Silence.
Evelyn blinked.
"What?" she asked, almost breathless, unsure if she heard him right.
He didn't repeat himself.
Didn't need to.
He just watched her through the mirror, calm, certain… waiting.
That was worse.
Her throat went dry.
He's serious…
Evelyn hesitated, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. Every instinct told her to refuse—to walk out, to keep whatever control she had left.
But her feet moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Until she stood behind him.
Close.
Too close.
Her breath brushed faintly against his back, and she immediately felt the heat of his skin again. It sent a small, unwanted shiver through her.
"Turn," she muttered, trying to sound composed.
Silas smirked slightly.
But he obeyed.
Just enough.
Evelyn reached for the shirt in his hand, her fingers brushing his for the briefest second.
That single touch—
Electric.
She pulled back slightly, then forced herself to continue, lifting the shirt.
Her hands hovered.
Why is this so hard?
It was just a shirt.
Just helping him dress.
Nothing more.
But the way he stood there… the way he watched her… the way the room felt—
It wasn't simple.
Nothing about him was.
"Careful, detective," Silas murmured, voice low, right near her ear now. "You look more nervous than when you're chasing criminals."
"I'm not nervous," she shot back quickly.
But her voice betrayed her.
Silas chuckled softly.
"Hmm."
Evelyn swallowed and pushed the shirt over his shoulders, fingers brushing against his skin as she adjusted it. Each accidental touch made her more aware of him—of how close they were, of how easily he could close that distance if he wanted to.
And yet…
He didn't.
He just let her.
That control?
That restraint?
It was worse.
She reached for the buttons, fingers slightly unsteady now.
One.
Two.
Three—
Her fingers paused.
Silas's hand came up, catching her wrist gently.
Not stopping her.
Just… holding.
Evelyn's breath hitched.
"Tell me something," he said quietly.
"What?" she whispered, barely steady.
His thumb brushed slowly against her wrist, deliberate… distracting.
"If I hadn't stopped you earlier…" his voice dropped, darker now, closer, "would you have kissed me?"
Silence.
Her fingers froze against his shirt.
Her heart slammed hard against her chest, loud enough she was sure he could hear it.
He knew.
He knew exactly what he was asking.
Evelyn swallowed, her gaze flickering away for a second before returning to him.
"I.."
Evelyn's lips parted.
"I—"
A knock cut her off.
Sharp. Timed.
"Sir," the butler's voice came from outside,
"your visitors have arrived."
Silas didn't move immediately.
His eyes stayed on her, watching the tension in her face, the answer she hadn't given.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"You'll answer me later," he said quietly.
"After they're gone."
Evelyn swallowed.
Before she could steady herself, his fingers rose—light, deliberate—and brushed against her lips.
A warning.
A claim.
A reminder.
"Be useful," he murmured.
Something small pressed into her palm.
A recorder.
"Record everything," he added, voice calm.
"Every word. Don't miss anything."
Evelyn glanced at it, then back at him, unimpressed.
"And if I don't?" she asked, rolling her eyes slightly.
Silas chuckled—low, unbothered.
"Then don't do anything that will make you see it."
Her breath caught.
He didn't wait for a reply.
He stepped back, already slipping into his leather jacket, every trace of earlier tension gone—replaced by something colder. Sharper.
The door opened.
The butler stood aside.
"They're ready, sir."
Silas nodded once.
And walked out.
Evelyn followed.
——
The room felt wrong the moment they entered.
Too quiet.
Too controlled.
Three men. Two women.
Seated like they belonged to something bigger than the room itself.
Danger didn't announce itself here.
It sat quietly.
Silas walked in like he owned the air they breathed.
No smile.
No warmth.
Just presence.
He took his seat.
Evelyn remained slightly behind, near the wall—silent, observant, the recorder already hidden in her palm.
Silas glanced at her once.
Brief.
Calculated.
"This is mine," he said simply. "She doesn't understand English."
Evelyn almost blinked.
Mine?
But she didn't react.
Instead, she softened her face, letting it go blank—harmless. She gave a small, polite smile.
One of the men leaned forward, studying her.
"Good day."
Evelyn nodded.
Smiled.
No words.
The man tilted his head, then smirked faintly.
"Pretty," he added, almost dismissive.
"Shame she's useless."
Evelyn's smile didn't falter.
She dipped her head slightly, like she hadn't understood a thing.
The man leaned back.
Satisfied.
Test passed.
The discussion began.
And Silas…
Said nothing.
Not a word.
He leaned back slightly, fingers resting against the armrest, gaze steady, unreadable.
Watching.
Listening.
Letting them speak.
Evelyn's fingers tightened subtly around the recorder.
"Shipment moves in three days," one of the women said, sliding a document across the table. "But we've hit resistance."
"Port?" another asked.
"Not exactly," she replied. "Interference."
A pause.
"…Monk."
The name shifted the air.
Evelyn's pulse flickered.
But her face?
Still calm.
Still empty.
Recording.
"He's tightened control around the docks," one of the men added. "If we move now, we risk exposure."
"Delay costs money," another voice cut in.
"Exposure costs everything," the woman snapped back.
Silas didn't react.
Didn't interrupt.
Didn't lead.
He let them speak.
Argue.
Reveal.
Every word.
Every weakness.
Every plan.
Evelyn noticed.
He's not talking…
He's letting them…
Her grip tightened slightly.
So I can hear everything.
Understanding clicked slowly into place.
This wasn't a meeting.
It was a setup.
And she was the one collecting it.
Minutes passed.
Tension rose.
Decisions formed.
And still—
Silas remained silent.
Watching.
Weighing.
Until finally, the voices slowed.
The room settled.
Nothing left to say.
Evelyn straightened quietly.
That was her cue.
She stepped away from the wall, lowering her head slightly in a polite bow, still playing her role perfectly.
Silent.
Unnoticed.
She walked out.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Inside—
Silas moved.
For the first time.
He leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled, eyes sharpening.
"Now," he said calmly, voice cutting through the room like a blade, "we can speak properly."
Outside, Evelyn exhaled slowly, her steps slowing in the hallway.
Her mind raced.
Weapons… shipments… Monk…
Her grip tightened around the recorder.
Her brows pulled together.
Why…
Her chest tightened slightly.
Why would a Montclair heir be involved in something like this?
This wasn't just influence.
This wasn't just power.
This was…
War.
Evelyn stopped walking.
For the first time, the weight of it settled fully.
She wasn't just investigating a man anymore.
She was standing at the edge of something dangerous.
Something that could swallow her whole.
And Silas?
He was right at the center of it.
---------
An hour later—
The meeting finally ended.
Evelyn sat alone in the kitchen, fingers wrapped loosely around the edge of the counter, her thoughts louder than the silence around her.
What was he saying after I left…?
Her brows furrowed slightly.
Was he… tricking me?
She replayed it in her head.
The glance.
The subtle shift.
The signal.
He had wanted her to leave.
And the moment she did—
He started talking.
Her grip tightened unconsciously.
Why…?
Before she could think further—
His voice drifted in from the passage.
"Has she gone out cursing my existence again?" Silas's voice came, laced with quiet amusement.
A pause.
Then, softer—
"Don't bother… I've found her."