VI
EDEN
The clock hanging above the door reads four minutes past ten.
I smooth down the front of my skirt of my tweed two-piece set for the third time. Vivienne left earlier to visit Marita—she said something about preparing for a class they both have tomorrow. I was too wrapped up in my emotions about Silas to pay attention.
I walk to the bathroom to take one last look at myself. My face is calm, serene even. My hair is held back by a Swarovski headband, my coils falling around my shoulders; it’s shrunk in the past few hours.
I opted for light makeup—mascara to make my eyes more alluring, light foundation to cover any tiny blemishes and a swipe of tinted plumping lip gloss. Despite my composed exterior, the truth of how I feel thrums beneath my skin like static.
A few hours ago, my world had tilted off its axis.
Now, I’m back to myself. The text? The meltdown? The way I lost myself earlier? That wasn’t me. I’m Lady Eden Grace Lockhart.
A slow breath escapes me. I came to Augustine Diocesan Academy for a reason. A singular goal that I’m not going to lose sight of. I don’t need Silas Peregrine-Ashford to love me. I just need him to put a ring on my finger.
You’re foolish to consider love right now.
That’s what my mother would say, and she’s right. I don’t have the luxury of love.
Taking one last glance in the mirror to assure myself that everything is in place, I adjust the lambskin Chanel bag on my shoulder and leave the room.
The courtyard is bathed in silver moonlight. My heels click against the cobblestones glistening from the nighttime mist. Wind whispers through the trees, rustling the leaves and carrying the faint scent of damp earth and pine.
Everything is quiet and still as I walk toward the cloisters. When I get there, I don’t see him at first. Then I notice a lone figure standing near the stone fountain.
Silas.
The relaxed stance, the broad shoulders. As I get closer, I’m able to make out more of him. He’s dressed in a short sleeve shirt, classic fit pants and oxfords. I purposely slow my steps, stomping just a bit harder against the cobblestones, announcing my presence, even though I’m sure he already heard me coming.
I’m late—on purpose. When he turns, the subtle shift in his jaw tells me everything. He doesn’t like waiting.
Good.
I fold my lips, hiding my smile. I ask the Lord to forgive me that I’m taking pleasure in his discomfort. As I approach, I notice the sharpness in his gaze. Even in the dim light, there’s impatience written all over his features.
“You’re late,” he says in a low, almost threatening tone.
I tilt my head, offering a small, disarming smile. “I didn’t realize punctuality was so important to you.”
Silas watches me for what feels like eternity. He takes a step toward me, then another, then another until he’s looming over me, hands in his pockets, leaning over just enough to make eye contact with me.
My pulse quickens. The night air feels a bit colder.
“A lot of things are important to me that you don’t seem to realize. ”
He rests his hands on my shoulders before I can ask him what he means. The warmth of his palms seeps through the fabric of my clothes.
The touch isn’t harsh. But it isn’t gentle either. There’s just enough pressure to remind me who’s in control. My breath catches as he leans in, his eyes locked on mine.
Focus on why you’re doing this.
Squinting, I try to get rid of some of the intensity of the moment.
That familiar flutter in my stomach is back. The feeling that led me astray earlier today. The feeling that tricked me into thinking that Silas is anymore than a means to an end. A deep breath reorients me.
“Tell me, Eden,” he says softly. “What happened?”
The way he says it, calm and slow, feels both soothing and condescending. Like I’m fragile. Like I’m something breakable. Like he’s trying to figure out how to piece me back together. I hate the feeling—I’m not fragile like glass, I’m fragile like a bomb.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. ”
At this point, I should just pray for extra forgiveness every evening.
Silas narrows his eyes, moving one of his hands slightly. His fingers brush the sides of my throat.The touch is featherlight, almost imperceptible at first. Slowly it turns into a soft pressure that makes me hyper aware of every breath I take.
“Eden,” he murmurs, closing the last bit of space between us.
His thumb presses gently, just enough for me to realize how vulnerable I am—standing here alone with him, his hand around my neck.
My heart hammers in my ribcage. Am I afraid, or is it something else? I’m unsure. My mind goes blank when he uses his other hand to slowly tilt my chin up. I have nowhere else to look but into his eyes.
“Do you think I don’t know when someone’s lying to me?”
“I’m not lying.”
The crack in my voice gives me away.
Silas squeezes my throat then, his eyes darkening. He keeps applying pressure until I can’t breathe. My fingers curl instinctively at my sides, until I’m starting to feel dizzy. I grab his wrist, but it’s no use. In fact, his grip tightens.
Silas’ face is emotionless as he watches me struggle for breath. Just when I feel like I’m about to pass out, he loosens his hold. His hand slides down my collarbone, a subtle reminder of his control. Tears bead in the corner of my eyes.
Why would he do that to me?
You lied to him twice.
Your mother has done worse to you for lying just once.
He leans down, his face suddenly closer to mine. The shift sends a shiver down my spine. Damp heat starts to gather in an uncomfortable place between my legs. Silas’ nose brushes against the corner of my neck, the warmth of his breath a ghost across my skin. Goosebumps prickle my skin. I freeze, closing my eyes tightly, trying desperately not to lean into his touch.
My entire life, I’ve been taught to keep boys at a distance.
Leave space for the Holy Spirit between you two , my mother would say.
Everything about this moment is wrong. I shouldn’t be out here alone with him. His hands shouldn’t be touching me like this. The ache between my legs grows and I recognize it for what it is—arousal.
I’ve thought I liked guys before, but this is completely different. Every nerve in my body stands on edge. That’s when my resolve snaps. I push myself into him, burying myself in his large, hard body.
He wraps a hand around my waist, keeping me pressed against him.
Warmth. The soft scrape of his jaw against my cheek. His lips a hair’s length away from my earlobe. The growing hardness in his pants pressed against my leg.
The world feels too quiet—like we’re suspended in some strange, intoxicating stillness. I take in deep breathfuls of him. His scent has changed: now it’s tinged with the slightest bit of sweat that makes him smell more real.
Tentatively, I run my hands along his sides—feeling more of him, testing. I close my eyes, letting my body go limp in his embrace. Nobody has ever held me this close for so long, yet alone so…meaningfully.
Touch me more, please .
“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he says through gritted teeth, his words barely more than a whisper. “Don’t ever do that again.”
My whole body shudders. I hum a response, not trusting my voice. Every ounce of my self-control goes into just enjoying his embrace and not clawing for more like a desperate, hungry animal.
If he wasn’t holding me, I’d crumble like dry soil.
That’s when it dawns on me. Who cares what Vivienne says? Who cares what anyone says? This is my life. I know the stakes I’m up against.
The attraction I have for him is enough. It might not be love—but it’s close enough for me. He doesn’t need to love me either. He just needs to keep doing things like this, things that make me feel wanted in some way.
As I breathe in more of him, my thoughts start to rearrange. What we have doesn’t need to be explained—it just has to be enough for him to get down on one knee and slip a ring on my finger. Instead of breaking off the engagement, I could get married to him.
The bottom line—I’m in control and this is going according to plan.
Silas pulls away, and I almost fall. Strong hands on my shoulders steady, but now he decides to leave space for the Holy Spirit between us. Cold wind and emptiness fills the void he’s left. When I look up at him, his expression is unreadable.
“We’ll talk more after Mass.” His eyes are as hard as stone. “You’ll sit beside me. Text me when you’re back in your room.”
I nod slowly, stepping back. My legs feel like jelly. Yet, I meet his eyes with a calmness that’s only skin deep.
“Goodnight, Silas,” I say softly .
I turn away, my strides turning into a brisk walk quicker than I wanted. When I’m certain I’m out of his view, I stop and take a deep breath. My entire body tingles with something dark, something dangerous, something so addictive.
Walking around campus this late is against the rules. I only showed up because Silas wanted me to. So, I stick to the covered walkways and shadows within the courtyard as I make my way back to my dorm—the last thing I need is getting into trouble on the first day.
I’m passing by a flight of steps that lead up to a breezeway when I notice a faint trail of smoke curling up into the night air from the shadows near the entrance. Are the shrubs on fire? No, someone’s standing there.
He stands out like a shadow that refuses to blend into the night. The orange-red glow of the joint between his fingers nearly disappears for a moment as he takes a deep breath, before flaring again—it casts a brief glow on him.
His green eyes are intense, almost too vivid. Like emeralds catching fire.
He’s…noticeable.
But not in the way Silas is.
Silas commands attention like a storm—loud, thrilling and impossible to ignore.
This guy though, he’s suspiciously calm.
Quiet.
Still.
He’s tall—taller than even Silas.
His dark hair is a bit too long, and it falls into his eyes in a way that makes me feel like he doesn’t care about how he looks. From what I can see he has thick eyebrows, a sharp, straight nose, and a well-defined jawline with the faintest shadow of stubble .
He’s dressed in full black—t-shirt, jeans, boots. Silver rings sparkle on his hands. Inked patterns curl around his wrists, snaking up his arms and disappearing into his sleeves. I never thought I would see someone like him here.
Is he here on a scholarship?
What kind of family would allow their son to present himself like this?
When he turns his gaze on me, I’m pulled into a vortex of shimmering emeralds. I fold my arms; somehow I feel like I ought to protect myself from him.
“Where are you going at this hour, princess?”
His voice is low and gravelly. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, just as much as I hear it. There’s a slight arrogance in his voice, as if he’s trying to draw some kind of reaction out of me. I narrow my eyes.
“It’s none of your business.”
He pushes off the stone column he’d been leaning against, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Now, I can see how tall he really is. Even from a few paces away, I have to look up to make eye contact with him.
“Really?” He stretches out a hand, bracing himself on the column. He crosses his legs, the toe of one of his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. He takes another puff, watching me carefully. “I doubt you would want the Sisters to know you’re running around this late looking like that.”
“Looking like what?”
His eyes travel down my body, and I hate that there’s a slight tingle of intrigue peppering my skin. He exhales slowly, letting the smoke drift lazily between us. “Aren’t you afraid someone might steal you away?”
I scoff. “You’re one to talk, you shouldn’t be out here either. I could report you just as easily.” I meet his gaze with the fiercest one I can muster.
“Really?” He chuckles like there’s anything funny. “Are you willing to gamble your reputation on that?
My blood starts to boil, because he’s right. I can’t afford for anyone to see—or even know I was out this late at night. It’s only because I can’t afford to lose Silas that I forced myself to break the rules.
I must not be doing a good job of hiding my feelings, because he says, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
I don’t want this strange, tattooed sinner to have secrets for me. There’s little I can do about that. But I need to make it clear that there’s nothing similar about us. I’m Lady Eden Lockhart, and he’s just some degenerate commoner smoking weed in the middle of the night.
“Smoking is a sin.”
He laughs.
He’s at the country’s most prestigious Catholic school acting like this . He’d need a week of prayer and fasting to even start to feel closer to the Lord.
“Then, I am the Lord’s favourite sinner,” he replies. “Will you pray for me, princess?” His voice is low, smooth. How can he say such things and mean it?
And the way he says it is maddening—casual but heavy, like every word is some kind of private truth that I’m not privy to understanding. I stand there in a stunned silence for a moment, considering him.
How dare he be so blasphemous?
If he’s going to flout the rules, why is he even here? A part of me is a bit fascinated. He must feel free, unburdened to be able to act like this. And maybe, I’m a little bit envious. I’m certain he isn’t being pressured to marry—or do anything for that matter. When you’re oblivious to the weight of reality, life is simple.
“Are you thinking about what you’ll be saying to God on my behalf?”
I glare. He smiles.
I don’t say anything. He smiles even wider.
Adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder, I push past him. I can’t stand his presence anymore. I catch a whiff of musky vetiver as I pass, and his presence swallows me—if only for a moment.
“Be careful, princess,” he whispers as I pass. “Matthew 7:15.”
His words haunt me all the way back to my dorm, because it’s one of the scriptures I know by heart— they come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. How does he even know that verse? I can’t imagine someone like him in the same room as a bible, much less in a church pew.
That night, I dream of wolves devouring sheep.