, modest, long, and—God—ancient. The fabric looked like something pulled straight out of a forgotten century. High neckline. Long sleeves. No shape. No personality.
Evelyn picked it up between two fingers like it offended her.
"This man is unbelievable."
The maid's earlier words echoed in her head—"You can't question Mr. Montclair."
Evelyn scoffed softly.
"Oh, I'll question him."
She slipped into the dress anyway, irritation settling into her bones. The fabric hugged nothing, hid everything, and somehow made her feel… restrained.
Not her.
Definitely not her.
With a quiet huff, she stepped out of her room, barefoot, moving down the hallway with purpose.
She didn't knock.
She pushed Silas's door open.
Empty.
Her brows furrowed.
Then—
The sound.
Water.
Shower.
And… humming.
She froze.
It was low. Calm. Unbothered. A soft tune slipping through the air like he didn't have a care in the world.
Her stomach flipped.
He's bathing…
Evelyn swallowed, suddenly aware of how quiet the room felt… how intimate it was.
She shouldn't be here.
She knew that.
But her feet didn't move.
Instead, her eyes flicked toward the bathroom door, slightly ajar, steam curling out from the gap. Her pulse quickened.
Why am I still standing here?
The water stopped.
Her heart jumped.
Panic hit instantly.
Evelyn moved quickly, slipping behind the heavy curtain near the window, crouching slightly as she tried to steady her breathing.
What are you doing?
Why are you hiding?
The bathroom door opened.
She held her breath.
Footsteps.
Slow. Unhurried.
And then—he walked out.
A towel hung low around his waist, droplets of water tracing down his chest, along the defined lines of his torso. His hair was damp, darker than usual, falling slightly over his forehead as he reached for another towel, dragging it lazily through his hair.
Still humming.
Completely at ease.
Like the room belonged to him.
Like everything did.
Evelyn's throat went dry.
Oh…
She quickly looked away, heart pounding violently in her chest.
Then—
The humming stopped.
Silence.
"You do know…" his voice came, calm, smooth, like he hadn't even turned yet, "you shouldn't have used lavender soap before walking in here."
A pause.
"I don't remember my room scenting like one."
Evelyn blinked.
Then rolled her eyes, a small breath escaping her.
This man…
She stood up from behind the curtain, stepping out slowly.
"This man cannot play hide and seek for one second,"
she muttered under her breath.
Silas didn't turn immediately.
That made it worse.
When she finally stepped fully into view, she instinctively looked away—her gaze refusing to settle on his bare skin for too long.
It was her first time seeing him like this.
Up close.
Unfiltered.
And it did something to her.
Her fingers curled slightly at her sides as she swallowed.
Silas turned then.
And he saw it.
The hesitation.
The flush.
The way she wouldn't look at him.
A slow smirk spread across his lips.
"Well…" he said, voice low, amused, stepping closer with that same unbothered confidence, "that's new."
Evelyn frowned slightly, still looking away. "What is?"
"You," he replied simply.
Another step closer.
"Suddenly shy."
Her head snapped slightly in his direction, defensive. "I'm not—"
She stopped.
Because he was closer now.
Too close.
And she could feel the heat of his skin.
Her voice dropped.
"…not shy."
Silas's smirk deepened, eyes dragging over her face, then slowly… down.
Taking in the dress.
He went quiet.
That silence?
It wasn't harmless.
It was judging.
Evelyn noticed.
And now she frowned properly, irritation replacing the fluster.
"I don't like it," she said bluntly, finally looking at him. "This dress."
Silas tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was something to be figured out.
"Hmm."
Not agreeing.
Not disagreeing.
Just… watching.
Evelyn crossed her arms slightly. "It's ancient."
Silas's gaze lifted back to her eyes, calm, unreadable.
"And yet…" he said slowly, stepping just a little closer, voice lowering, "you walked into my room wearing it."
A beat.
His eyes darkened slightly.
"Confident."
Evelyn's breath caught again—annoyed at herself this time.
"I came to complain," she said quickly.
"Did you?" he murmured.
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips.
Then back up.
"Or did you come to watch?"
Evelyn blinked, caught for half a second before she recovered, lifting her chin slightly.
"I came to complain," she repeated, more firmly this time. "That thing—" she gestured down at the dress, "—is a crime."
Silas's gaze followed the movement of her hand, slow… deliberate. Then it returned to her face.
"And yet," he said calmly, voice smooth, "you look beautiful in it."
Evelyn froze.
Her brows pulled together instantly, suspicion flickering across her face. "You're lying."
Silas's lips twitched, just barely. "I don't lie."
"You do," she shot back. "At least… right now, you are."
His eyes dipped to the dress again—the high neckline, the long sleeves, the way it hid more than it revealed.
Then back to her.
"It's shapeless," she added, almost offended.
"There's nothing to even look at."
Silas stepped closer.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just… certain.
"Who told you beauty depends on shape?"
he asked quietly.
Evelyn's breath caught—just for a second.
His gaze lingered on her face, not her body. That alone made her chest tighten in a way she didn't expect.
"You're trying too hard to dislike it," he added, softer now, almost thoughtful.
"I'm not trying," she muttered, crossing her arms. "I genuinely hate it."
A faint chuckle left him.
Then—
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
The sound cut through the room, sharp against the quiet.
Evelyn glanced toward it instinctively.
Silas didn't.
He didn't even look.
The phone kept ringing.
Persistent.
Demanding.
But he simply turned away, walking toward his closet like it didn't exist.
Evelyn frowned slightly. "Aren't you going to answer that?"
"No."
Simple.
Flat.
Controlled.
The phone rang a third time.
Still, he ignored it.
He reached the closet, opening it calmly, already pulling out a shirt.
Only then did he glance over his shoulder at her.
"You should leave," he said casually.
"Unless—"
A pause.
That smirk returned.
"—you want to stay and watch me dress."
Evelyn's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard again.
"This man…" she muttered under her breath.
Her gaze flickered—just for a second—toward him. Toward the towel still hanging low on his waist. Toward the faint droplets still tracing his skin.
Then she quickly looked away again.
"I'm not interested," she said, a little too quickly.
Silas hummed softly, unconvinced.
"Of course not."
Silas turned back to the closet, pulling out a dark shirt, completely unbothered—as if her presence didn't affect him at all.
Evelyn stood there for a second too long.
"…You're unbelievable," she muttered, turning slightly, though not quite leaving.
"You're still here," his voice came, low and smooth.
She paused.
Slowly, she looked back.
Silas had shifted just enough to catch her reflection in the mirror. His gaze met hers through it—dark, steady, trapping.
Her breath hitched.
"Good," he said quietly.
A pause.
The air between them tightened.
"Then come here…" his voice dropped, softer now—dangerous, deliberate.
Evelyn's heart skipped.
Her feet didn't move.
But her body leaned, just slightly, like something unseen was pulling her.
Silas's gaze didn't waver.
"Dress me."