53. Lilith
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
I reached across the bed. Cold. Empty.
Huh.
I tried again, just in case my first attempt was a fluke of physics.
Nope. Still empty.
I cracked one eye open, hoping that maybe he was just in the shower. Maybe he’d just stepped out.
But then my gaze landed on the bottle of water and painkillers that had been left for me on the nightstand.
Shit. I didn’t even get a glimpse of him this morning.
It was thoughtful. It was practical. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his arm slung over me, trapping me against him. It wasn’t morning warmth and sleepy kisses. It wasn’t his deep, rough voice murmuring, ‘Stay. Five more minutes.’
My chest squeezed, but I swallowed it down and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, heading straight for his drawers.
I pulled on his boxers and T-shirt, letting his sage and sea salt wrap around me. If I wasn’t going to get Silas in the morning, I was at least going to smell like him.
Good. This was fine.
I reached for the painkillers and water when something caught my eye.
A small slip of paper sat on the nightstand.
‘He was one of the biggest horses I had ever seen, with legs like tree trunks and a chest as broad as an ox.’ - Michael Morpurgo, War Horse.
“What?”
What the hell did that mean? Why was he writing quotes about horses? I didn’t und— Oh God, no.
I’d just wanted to learn something simple. Something small. Something just to make him smile a little. And instead, I’d butchered the words and made a fool of myself.
Groaning, I shoved the note back onto the nightstand. Nope. Not thinking about that right now. I had other things to worry about, like the all-consuming need for caffeine and carbs.
I padded out of the bedroom, already planning my first hit of coffee and whatever leftovers were waiting in the fridge.
Shit.
The place was spotless. No empty glasses. No blankets thrown over the couch. The kitchen island? Clear. No half-eaten food.
The only proof that Molly and I had been there at all was the thumping headache that was about to kill me.
Guilt curled in my stomach. Maybe he was pissed. Maybe that’s why he’d left so early?
No. That couldn’t have been it. He left a damn note just to mock my tragic attempt at being romantic, so if he was mad, he was taking a really weird approach to it. Right?
I sighed, reaching for the coffee machine.
“Morning, Katniss,” I said over my shoulder.
Silence.
She didn’t even look up from her basking spot, clearly unbothered by my existence. Typical.
Something in me had snapped after the meeting a few weeks ago, and I’d decided I couldn’t spend another damn minute away from her.
If I was going to be here for the foreseeable future, then so was she.
No negotiations. No compromises. So, Molly had brought her here, and now, Her Highness was fully settled in her own personal five-star suite in Silas’ space.
Not that she appreciated it.
Silas had insisted on upgrading her setup.
Apparently, her vivarium wasn’t up to standards for his newest house guest. Instead of her usual enclosure, she had a fully customised one, complete with a top-of-the-line heating system, automatic misting, temperature monitors, and ‘a proper basking throne.’ His words, not mine.
She stretched lazily under the lamp, entirely oblivious to the absurd amount of time, effort and money that had been poured into her new setup.
“You know, you could at least look grateful,” I muttered. “He spent hours setting this up for you.”
Nothing.
“Good talk, Your Highness.”
My phone buzzed from the counter and my heart kicked up for a split second. I reached for it automatically, stupidly.
Molly
How’s the hangover, lightweight?
“Lilith what the actual fuck are you doing?”
I blinked at Molly from across the penthouse, one hand in my pocket, the other clutching a glass of whiskey I had absolutely no intention of drinking. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”
“You’re wearing a—” she gestured wildly. “What are you wearing?!”
I smoothed a hand down the lapels of Silas’ very expensive, very tailored-to-a-man-much-larger-than-me suit. The sleeves draped past my wrists, the trousers pooled at my ankles. I lifted my chin. “I’m wearing my CEO suit.”
“Your… what?”
“My CEO suit,” I repeated. “I’m a millionaire—or a billionaire, I don’t really know—now, Molly.”
She gawked for another minute before her whole face lit up. “Please tell me we’re being insufferable rich bitches today.”
I smirked. “Follow me.”
Lilith
Alive. Barely.
We’d needed one final hurrah. Molly was going to visit her parents for a few weeks for their anniversary, so I’d invited her round.
We’d dressed in Silas’ suits, stuffed our faces with leftovers, drank all the good wine, and roped Katniss and the Roomba into joining our own doomed tech startup.
Molly insisted Katniss was in charge of HR, and I appointed the Roomba as our Corporate Executive in Training.
She’d accused me of playing favourites. I’d accused her of not taking the job seriously.
I sank down into the couch, fingers curling around my freshly filled mug, pressing into the warmth, trying to ground myself in something heavier.
The skyline stretched endlessly ahead. The world was still moving, still churning forward, still expanding beyond these walls.
And I was here. Waiting. Hiding.
What the hell was I doing?
Waking up alone shouldn’t have felt like this. It shouldn’t gut me. It shouldn’t have made me feel dependent and weak.
But it did. And that made me fucking sick.
I should’ve learned my lesson by now. People left. People hurt you. People smiled at you in the morning and ignored your screaming at night.
That was the first thing I ever knew to be true.
So why was I sat here, wearing his hoodie, in his home, staring at the empty space he left behind like some tragic, forgotten thing?
How stupid could I be?
I’d spent so much of my life telling myself I didn’t need anyone. That I couldn’t afford to need anyone. That if I started depending on something, if I started leaning into the comfort of it, I’d just wake up one day and find it gone.
“No, please don’t! Please don’t!”
I tried to dig my heels in, tried to twist out of his grip, but his fingers clamped around my arms like a vice.
I tripped over the first step, the sharp edge digging into my shin as I caught myself.
“No—”
He didn’t care. He didn’t even hear me. He just tightened his hand as he dragged me up the stairs.
“Mommy, stop him!”
She was at the bottom of the stairs.
Standing there. Watching.
Her arms were crossed tight over her stomach, hands gripping onto her sweater.
But she didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Didn’t stop him.
“Mommy!” My voice cracked.
My bedroom door came too fast, and he yanked me back by the collar of my t-shirt, throwing me inside like I was nothing.
My feet caught on the rug, and I hit the floor, my hands catching rough carpet.
The door slammed behind me.
The lock clicked.
No, no, no—
I scrambled up and lunged for the handle.
Definitely locked.
“Mommy!” I slammed my fists against the wood. “Mommy, please! Please help me!”
Nothing.
I hit harder, palms stinging.
“Mommy! Stop him! Please!”
My breath shuddered, my throat burned, my hands curled into useless fists.
“Don’t cry.” I sniffed hard, swallowing the sob back down. “You’re a big girl. Big girls don’t cry. Brave girls don’t cry.”
I wasn’t a baby.
I was strong.
I forced my arms to drop to my sides, forced my knees to stop shaking, forced my breathing to slow down .
Slow. Quiet.
“Good girls are quiet.”
I dragged myself over the carpet and shuffled toward the window, pressing my forehead against the glass.
The world kept going.
A car passed. A woman walked her dog. A group of kids played in the driveway across the street, kicking a soccer ball between them.
One of the kids fell down. Within seconds, his mommy was there.
She kneeled and brushed dirt off his scraped knee, and then she hugged him, big and tight.
I pressed my fingers to the glass.
I didn’t need that.
I didn’t need hugs or soft words. Or someone to wipe the dirt off my skin.
I didn’t need my mommy.
I didn’t even want to go outside.
Didn’t need to be in the world, didn’t need anyone but me.
I was fine here. I was fine alone.
I exhaled slowly, forcing the air out, trying to breathe past the crush in my lungs. My fingertips brushed over my locket, and I twisted it, rolling the cool metal between my fingers.
It was stupid. All of it.
I wasn’t locked in. I wasn’t trapped. I could leave. If I really wanted to, I could take that elevator down, walk right out the doors, step onto the street and disappear into the city. But I wouldn’t.
Because, yes, I was afraid of what was out there. But I was more afraid of what I’d already let happen in here .
Somewhere between the nightmares and the stolen moments of warmth and the way he always, always, reached for me in his sleep—I’d let it happen. I’d let myself feel safe. And now, I was paying for it.
The worst part? I knew he wasn’t doing it to hurt me.
I knew he wasn’t playing games, or pulling away, or shutting me out on purpose.
I knew he was distracted, consumed, obsessed with catching one of the few people who had me flinching at shadows.
I knew he was doing this for me.
But it didn’t make it any less frustrating, or make it sting any less when I reached out and he wasn’t there. It didn’t stop the anger from weaving its way into my bloodstream, because I hadn’t asked him to do this.
I didn’t need him to save me.
I didn’t need saving, period.
I didn’t need him charging into battle, throwing himself at the mess like he could somehow carry the weight of it all on his own.
I needed him here.
I needed him on the couch, one arm slung over me while we watched some ridiculous rom-com he swore he hated, even though I caught him smiling at every single one.
I needed him acknowledging my existence. Acknowledging me.
I just needed him to stay.