4. Silas #2
Deep brown eyes stared back at me in the mirror’s reflection, full of judgement I hadn’t asked for.
I ran a hand through the dark waves that usually ran a little too wild for the image I was supposed to project.
Tonight, they were combed back neatly, only a few loose curls brushing against the edges of the mask.
Perfect.
Except, nothing felt perfect.
I stared harder, as if looking long enough might bring something back—some flicker of recognition. But the man staring back wasn’t me . He was hollow. A stranger wearing my face.
He hadn’t vanished all at once. He’d slipped away in pieces, quietly, until everything was drained out, long gone. Just an empty shell with a familiar reflection, a perfect image of composure, polished and unshaken. But there was nothing behind it.
Enough.
It wasn’t the time for this.
I forced the thoughts back, pressing them deep into the mental box labelled ‘Deal with later.’
Straightening, I squared my shoulders, adjusting the edges of my jacket like armour, and stepped back into the noise of the ballroom.
Not two steps in, my stomach turned to stone.
A woman. Trapped.
Frozen like prey. Silver eyes wide and glassy, locked onto nothing. Not moving, barely breathing.
Her black, intricately beaded mask was useless. A flimsy thing that didn’t hide the terror in her face, didn’t cover the way her body was pulled tight like a tripwire ready to snap.
And a man whose hand was clamped around her wrist. Knuckles bone-white with the force of his grip, fingers digging into her delicate skin so tightly it had to hurt. He was hurting her. I could see it in the twitch of her lips, the way she winced but didn’t pull away.
Anger flared in my blood like a match sparking against dry wood.
“I suggest you let go of her. Now. And walk away,” I ground out, voice laced with steel.
He froze, his head snapping toward me, his grip loosening instantly, like she was the one hurting him.
“Hey, it’s not what it looks like,” he stammered, voice rushing out in a weak, frantic tumble. “We were—this is a misunderstanding. Lils, tell him—”
A violent heat rose behind my eyes, crimson flooding my vision.
The way he spoke to her—like she owed him anything after the way she looked right now. It wasn’t just wrong, it was downright offensive .
The colour drained from his face as I took a step forward, towering over him “ Go.”
His eyes flicked back to her in a pathetic last attempt to salvage control.
The small, choked noise she let out as she tried to swallow past it felt like a stab to the heart. Then, she turned on her heel and bolted, her black gown vanishing between the swirling silk and shifting bodies of the ballroom.
“Fottuto stronzo,” I spat before shooting him a final warning glare, the kind that carried the unspoken promise of pain if he even thought about following.
He stiffened under it, his mouth twitching open like he had something to say. But nothing came out.
Broom closets, empty banquet rooms, the pool area, the spa.
I’d even gone as far as checking the women’s bathrooms, which earned me a chorus of screams and a few choice insults—but I hadn’t cared.
It took me thirty minutes until I finally found her.
The hotel rooftop was as extravagant as it was inside. Heated stone floors, designer furniture, and soft golden light from hung lanterns filled the space. Guests came and went throughout the night up here, most just looking for a quiet moment above the noise.
But now, it was empty. Except for her.
She was curled up on one of the oversized outdoor couches, legs tucked beneath her, staring out over the glittering skyline.
The wind teased loose tendrils of hair from her up-do, brushing them along her neck as she tilted her head.
A pale plume of smoke curled into the air. A cigarette.
I lingered, half-hidden in the shadows. Maybe she wanted to be alone, maybe this was none of my business. But then I remembered the way that asshole’s hand had crushed her wrist, and I couldn’t stop myself. I just needed to be sure she was okay.
My footsteps were quiet against the stone as I crossed the space, but she must have heard me. Her entire body stiffened, shoulders rising slightly as if bracing for whatever came next. I stopped a few feet away, completely uncertain of what I should do next.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She turned her head, not quite meeting my gaze, but enough for me to catch the full view of her eyes—and cazzo, my lungs forgot how to do their job .
Her mask lay discarded on the cushion beside her, leaving nothing to shield her features in the soft glow of the lantern light.
Up close, those eyes were beautiful. Like storm clouds swirling in a quiet sky—the most striking shade of silver I had ever seen.
But beneath their beauty, they were bloodshot, mascara streaked under her lash line, the skin beneath them slightly purple.
“I don’t smoke,” she murmured, turning back toward the city view.
My brow furrowed as I glanced at the cigarette in her hand.
“Someone offered me one,” she said quietly, lifting it and studying the embers. “I don’t even know why I took it. I hate these things.”
“Maybe you needed it,” I said softly.
She let out a small, humourless laugh. “Needed what? The smoke? The chemicals?”
“No,” I said gently. “The distraction.”
Her shoulders lifted in a shallow shrug. “Hmm, maybe.”
The breeze shifted enough to carry the faintest trace of her scent through the cigarette smoke—soft and warm, like incense and honey.
Not overpowering. Just… there.
“May I sit?” I asked, keeping my tone soft and slow.
She glanced at the empty space beside her, before nodding and tucking her legs closer into herself to make room.
I sat down, keeping a careful distance. Close enough to be there if she needed me, but not so close that I crowded her.
Silence lingered, thick and heavy between us, broken only by the soft hiss of the cigarette as she took another drag.
“I’m Lilith.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Lilith.” I nodded, though she didn’t see it. Her gaze hadn’t left the horizon.
I should’ve introduced myself. It would’ve been the natural thing to do.
But the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t give her my name.
Names had weight. They had familiarity, recognition, and they were the first thread in a connection that could unravel into something messy.
And I couldn’t afford that. For me or her.
“I thought he was good at first, you know?” she said on a sigh.
My chest tightened.
“Great, even,” She continued. “He said all the right things. Did all the right things. Made me feel like I was special. And then he changed. Slowly at first. Little things. The way he spoke to me. The way he looked at me. Until…”
She flicked her fingers toward her wrist, where a red outline of his hand had already imprinted itself.
That motherfucker .
“But I stayed. Because clearly, something’s wrong with me. I kept telling myself I was being dramatic, I was overreacting. I actually thought he’d just snap back to the guy I met at the beginning. Like some kind of human boomerang—a real fucking redemption arc.”
A muscle in my jaw ticked, anger flickering low in my chest. Not at her, but at the thought of him.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I said.
She just nodded, pressing the cigarette into the glass ashtray beside her until the embers died.
The silence returned, heavier this time, but still not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Still. I let it linger, giving her space to process or breathe or—hell, I don’t know. What do you even say to someone after a night like hers? But eventually, I had to break it. “Do you need a ride home?”
“No,” she said too quickly.
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “I meant a car, not me personally.”
Her shoulders dropped a little, and she let out a slow exhale.
“Oh.” She paused, then nodded. “Yeah… that would be good. Thank you.”
Pulling my phone from my jacket, I stood and tapped the screen, opening up the Uber app. But I quickly changed my mind. The thought of handing her to a stranger in the middle of the night didn’t sit right. Not happening.
Instead, I switched gears, sending a quick text to one of the company’s private drivers.
“Come on,” I said softly, gesturing for her to follow. I waited, giving her the time she needed, then led her out, past the rooftops glowing lanterns and down a quiet stairwell, bypassing the ballroom. She didn’t need to walk back through that shark tank.
The car was already waiting by the time we reached the lobby—a sleek black sedan, headlights glowing softly against the stone steps.
The sidewalk was empty now. No photographers, no gawking strangers. Just silence, broken by threads of late-night traffic.
I opened the door for her, holding it wide, giving her room to breathe.
She hesitated for a second, her hand hovering over the edge of the doorframe like she wanted to say something. But she just slipped inside, careful and silent, like she wanted to take up as little space as possible.
“Tell the driver where you want to go,” I said, keeping my words soft. “He’ll take you wherever you need.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The door shut with a quiet thunk, and the car pulled away, red taillights disappearing into the city’s glittering sprawl .
I stood there for a moment, watching until the glow disappeared. Until there was nothing left but the cold air biting at my skin and the faint scent of honey and incense on my jacket.
Then I turned and walked away.