Evelyn excused herself quietly.
No one stopped her.
No one questioned her.
But that didn't make it easier.
The moment she stepped out into the hallway, the air felt different—lighter, yet heavier at the same time.
She exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against her temple.
Focus.
This wasn't a game.
It was never a game.
She started walking.
Slowly.
Mind running faster than her steps.
The only reason I'm here… is because he has my secret.
The thought settled heavily in her chest.
Silas could destroy her.
Not just expose her—
Destroy her.
And yet…
Her brows pulled together slightly.
She had thought about it.
More than once.
Take it back. Whatever he has… find it, steal it… and leave.
Simple.
Clean.
Safe.
But then—
Her steps slowed.
If he catches you…
Her jaw tightened.
His trust would disappear.
Not that she needed it.
She didn't.
Right?
Evelyn let out a quiet breath, shaking her head slightly.
I don't need his trust.
She repeated it.
Once.
Twice.
It didn't sound convincing.
Because deep down—
She knew she was lying to herself.
The afternoon dragged.
Too long.
Too quiet.
She wandered through the house without purpose, her fingers brushing against walls, tables… anything to ground her thoughts.
But nothing worked.
Until—
"…forty-nine… fifty… fifty-one…"
Evelyn paused.
Her head tilted slightly.
The sound came from one of the closed rooms down the hall.
Measured.
Controlled.
Her curiosity stirred.
Slowly, she stepped closer.
Pressed her ear lightly against the door.
The sound was clearer now.
"…fifty-two…"
She frowned slightly.
Then, without thinking too much about it—
She pushed the door open.
The room was larger than she expected.
A gym.
Dim lighting.
Cold air.
And at the center—
Silas.
He stood before a punching bag… no—
What was left of it.
A sharp dagger flashed in his hand as he drove it into the bag again and again.
Precise.
Controlled.
Violent.
The sound of fabric tearing filled the room.
"…fifty-three."
His voice was low.
Steady.
Like this was nothing.
Evelyn froze at the doorway.
Watching.
The way he moved—
It wasn't anger.
It was discipline.
The final strike came fast.
Clean.
The blade sliced through the weakened material, and the bag split open, collapsing to the ground with a dull thud.
Silence followed.
Silas turned.
His gaze landed on her instantly.
No surprise.
Just awareness.
He leaned back slightly against the metal frame, lifting his gloved hand to wipe the sweat from his jaw.
Black singlet.
Loose black pants.
Skin slightly damp.
Controlled.
Untouchable.
Then—
He stretched one hand out toward her.
"Come."
Evelyn exhaled softly.
Right.
Trust.
She stepped closer.
"There are stairs," she said, nodding toward the side.
Silas didn't even look.
"Or," he replied calmly, "you could stop avoiding me."
Her eyes flickered.
A beat.
Then—
She placed her hand in his.
His grip tightened instantly.
"Foot on the wall," he instructed.
Evelyn hesitated for half a second—
Then obeyed.
The moment her foot pressed against the surface, he pulled.
Effortless.
Her body lifted, and suddenly she was up—his hand steady on her as he guided her onto the platform.
For a second—
Too close.
Then he let go.
A small smile touched his lips.
"Try not to fall."
Evelyn rolled her eyes lightly, looking away.
Still annoyed.
Still… something else.
Silas moved back, creating distance between them.
Then he faced her fully.
"Come."
She frowned slightly. "What?"
"Hit me."
A pause.
Evelyn blinked.
"…What?"
"With your fist," he clarified, almost bored. "Try."
Her brows pulled together.
Then—
She ran at him.
Fast.
Direct.
Her fist lifted—
But before it could land—
He caught her wrist.
Effortless.
"Don't run," he said calmly.
Like correcting a child.
Evelyn pulled back, irritation flashing across her face.
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"Think."
He released her.
Stepped back again.
"Come again."
This time—
She didn't rush.
She walked.
Slowly.
Circling him.
Watching.
He moved with her.
Matching her pace.
Silent.
Waiting.
Evelyn hesitated too long.
And that was her mistake.
Silas moved.
Fast.
He appeared behind her, his hand catching her arm, pulling her slightly off balance.
"Too slow."
Her breath hitched.
Frustration rose.
Fine.
This time—
She moved without overthinking.
Quick.
Sharp.
But as she shifted her weight—
Her hand pushed against the side railing—
The door wasn't locked.
It gave way.
And suddenly—
There was nothing beneath her.
Evelyn's eyes widened.
Her body dropped.
A sharp scream tore from her throat as she fell—
Then—
THUD.
Pain exploded through her.
"Ah—!"
Tears sprang instantly as she curled slightly, clutching herself.
"Silas!"
Her voice broke.
Above—
A shadow moved fast.
Then—
He was there.
Landing beside her.
Silent.
Controlled.
Untouched by the fall.
Evelyn hit his chest weakly, multiple times, tears spilling down her face.
"You pushed me—! You made me fall!"
Her voice cracked.
Accusing.
Childish.
Hurt.
Silas didn't react immediately.
He simply looked at her.
Then—
Calmly—
"That's a win."
Evelyn froze mid-hit.
"…What?"
Her tears slowed.
Confusion cutting through the pain.
Silas tilted his head slightly.
"You hit me."
A pause.
Evelyn blinked.
Then looked at him properly.
Realizing.
"…I did."
Her breathing slowed.
The pain still there—but now mixed with something else.
He raised a brow slightly.
"Did you break anything?"
Evelyn hesitated.
Then quickly—
"My ankle," she said, wincing slightly. "I… I can't walk."
A lie.
But a convincing one.
Silas watched her for a second.
Long enough to know.
Long enough to question.
But he didn't.
"Do you want me to carry you?"
His voice was neutral.
Like it didn't matter either way.
Evelyn nodded quickly.
"Yes."
A small victory sparkled in her eyes.
Silas didn't comment.
He simply reached for a towel nearby, wiping off the sweat from his arms and neck with slow, efficient movements.
Then he turned.
Crouched slightly.
"Get on."
Evelyn climbed onto his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.
His body was warm.
Firm.
Steady.
He stood up without effort.
And began walking.
No emotion.
No complaint.
Just… carrying her.
Evelyn rested her chin lightly against his shoulder, a small, hidden smile forming on her lips.
Might as well win where I can.
Her arms tightened slightly around him.
And in her mind—
She was already celebrating.
Silas walked through the passage without slowing.
"Get the doctor," he said to one of the maids, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Evelyn's heart skipped.
Doctor?
Her grip on his shoulder tightened slightly.
No… no, that wasn't part of the plan.
He carried her into the large living room and lowered her carefully onto the couch.
The moment her feet touched the cushion, her mind started racing.
If a doctor checks me…
Her throat went dry.
"They'll know."
She looked up at him quickly.
"Silas… there's no need," she said, forcing a small smile. "It's just a minor sprain. I'll be fine."
He didn't even look convinced.
"You fell from a height," he replied calmly.
"You're not diagnosing yourself."
"I'm serious," she insisted, sitting up slightly. "It doesn't hurt that much—"
"It will," he cut in.
Flat.
Certain.
End of discussion.
Evelyn leaned back slowly.
Damn it.
Minutes later—
The doctor arrived.
An older man, calm, observant… the kind that missed nothing.
Evelyn's pulse spiked.
This is bad.
He knelt in front of her, gently lifting her ankle.
"Does this hurt?" he asked.
Evelyn hesitated—then nodded quickly. "Yes."
He pressed again.
Softer this time.
Her reaction was delayed.
Too delayed.
His eyes flickered up to hers.
Sharp.
Knowing.
Evelyn froze.
He knows.
Her chest tightened.
Not again…
Not again.
Silas stood nearby, watching.
Silent.
Unreadable.
The doctor moved her ankle slightly, checking range, pressure… every detail.
Then he paused.
Looked at her again.
And in that brief moment—
Something passed between them.
A silent understanding.
A choice.
Evelyn swallowed.
Please…
The doctor straightened slowly.
Then sighed.
"It's serious," he said.
Evelyn blinked.
"…What?"
"A deep ligament strain," he continued smoothly. "Possibly internal damage. She'll need to stay off it completely."
Evelyn stared at him.
Wait—
That was… a lie.
A very big one.
Her eyes widened slightly before she quickly looked down, hiding it.
Silas didn't question it immediately.
But his gaze shifted—just slightly.
Watching.
Measuring.
"Treatment?" he asked.
The doctor hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then glanced at Evelyn again.
Subtle.
Almost unnoticeable.
But she caught it.
"Frequent care," he said carefully. "The muscles will tighten if neglected. Regular… massage will help circulation and recovery."
Silas nodded once.
Logical.
Acceptable.
"Anything else?"
The doctor opened his mouth—
Paused—
Then, for some reason, decided to keep going.
"She should also be well-fed," he added. "Nutrition helps tissue repair. Frequent meals—"
Silas frowned.
"She injured her foot," he said flatly. "Not her hands."
The doctor froze.
Realized.
Too late.
"…Yes. Of course."
A quick nod.
A bow.
"I'll prepare medication."
And then he left.
Quickly.
Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling.
What was that?
The man didn't just cover for her—
He upgraded the lie.
Her gaze slid toward Silas.
Carefully.
Slowly.
He was still standing there.
Watching.
Quiet.
Thinking.
Evelyn looked away quickly, pretending innocence—but inside?
She was laughing.
Completely fooled.
Or so she thought.