Chapter 29
T he muted warmth of sunlight creeps through the heavy curtains, pooling across the bed like a soft golden blanket. For a moment, there’s peace. A fragile, weightless calm that cradles me in unfamiliar comfort. But the faint scent of cedar and linen wraps around me, a quiet reminder of where I am and who I’m with. Memories seep in of what we did in the kitchen and then in this bed, persistent and unyielding.
I sit up, pulling the gray duvet tighter around me, as though it might shield me from the storm brewing in my head. Silas stirs beside me, his body shifting lazily before his hand slides across the bed to rest over my lap. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, his voice thick with sleep.
“Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Don’t ruin this by overthinking.”
“I’m not,” I lie, though my voice cracks, betraying me.
One of his eyes opens, blinking against the soft morning light as he props himself up on his elbow. His hair is mussed, a dark halo of unruly curls, and the stubble on his jaw looks darker in the sunlight.
“Yes, you are.” He looks at me with a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I can see it all over your face.”
I look away, but Silas doesn’t let me retreat. He leans over, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as his hand slides beneath my back, pulling me down until I’m lying flat. The other hand moves to my hair, his fingers threading through the strands with a gentleness that makes my heart ache.
“Scarlett,” he whispers my name, his lips brushing the edge of the injury on my temple. “I like you. Too much, probably. But I want to see where this goes. Just… let me show you what this could be.”
I don’t say yes, but I don’t say no either. Because what can I say? I can’t leave, and he knows it. And maybe worse, I don’t want to. Not yet. His thumb traces slow, absentminded circles against my back.
“You’re safe here,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the corner of my jaw with an unhurried tenderness. “With me.”
I want to tell him that safe isn’t the same as right, that we’re teetering on a precipice that promises only ruin. But I don’t. Instead, I close my eyes and let myself sink into the warmth of his touch and the quiet reassurance of his voice. His lips find mine, tasting of promise and something more profound than I can name. His hand tightens in my hair, angling my face closer, as his other arm wraps around me, pulling me flush against him.
When he finally pulls back, his mouth hovers just over mine. His breath is warm against my lips as he whispers, “Stay in bed with me for a while.”
I laugh softly. “You’ve already been out of the office for days,” I say, brushing a stray curl from his forehead. “You don’t have to babysit me. I’ll survive if you go back to work.”
He groans dramatically, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, and rolls onto his back, pulling me with him so I’m curled against his side. “Don’t remind me,” he mutters. “If I have to sit through another pointless board meeting, I might lose my mind.”
“Pointless?” I tease, tilting my head to look at him. “What’s going on over there?”
He sighs, his hand trailing absently along my shoulder. “I missed one yesterday. Apparently, my father decided to throw his weight around like he still runs the place.” His jaw tightens, the frustration barely contained.
“What happened?” I ask hesitantly, unsure if I’m treading on dangerous ground.
“The same old story.” His tone is clipped. “He undercut me on a vote I’ve spent months securing. He was the deciding vote and he shot it down, despite backing it two weeks ago. How am I supposed to establish authority if he keeps undermining me at every turn?”
I prop myself up slightly, resting my chin on my hand as I study him. “When is he officially stepping down?”
“At the end of the year,” Silas says, quiet but firm. “And not a moment too soon. He runs everything like it’s still the nineties, refusing to adapt or listen. I want to make the changes this company needs, but he’s fighting me every step of the way.”
There’s a weight to his words, an edge that tells me there’s more than he’s letting on. I trail my fingers lightly across his bicep, offering what little comfort I can. “You’ll get your chance soon,” I murmur. “And then you’ll make it better.”
His hand cups my face, guiding my gaze to his. The intensity in his eyes sends a pang through my chest, but then his lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he says softly, before leaning in to kiss me again.
We fall into a comfortable rhythm after that, neither of us in a rush to leave the sanctuary of the bed. The minutes stretch into an hour, the light shifting across the room as we talk about nothing and everything. Silas lies on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, while I rest on my stomach, propped on my elbows, tracing idle patterns along his chest with my fingertips.
The air between us is light and easy with the outside world temporarily forgotten. For the first time in weeks, I let myself relax, surrendering to the quiet intimacy of this moment. I know it won’t last. There’s no place for this when there are consequences waiting beyond this room. But for now, I let myself have it.
Eventually, Silas rolls, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. “If I don’t get up now, I never will.”
“You make it sound like that’s a problem,” I tease, falling back to bury my face in the pillow with a sigh.
He chuckles softly and leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to the sensitive space just below my ear, his lips warm against my skin.
I feel the bed shift as he slides out from under the duvet, the absence of his warmth immediate and unwelcome. I peek up from the pillow just in time to see him stretching, his broad shoulders rolling as his arms reach toward the ceiling.
Holding out his hand to me, he says, “Join me for a shower.”
I raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference even as my heart skips a beat. “Is that an invitation or a command?”
His lips curve into a sultry grin, his hand still extended. “Take it however you like. Either way, I’m not leaving this room without you.” His gaze never wavers and I savor the way he watches me as I take his hand, the oversized t-shirt I stole from his drawer rides up, baring more of my thighs as I rise to stand.
Silas leads me into the bathroom, and I’m struck by its sheer elegance. The warm glow of recessed lighting dances across marble floors that stretch out like liquid gold, and the soft curves of the freestanding tub catch the light in a way that feels almost ethereal. Large mirrors framed in brushed bronze reflect the double sinks, each adorned with delicate vases of flowers I’m sure are replaced every few days.
Without a word, he guides me forward to the large shower on the far end, his lips brushing my nape as he reaches past me to turn it on. Water cascades down in a perfect, soothing stream from the ceiling.
When I turn back toward him, he’s a few steps away, stripping his legs of his sweatpants, and his shirt already discarded on the floor. With his attention elsewhere, I take a moment to admire him in the daylight.
Silas is the kind of man you can’t help but notice; all tall, lean power. There’s a faint trail of dark hair starting just below his navel, leading downward that feels deliberately tempting. A thin scar curves along his ribs and to his torso, barely visible beneath the tattoo I hadn’t been able to see in its entirety in the daylight until now.
It’s a compass rendered in fine black and gray ink. Each of the four cardinal directions is carved in elegant, serif-style lettering, and needle points slightly off-center, suggesting a departure from the expected path. Surrounding the compass are fractured cracks, inked in a way that makes them appear as though they’re radiating outward from the center, like shattered glass.
When I lift my eyes to his again, his lips twitch into a knowing smirk. “See something you like?” He teases as he steps out of his sweatpants entirely. My cheeks flush, but I don’t look away. I’m too far gone to pretend otherwise.
I take a step forward, my fingers skimming over the tattoo on his side, tracing the edges. “What does it mean?” My voice is quieter than I expect.
A wry chuckle escapes him as he places his hand over mine, holding me against his warm skin. “It’s a reminder,” he says simply. “That even when I was forced onto a path I didn’t choose, I could still find my own way.” His fingers flex as he looks down. “I got it in college when I was feeling particularly rebellious. My parents hated it.” His grin turns sharp at the last part, but there’s something else there too.
My gaze shifts to his sleeve, taking in the beautiful landscape that stretches the length of his arm. “And this?”
His expression changes and hesitates, just for a second, before turning his arm slightly so I can see it better.
“This is a place I used to go with my mother when I was a kid,” he says, his voice rougher now. “Lofoten, in Norway. She loved it there.”
The tattoo is a sweeping landscape that starts at his wrist—a river winding through a valley, the water dark and endless—before climbing to jagged, snow-capped mountains near his shoulder. The peaks are stark against a pale sky, inked in delicate gradients of black and gray.
“She always said it was the one place that felt untouched,” he continues, his voice quieter now. “No city noise. No obligations. Just… peace.” His thumb brushes absently over the river, as if tracing its path. “She took us every year until she couldn’t anymore.”
I don’t ask when that was. I already know.
I look at this piece of her he carries with him, inked into his skin like a permanent keepsake. “That’s a really beautiful way to honor her,” I say softly, meaning every word.
His gaze flicks to mine, searching, like he’s waiting for something else. Pity, maybe. But there’s none of that in me. Just understanding.
Whatever he sees on my face makes something in him snap.
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my shirt, his jaw tight as if restraining something within him. “Come here,” he murmurs the command. With practiced ease, he strips the fabric over my head, leaving me bare beneath his hungry gaze.
I barely have a second to catch my breath before he’s guiding me backward into the shower, like he knows exactly how he plans to have me. His mouth is on mine before the water even touches us.
The warm spray cascades over our heads, steam curling around our entwined bodies like a cocoon, blurring the edges of reality. Silas’s hands roam my skin with reverence as he traces every curve and dip. As if he’s committing me to memory.
I melt into him, fingers dragging over the hard planes of his chest, his skin slick and hot beneath my palms. The muscles beneath my touch flex in response and a quiet shudder ripples through him as I press closer, as if the space between us is offensive.
I don’t care that my steri-strips are soaked. All I care about is this and the overwhelming, all-consuming need to crawl under his skin and stay there.
Without hesitation, I sink to my knees, the warm water now cascading over Silas’s back, wrapping us in steam and heat. My hands glide over his hips, slow, teasing, before wrapping around the thick base of his cock. My fingers tighten, just enough to test him, just enough to make his breath hitch. A sharp inhale, a shuddered exhale.
I drag my tongue along the sensitive vein that runs the length of him, tracing a slow, deliberate path to the tip. When I reach the head, I press my tongue against it, savoring the faint taste of him—salt and musk and something uniquely Silas. The flavor spreads across my tongue, sending a jolt of heat through me.
Silas groans, the sound vibrating through the small space, curling around us with the steam. One of his hands slams against the shower wall, steadying himself, while the other buries into my wet hair, fingers threading deep, tugging just enough to remind me who’s in control.
But he doesn’t push. He waits.
I hollow my cheeks, letting him feel every slick, heated inch of my mouth. He fills me completely and each time I pull back, it’s only to torture, to leave him wanting—to watch his control fray at the edges.
“Scar,” he rasps, his voice little more than gravel.
God, I’d never wished Scarlett was my real name more than right now.
Still, a rush of satisfaction floods me, spurring me on, and I take him deeper, pushing my limits and his. His hips jerk slightly, restraint thinning with every slow drag of my tongue, every hollowed breath around him.
But just as I settle into a rhythm, his grip in my hair tightens. Not rough. Not punishing. But decisive. With a sharp tug, he pulls me back and I look up at him.
Water beads along his skin, slipping down the sharp lines of his jaw, his chest rising and falling in heaving breaths.
Before I can process the shift, he hauls me to my feet, a hand locked under my jaw, the other gripping my hip. The world spins as he lifts me, pressing my back against the tiles. Instinctively, my legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place.
Silas aligns himself with me, pressing the thick head of his cock against my entrance. My breath hitches, anticipation thrumming in my veins. His eyes meet mine—starving, merciless. Like he plans to devour me whole.
He shifts beneath me, guiding me into place before he thrusts up in one smooth, powerful motion. A strangled cry rips from my throat, my head falling back, fingers clawing at his shoulders as he fills me completely.
His movements are relentless. Each thrust is intentional, forcing me to take all of him, to feel the full weight of whatever this is between us. It’s intoxicating, searing, leaving no space for thought.
“You feel so fucking good,” he grunts, his voice rough, unsteady, barely tethered to control. His gaze drops between us, dark and molten, watching the way my body swallows him.
The sight alone is too much.
“More,” I whimper, my heels digging into his back, urging him deeper.
His eyes flick up, locking onto mine and blacker than I’ve ever seen them. The next thrust is brutal, devastating, and the sound that spills from my lips only encourages him.
“Perfect,” he breathes, almost like I’m unraveling him in ways he never expected.
His rhythm shifts, his movements turning precise, like a hunter finding his mark. He angles his hips just right, dragging me higher with every stroke, making sure I feel him everywhere as he pulls me to the edge. It’s a slow, torturous climb until pleasure coils so tightly that I can’t hold back any longer.
I come apart with a muffled cry, my release rushing over me in blinding, pulse-shattering waves. My nails dig into the taut muscles of his back, entire body trembling around him as I ride the high.
Silas follows moments later, his pace faltering, grip tightening, fingers digging in as his jaw goes slack. With one final, desperate thrust, he buries himself deep, pressing me harder against the wall as he comes undone.
My name falls from his lips like a surrender, his forehead dropping to the crook of my neck as he shudders through the last remnants of pleasure.
We untangle slowly, the moment stretching between us as the warm water beats down, washing away the sweat and passion. With an easy strength, he lowers me to my feet, but the moment I sway, his hold tightens, steadying me. His smirk is nothing short of smug as he watches me find my footing, eyes dark with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he’s done to me.
Then, without prompting, Silas reaches for the body wash and pours a generous amount into his hands before trailing them over my skin. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way he touches me, and I return the gesture, my hands moving over his chest and shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos and the faint scar along his ribs. We take out time like this, not a word spoken.
When we’re both clean and wrapped in fluffy white towels, I persuade Silas back to reality, reminding him that we both have work waiting for us. Reluctantly, he agrees that he could spend a few hours in his study. With a lingering kiss, he releases me and watches as I slip out of the bathroom. Quietly, I make my way across the hallway to the guest room and lock the door behind me.
My mind is still spinning, a mess of contradictions and emotions I can’t untangle. I need space, clarity, anything to pull me back to center. Forcing myself to move, I dress quickly, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. As I tug the fabric over my head, my phone lights up on the nightstand I left it on the night before. Even from a distance, I recognize the number flashing across the screen: Luis.
The last time we spoke, I wasn’t sure how far he’d get, especially with the limited information I could provide. I grab the phone, rushing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me as I answer.
“Lu?” I say, my voice tight with anticipation. “Tell me you have some good news.”
There’s no preamble. “Depends on your definition of ‘good’,” Luis says, his voice low and rough, as though he hasn’t slept. “We’ve made progress, but it’s… complicated.”
I perch myself on the edge of the claw foot tub, clutching the phone tighter. “Who’s ‘we’?” I ask, suspicion creeping into my tone.
He exhales sharply, the sound static in my ear. “You were right. The encryptions were a nightmare. I pulled in some friends—experts in cryptography. We managed to decrypt some of those files you flagged in their cloud. The bad news is it’s fragmented as hell. Someone went to extreme lengths to split the data apart and bury it under layers.”
“What’s the good news?” I ask, bracing for an answer I already know won’t bring comfort.
Luis exhales, his voice dropping lower, as if he fears someone might overhear. “The files mention something called ‘secondary operations.’ It’s frustratingly vague. Whoever designed this system went to extreme lengths to ensure no one could easily figure out what it is.”
I swallow hard, my thoughts spinning. “Secondary operations,” I repeat, the words foreign and heavy in my mouth. “Do we know what it refers to? Is it a department, a project…?”
Luis hesitates, his frustration evident. “Not exactly. There are scattered mentions of encrypted servers but no concrete details about their locations or access points. The language is so obscure it’s practically unreadable. Placeholder terms, internal codes, references to protocols… nothing clear. It’s like trying to solve a puzzle when you’re missing half the pieces.”
My fingers press into my temples, the familiar weight of exhaustion creeping over me. I was right: the servers have to house the information Peter is after, and I’d still bet my life they’re located in the satellite office Natalie mentioned. “So, that’s what he wants; details on these secondary operations,” I murmur, straightening slightly.
Luis doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch for a beat. “I can’t imagine he’s looking for anything else,” he finally says.
Whatever this is, it’s big. Big enough to justify the level of encryption Luis and his team are struggling to crack. Big enough that Peter, ruthless and methodical, is willing to move mountains in the most chaotic way to get his hands on it.
“Can you tell who has access to the files you’ve decrypted so far?” I ask, the question spilling from my lips before I can fully form it.
“Not yet,” Luis replies, irritation bleeding into his tone. “The permissions are layered in a way that makes it almost impossible to identify users without breaking through additional encryption. Whoever set this up wasn’t playing around.”
I drop my head into my hands, the heels pressing against my eyes. My thoughts circle back to Davey. As head of their IT team, he must be aware of the encrypted files’ existence. But does he know their contents? The idea sends a cold wave rolling through me. Davey is a straight arrow, the kind of guy who sticks to the rules, no matter what. He’s loyal to Wells, but I can’t imagine he’d knowingly put his wife at risk.
It’s not uncommon for IT professionals to secure sensitive data without knowing what’s inside—especially when strict confidentiality policies are in place. Davey seems like someone who wouldn’t ask questions if he was told not to. But if that’s true, then the responsibility of knowing rests higher up the chain.
Luis’s voice pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts. “You still with me?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, though my head feels like it’s spinning with too many unanswered questions. “If it’s not Davey, then…” My voice trails off, my mind shifting to the man who casts a shadow over everything at Wells Corp. William. The one who holds all the strings.
What is he hiding? And why has he gone to such lengths to keep it buried? It can’t be good. You don’t build encryption this deep for charity work or harmless side projects. Unless… unless others know about it, too. People William would trust, like his sons.
My gaze drifts to the door as unease crawls up my spine. Memories of Silas from this morning flash through my mind—his frustration with his father, his desire to take over and fix things. Could this be what he was referring to? Is this the problem he wants to solve once William steps down? Or was he talking about something else entirely?
I chew the inside of my cheek, my chest tightening. If Silas knows about this, would he allow it to happen? Would he cover it up, justify it somehow? Or is he just as much in the dark as Davey?
The thought that Silas might be complicit in whatever this is sends a sharp pang through me, but I shove it aside. No. Silas wouldn’t willingly endanger people—especially not Natalie or Davey. But if he doesn’t know, what will happen when he finds out? And what will I do if it comes down to choosing between telling him the truth and walking away?
Luis interrupts my spiraling thoughts again, his voice low and urgent. “Marilyn, whatever this is, it’s bigger than we thought. If Peter’s willing to kill for it, imagine what the people behind it will do to keep it hidden.”
“I know,” I whisper, the words barely audible, their weight suffocating. But now that I’ve gotten a glimpse of the edges of this thing and what it might mean if Peter gets his hands on it, there’s no turning back. I can’t unsee it.
Luis lets out a defeated sigh. He knows what my response means; that I won’t walk away. “I’ll keep digging, but you need to be careful,” he says, his tone heavy with concern. “Peter’s dangerous, but so is whoever built this system. These aren’t people you can outmaneuver on a whim.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say automatically, but the words ring hollow, even to me. I’ve repeated them so many times now they’ve lost all meaning, a mantra I chant to keep myself upright. “Keep me updated.”
“Will do,” he replies after a pause, the hesitation in his voice unmissable. Then the line goes dead.
The silence that follows is deafening, amplifying the weight pressing down on my chest. I lower the phone into my lap.
William. Silas. Davey. Jeremy. Their names loop through my head, growing louder with every beat of my racing heart. If William orchestrated all of this, how much does Silas really know? How deep does his loyalty run? Is Jeremy part of this tangled web, or is he just another pawn? And Davey—if he’s protecting these files without knowing the truth, how much danger is he unknowingly putting himself and Natalie in?
I have more questions than answers, and that alone should be reason enough to keep Silas at bay. But even now, I know it’s pointless. As long as I’m here, he’s a force I can’t ignore. A pull I’m clearly powerless to resist.