Evelyn's feet ached, though the pain was entirely her own invention. She had hoped to rest, but Silas's sharp gaze caught her moving around too much.
"You're not resting that foot," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Come with me."
"I can walk—" she protested, but he didn't pause. In one swift movement, he grasped her under her arms and lifted her, her protests muffled against his chest. She flailed slightly, striking him with little taps, but he winced only faintly, his grip steady.
"You have work to do," he said as he placed her gently on the chair in the sitting room. He crouched in front of her, his dark eyes locking with hers.
"And you need those feet."
"I… I can manage," she murmured, faking reluctance, but the firm weight of his presence pressed her into quiet compliance.
He straightened and snapped his fingers.
"Serve her," he ordered. Evelyn peered at the plate of fruit with disgust—she hated fruit—but Silas's eyes didn't budge. Bed
"Stay indoors all day," he added.
She froze. His tone, the command, the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—it all told her he knew. He was pretending to punish her, and she'd walked right into it.
"You're doing this just to punish me," she said, standing abruptly.
He chuckled, dark and amused. "You revealed too soon," he replied, already moving toward the phone. The subtlety of his amusement didn't escape her, and frustration bubbled in her chest.
She bumped the chair, muttering under her breath about Melissa—how she wanted to see her, know how things had been going since Silas's punishment for that explosive stunt in the house.
Evelyn moved toward the door, calling his name. Outside, the swimming pool shimmered under the sun. She froze as she saw him inside, face eerily still in the reflection of the water. Her heart lurched.
"Silas?" she called, her voice tight with fear.
No movement.
"Silas!" Panic pricked at her throat. She rushed closer, seeing him submerged, face calm and unreadable in the pool. For a terrifying moment, she thought he had drowned.
He broke the tension effortlessly, opening his eyes and lifting his head. "Why are you making so much noise?" His voice was calm, teasing even.
"You scared me!" she shouted, panic still echoing in her chest.
He tilted his head, eyes dark, curious. "Do you love water?"
"No! I hate swimming!" she barked.
Silas smiled faintly, moving to the edge.
"Then draw me out," he said, stretching his arms toward her.
She hesitated, then helped him up, but he was heavier than expected. He steadied himself, then, with a smirk, dragged her into the pool with him.
Evelyn screamed as they plunged, water slapping against her skin. She thrashed, waving her arms, panic flooding her senses.
Silas reacted immediately, strong hands gripping her, pulling her out of the water before her terror could overwhelm her.
She gasped, sputtering, heart racing, the world a blur of water and adrenaline.
He crouched close, trying to calm her, voice steady.
"Evelyn… look at me. Breathe. What's happening?"
"I… I don't want to die!" she repeated, retreating, tears streaming freely.
"You're not dying," he said, hands smoothing her hair, the touch strangely gentle. "I'm here."
She pushed him lightly, fear and confusion battling within her.
"What's wrong with the water?" he asked, calm now. "It's warmed."
"What if I had drowned?" she demanded, voice cracking.
He studied her carefully, understanding dawning. "Do you… have trauma?" he asked softly. She looked away, silent. He exhaled slowly, the weight of the moment pressing down. Then, almost imperceptibly, he said, "I'm sorry."
Evelyn blinked, stunned. The first time he had ever apologized to her, and it wasn't careless or casual—it was real.
"I want you to make a wish," he said quietly, the darkness in his eyes softened. "Except for my death… or letting me go. Everything else, I will grant it. As my apology."
A smirk tugged at Evelyn's lips. Finally, he was talking. "Then make me dinner," she said, her tone playful now.
"And sing for me."
Silas chuckled, amusement laced with disbelief. He had expected money, jewels, power—houses, fame. Instead, she asked for cheap, simple things.
"Very well," he nodded. Then, without warning, he held her by the neck, guiding her toward him as they moved back to the house.
"Crybaby," he muttered, dark amusement in his voice. And in that moment, he understood—this woman, so strong and cunning in the world, was fragile, vulnerable beneath the surface. And he didn't want to break her any further.
The chefs exchanged stunned glances, their knives paused mid-chop. "Master… is making dinner?" one whispered, barely above his breath.
"I thought he always orders…" another muttered.
Silas, unbothered, strode past them, apron tied neatly around his waist. "Tonight, I'm making it," he said simply. Their murmurs and gossip trailed behind him as he entered the kitchen proper.
Evelyn peeked around the corner, hiding her laughter behind a hand as she watched him move with uncanny precision—filleting fish, chopping vegetables, seasoning with care. The sight was absurdly endearing, and she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips.
She crept closer, curious, reaching for a taste—but before she could dip her finger, a strong hand caught hers. "No tasting before dinner," Silas said, his dark eyes locking with hers, smirk twitching at the corners.
Evelyn's eyes widened in mock indignation, ready to tease him. "And why not? I'm only making sure it's… edible," she murmured, trying to keep a straight face.
He didn't answer, merely nodded to the maids. "Dish it," he ordered, motioning to Evelyn's plate. Then he slid into the chair opposite her, motioning for her to eat.
"You should eat too," she said, lifting her fork with a teasing glance.
"I've already tasted," he replied, calm and deliberate.
She frowned, stubbornly refusing, and watched him take a bite himself. Hesitantly, she closed her eyes and tasted her portion. The flavors—perfectly balanced, subtly sharp, rich—hit her in a way she hadn't expected. Her eyes opened just in time to catch him staring, and she quickly faked a cough, hiding her reaction.
"Fair," she said finally, lowering her fork. "Five… out of ten." She paused, adding, "Maybe."
Silas's smirk widened. "Five out of ten? Then why are you hurrying over the food?" he asked, voice low and amused.
Evelyn rolled her eyes, cheeks burning slightly, and continued eating, murmuring to herself, oblivious to his gaze.
Between bites, she drank water, then looked up, curiosity sparkling. "Why do you make people cook for you… when you could eat food this good yourself?"
Silas nodded, silent for a moment, then rose from the chair. Evelyn's brows furrowed.
"Why are you leaving?" she asked, hopping slightly on her seat, teasing him with a small pout.
"You just gave me your review," he said simply. "And that… is a good review."
Evelyn grinned mischievously and followed him, hopping again as she teased, brushing against his arm lightly.
"So… are you going to sing for me with that deep, terrifying voice tonight?" she asked, her voice playful, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Silas paused, looking down at her with a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Yes," he said, darkly, "but only if you finish your food without complaining."
Evelyn rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips.