The night was cruel.
Cold winds howled through the empty streets, cutting through her thin scarf and seeping into her bones. She had been sitting there for hours, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around herself in a desperate attempt to stay warm. But the chill wasn't just from the weather. It came from within, from the hollow emptiness that had settled in her chest long before she arrived here.
Her wedding dress, once pristine and elegant, was now a crumpled mess. The fabric was stained, dirt clinging to the hem where she had stumbled through the streets. The delicate lace, carefully chosen to make her look like a picture-perfect bride, had torn at the edges. The white no longer symbolized purity or joy. It was a ghost of what could have been—what was never meant to be.
She hadn't eaten in nearly two days. She hadn't slept.
She was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't allow her to rest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father's furious face, heard the cruel words he had spat at her as he locked her in that room, taking away her freedom, her choices, her life. She saw her uncle and aunt, their tear-streaked faces as they whispered for her to run, to never look back, to choose life.
Ayla had nothing left. No home. No safety. No one to call her own.
Except for one man.
She didn't know if he would help her. Didn't even know if he would remember her.
But she had nowhere else to go.
And so she waited.
The sound of approaching footsteps shattered the silence.
Her entire body tensed, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as fear crawled up her spine. Was it him? Or had her father found her?
She slowly lifted her head.
And there he was.
Silas.
She had spent years imagining this moment, dreaming of the day she would see him again. But none of those dreams had prepared her for this.
He was different. The boy she had loved in silence had been replaced by a man of ice.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and striking in the way only someone untouchable could be. His suit was sharp, the dark fabric clinging to his frame with effortless elegance. The tie around his neck was slightly loosened, as if he had just left a long meeting, his features carved with exhaustion. But his eyes—those same deep, unreadable eyes—were sharper than ever, cutting through the space between them like a blade.
She had spent years looking at pictures of him, hearing whispers of his success, but none of it compared to standing in front of him now.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Silas simply stared.
His gaze flickered over her face, down to the white gown clinging to her small frame, and then lower—to the dirt-streaked hem, the trembling fingers clutching her scarf, the exhaustion weighing down her every breath.
His brows furrowed slightly.
"You are…"
The words barely left his lips before her body moved on its own as she stood up.
Her hands trembled as she reached for him, gripping the sleeve of his coat with the last bit of strength she had left. She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt the wetness on her cheeks, a silent confirmation of how utterly broken she was.
Her voice came out in a whisper, cracked and desperate.
"Please… please… can you let me stay?"
The moment the words left her lips, her legs nearly gave out beneath her.
She was so, so tired.
She wanted to say more, to explain why she was here, to tell him that she had nowhere else to go, but the words tangled in her throat. Fear clawed at her chest, making it hard to breathe.
What if he said no?
What if he pushed her away?
What if he looked at her the way everyone else had—like a burden, an inconvenience, something to be discarded?
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
She didn't dare look up.
She could feel his gaze on her, feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on her fragile form.
Ayla braced herself for rejection.
For the door to shut in her face.
For the final confirmation that she no longer had a place anywhere.
But then—he moved.
The soft creak of the door opening made her eyes snap up, her breath catching in her throat.
Silas stepped aside, wordlessly creating space for her to enter.
She stared for a moment, unable to process what was happening. He wasn't throwing her out. He wasn't questioning her presence.
He was letting her in.
Her legs felt weak as she took a hesitant step forward, then another. She didn't look at him as she passed, too afraid of what she might see in his expression. Indifference? Pity?
She couldn't bear to know.
The warmth of his home wrapped around her the moment she stepped inside, a stark contrast to the icy night she had endured.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Ayla exhaled shakily.
She had finally found a place to stay.
Even if it wasn't a home.