(Elena POV)
I realized very quickly that walking into Silas Thorn's bedroom was a terrible idea.
Not because of him.
Well…
Maybe partly because of him.
But mostly because the room itself felt too personal.
Too private.
Too much like stepping into a side of him nobody else got to see.
The lighting was dim, soft shadows stretching across dark walls and expensive furniture. Unlike the rest of the penthouse—which felt cold and intimidating—this room felt strangely quiet.
Controlled.
Like him.
My eyes drifted across the space carefully.
Black sheets.
A massive bed.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.
A bookshelf in the corner.
And oddly enough—
A piano.
I blinked.
"A piano?"
Silas loosened the cuffs of his black shirt slowly before glancing toward it.
"Yes."
"That feels…" I paused, trying to find the right word. "Unexpected."
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Elena."
Something about the way he said it made my stomach tighten slightly.
Too calm.
Too close.
Too intimate.
I immediately looked away.
Dangerous.
Everything about tonight felt dangerous.
"You can sleep there," he said, gesturing toward the bed.
I stared at him.
"And where exactly are you sleeping?"
His dark eyes met mine.
"Here."
My heartbeat immediately betrayed me.
"Oh."
Brilliant response, Elena.
Absolutely incredible.
His gaze lingered on me for half a second too long before he walked toward a chair near the windows.
"I'm not sharing the bed with you," he said dryly.
I frowned immediately.
"I wasn't worried about that."
"You should learn not to lie so much."
I rolled my eyes to hide my embarrassment.
"I hate you."
"No," he said calmly. "You don't."
That shut me up disturbingly fast.
Because lately…
I wasn't entirely sure anymore.
Silas loosened the first few buttons of his shirt before sitting down.
And unfortunately—
Unfortunately—
That was distracting.
Very distracting.
Because now I could see the tattoos curling slightly beneath the fabric near his collarbone.
And scars.
Faint ones.
Old ones.
My chest tightened unexpectedly.
What kind of life gives someone scars like that?
I realized too late that I had been staring.
His eyes lifted slowly to mine.
"You're doing it again."
Heat rushed to my face immediately.
"I wasn't staring."
"You were."
"I was thinking."
"Dangerous hobby."
God.
Why was he annoying even when being attractive?
I climbed onto the bed mostly to avoid looking at him anymore.
The mattress sank softly beneath me as I pulled the blankets closer.
Everything smelled faintly like him.
Wood smoke.
Expensive cologne.
And something darker underneath.
My pulse sped up annoyingly.
"This is weird," I muttered.
Silas looked up from his phone.
"What is?"
"This."
He studied me quietly.
"You sleeping in my room?"
"Yes."
"You're free to leave."
The annoying part?
He sounded completely serious.
Like he actually would let me walk out if I wanted to.
And somehow that mattered.
A lot.
Silence stretched between us afterward.
Not awkward.
Just… heavy.
My mind kept replaying everything from earlier.
The doll.
Valentina.
The memories.
The panic.
I swallowed hard and turned slightly onto my side.
"Silas?"
His gaze lifted immediately.
"Yes?"
The way he answered so quickly did something strange to my chest.
I looked down at the blankets instead.
"Why do you care?"
Silence.
Long silence.
Too long.
When I finally looked up—
He was already watching me.
Unreadable.
"What kind of question is that?"
"The normal kind?" I muttered weakly. "You barely know me."
"That's not true."
I frowned slightly.
"It is though."
Another silence.
Then he leaned back slowly in the chair, eyes never leaving mine.
"You think people need years to matter?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then explain it."
I hesitated.
Because honestly?
I didn't know how to explain it.
Nothing about him made sense.
He acted like I belonged to him one second and completely detached the next.
He threatened people for me.
Protected me.
Looked at me like—
No.
I pushed the thought away quickly.
"You act like losing me would destroy you," I said quietly. "And I don't understand why."
Something changed in his expression.
Small.
But noticeable.
Like I had accidentally touched something buried very deep.
His jaw tightened slightly.
And then—
For the first time since I met him—
Silas looked away first.
(Silas POV)
Rain.
That's the first thing I remember.
Cold rain pouring endlessly over Chicago streets while I sat in the back of a black SUV listening to men discuss shipments and weapons like it was normal conversation for a fourteen-year-old boy.
I hated those meetings.
Hated the blood.
The violence.
The expectations.
Back then, my father still believed cruelty created stronger men.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe that's exactly what he created.
I stared out the tinted window absently while my father talked beside me.
And then—
I saw her.
A little girl standing outside a convenience store in the pouring rain.
Couldn't have been older than eight.
Small.
Drenched.
Clutching a broken doll tightly against her chest.
Her face was streaked with tears.
And even from inside the car—
I could see fear written all over her.
Not childish fear.
Not scraped-knee fear.
Real fear.
The kind I recognized instantly.
Then a man stumbled out of the store behind her.
Drunk.
Angry.
The girl flinched immediately.
Like she already knew what was coming.
Something inside me snapped violently.
I reached for the door handle.
"Sit down," my father said coldly.
I ignored him.
The man grabbed the little girl roughly by the arm.
She winced.
And suddenly all I could think was—
Too small.
She was too small to look that afraid.
I shoved the car door open anyway.
"Silas."
My father's warning followed behind me, but I didn't stop.
Rain soaked through my clothes instantly as I crossed the street.
The man barely noticed me until I grabbed his wrist hard enough to make him let go of her.
"What the hell—"
I hit him.
Hard.
Again.
Again.
Again.
I don't remember stopping.
I only remember the little girl staring at me with huge terrified brown eyes while rain poured around us.
Like she couldn't decide if I was saving her—
Or frightening her more.
Then suddenly—
She smiled at me.
Small.
Shaky.
But real.
And something about that smile stayed with me for years.
Even after she disappeared.
Even after I never saw her again.
Until one day—
I did.
Older now.
Standing outside a café with coffee in her hands and sunlight catching in her hair.
And I recognized her immediately.
Those same eyes.
Same sadness hidden underneath stubbornness.
Elena Garcia.
(Elena POV)
Silas stayed quiet for so long that I thought he wasn't going to answer.
Then finally—
"There was a girl once," he said quietly.
Something about his voice made me sit up slightly.
"She was young. Maybe eight." His gaze stayed fixed somewhere far away. "She looked terrified all the time."
I frowned softly, listening.
"She reminded me what fear looked like."
The room felt strangely still now.
"What happened to her?"
His jaw tightened slightly.
"She survived."
Something about the way he said that made my chest ache.
"Did you know her?"
A pause.
Then—
"Yes."
His eyes met mine again finally.
Dark.
Heavy.
"And I never forgot her."
My breath caught slightly.
Something about this felt important.
Too important.
"Why are you telling me this?"
Silence.
Then he stood slowly from the chair.
Every movement controlled.
Intentional.
Dangerous.
He walked toward the bed until he stopped beside me.
Too close.
Again.
Always too close.
"Because," he said quietly, "some people stay with you."
My heartbeat stumbled.
"And once they do…"
His hand lifted slowly, brushing one strand of hair behind my ear carefully.
"They become impossible to let go of."
The air left my lungs.
The look in his eyes—
God.
It felt like standing too close to fire.
Warm enough to want more.
Dangerous enough to ruin me.
And suddenly—
I wasn't sure which part scared me more.