Ayla sat motionless for a long moment, her fingers gripping the soft blanket draped over her lap. The warmth Silas had left behind in the room still lingered, but inside, she felt unbearably cold.
She had spent years keeping her feelings hidden, convincing herself that timing mattered, that there would always be a better moment to confess. But that moment had never come.
And now—
Now, she had nothing.
No home. No job. No security.
She had lost everything, stripped down to nothing but the raw remnants of a girl who had once believed love alone could be enough. But reality had proven her wrong.
Silas wasn't the same anymore.
He had changed, grown, risen above the small world. He wasn't just the quiet boy who used to sit by the window, lost in his own world. He was now a man with power, wealth, connections. A man who belonged to a different life—one far removed from hers.
He had everything.
And she had nothing to offer.
What could she possibly give him that he didn't already have?
Affection? Love? Devotion?
Things he had never needed from her before.
Why would he let her stay?
Her stomach twisted with unease, shame settling heavily in her chest. Had she been too shameless, running here with nothing but desperation in her hands?
Before she could fall deeper into that dark pit of thoughts, the door opened again.
Silas stepped in, his phone pressed to his ear. His expression remained unreadable, his voice steady and composed as he spoke in short, clipped sentences to the person on the other end of the call.
Ayla didn't move, didn't even breathe too loudly. She had grown accustomed to observing him from a distance, watching the way he existed in a world that she could never quite step into.
He barely spared her a glance as he walked toward his wardrobe, pulling it open with quiet precision. His movements were fluid, practiced, as if every action was carefully thought out.
She watched, uncertain, as he rifled through his neatly arranged clothes, passing over rows of crisp button-downs, expensive jackets, and immaculately folded trousers. He reached toward the farthest corner, retrieving a pair of simple gray shorts and a plain black t-shirt.
Then, without looking at her, he placed them on the bed.
"Make do with this," he said simply, his tone neither warm nor cold. Just neutral. Controlled. "Come downstairs for breakfast."
And just like that, he turned and left, resuming his call as if the entire interaction was nothing more than a passing obligation.
Ayla remained frozen.
She had expected indifference. Had prepared herself for distance, for the cold wall that had formed between them over the years.
But she hadn't expected this.
This quiet care.
It wasn't kindness, not in the way most people would define it. There was no softness in his words, no visible concern in his actions. But it was there—in the way he had chosen something for her, something simple and comfortable, something she wouldn't feel out of place in.
It warmed something deep inside her, something she had thought had long since withered away.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she forced herself to move.
---
As she stood, her legs wobbled slightly, her body still weak from exhaustion. She steadied herself against the edge of the bed, glancing around the room for the first time.
It was nothing like what she had expected.
Silas had never been one for excess, but the space he had created for himself was a reflection of something deeper—something precise, intentional.
The room was large but not extravagant, its walls painted in muted shades of white and deep navy. There were no unnecessary decorations, no clutter, only carefully curated pieces that spoke of quiet luxury rather than ostentation.
A sleek, black bookshelf stood against the far wall, its shelves filled with books arranged with meticulous order. Technology, business, psychology, and self-discipline—a mix of what shaped him into who he had become. A single framed photograph rested on one of the shelves, though she was too far away to make out the image.
The bed was large, covered in crisp white sheets, a single dark gray throw blanket folded at the foot. Everything was pristine, as if no one truly lived here, as if the space itself was merely a carefully maintained setting rather than a home.
Even the air carried a faint scent—cool, clean, a mix of fresh linen and something subtly woody.
There was no warmth.
No sign of a life shared with anyone else.
No hint of softness or sentimentality.
Just silence.
Just solitude.
Ayla swallowed hard.
This wasn't the room of a man who let people in.
And yet, for some reason, he had let her stay.
Shaking off the thought, she picked up the clothes he had left for her and made her way toward the adjoining bathroom.
---
The bathroom was as refined as the rest of the space—white marble countertops, dark cabinets, a sleek glass shower. No personal items cluttered the surfaces, just a neatly arranged set of essentials.
As she reached for the faucet, her gaze caught on the mirror above the sink.
She froze.
The person staring back at her—was that really her?
Her reflection was almost unrecognizable.
Her skin was pale, almost sickly, dark circles bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes. Her hair was tangled, dull, lacking the usual shine she had once taken pride in. Her white dress hug her thin frame, stained with remnants of her escape.
She looked—pathetic.
A hollow version of the girl she had once been.
Disgust crawled up her spine, her fingers clenching the fabric of her dress.
How could she stand in front of Silas like this?
How could she expect anything from him when she couldn't even stand to look at herself?
A shaky breath escaped her lips.
She had no choice.
Stripping off that white dress, she stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the grime and exhaustion clinging to her skin.
By the time she was done, the scent of Silas's soap clung to her, a mix of fresh cedar and something clean, understated. She pulled on the clothes he had given her—the t-shirt was loose, the shorts were extremely loose.
It felt strange.
Wearing something of his.
Like she was stepping into a space she no longer belonged in.
But she had nowhere else to go.
Taking one last glance at her reflection, she swallowed her lingering doubts and forced herself to move.
Downstairs, Silas was waiting.
And she needed to find a way to stay.