59. Lilith
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE
T he scent of butter and warm batter filled the kitchen as I flipped a pancake, watching the edges crisp before sliding it onto the growing stack beside me. For once, I was the one making breakfast.
It felt like the least I could do for a man who had been on his knees, baring his soul to me. And somehow, it didn’t feel like some weird grand gesture. It just felt… right. Like this wasn’t just some temporary thing. Like I actually belonged here.
I thought back to the way his voice had cracked, breaking apart like something sharp had lodged itself in his throat.
To the way he couldn’t even look at me when he told me about Katie.
How he’d told me everything . The guilt, the weight he’d been dragging around for years.
How he’d convinced himself it was his fault. That Clark had hurt me because of him.
It had absolutely wrecked me. Watching him shatter like that, watching the strongest man I’d ever met unravel right in front of me. Like all the strength he carried, all that quiet control, none of it had been enough to stop this thing from swallowing him whole.
I wished he’d told me sooner. Wished I could’ve carried some of that weight for him instead of watching him suffocate under it.
But what right did I have to think that?
I’d been sitting on my own mountain of shit for years.
Swallowing down my nightmares, my panic attacks, my memories. Refusing to let anyone in.
It was hypocritical as fuck. And I hated that. But still…
He’d let me in now. He’d trusted me with that part of him. That had to mean something.
The familiar weight of his presence settled into the space before he even spoke.
“You’re up,” I said, not bothering to turn around.
“You’re making breakfast?”
I smirked, flip ping another pancake. “I had a breakdown. You had a breakdown. Felt like a pancakes kind of morning.”
Last night, before Silas’ confessional in the office, I’d woken up gasping, chest tight, the phantom weight of one of the most intense nightmares I’d ever had wrapping itself around me like smoke.
I’d stumbled outside like some kind of indie movie cliché, barefoot and half-dressed, and laid down in the rooftop garden, letting the rain hammer down on me until I couldn’t feel anything but cold.
It was stupid, probably. But in that moment, it felt…
right. Like maybe the sky could wash it all away.
The panic, the dread, the mess of thoughts that kept piling higher and higher in my head.
Before I could even plate the next one, he was there—warm, solid, wrapping himself around me. His arms slid around my waist, pulling me back against his chest, his lips pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the scar on my temple.
“Good morning,” he murmured against my skin.
Warmth unfurled in my chest, but I swallowed it down, determined not to burn the pancake I was about to flip. “Good morning. Now go sit down.”
He didn’t argue, just gave my waist a slow squeeze before stepping back and heading toward the island.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Yes, please.”
I turned toward his stupidly fancy, unnecessarily high-tech coffee machine.
The stool creaked as he got up. “Here, let me do it.”
“Down boy. Don’t micromanage my domestic goddess moment.” I frowned. “Oh shit—actually, can you pass me two mugs?”
Before I even finished the sentence, two mugs appeared over my shoulder.
“Jesus,” I muttered, taking them without looking. “That was fast.”
Weight pressed against the top of my head, and I realised he was resting his chin there. My brain short-circuited.
“Shit—sorry, can you pass me the oat milk too?”
Without a word, the carton appeared beside me, and I grabbed it, pouring in the right amount, and trying to ignore the fact that he was still hovering over me like a human blanket.
“And honey?”
Another pause, then a small glass jar was placed directly in front of me.
“Do you just have an unlimited supply of things in your hands at all times?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “I pay attention.”
“Hmm. Is that right?” I said as I passed him his coffee before taking a slow sip from mine and tilting my head toward the stool he’d abandoned. “Alright, sit back down.”
He lifted a brow before settling back onto the stool as I slid a plate of pancakes in front of him.
Perfectly golde n, fluffy, and an absolute miracle considering I’d had to frantically search the recipe online and pray to the pancake gods that I wouldn’t set his penthouse on fire.
I slid onto the stool beside him and took a bite from my own stack.
“Mmm. Fuck, this is good,” he hummed.
I hid my smile behind a bite, savouring the warmth of it, the sweetness of the syrup.
His hand landed on my thigh. And a second later, the stool scraped softly against the floor as he scooted closer, his knee pressing against mine, his fingers flexing a little.
We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. The soft clink of silverware and the faint hum of the air conditioning was enough between us.
When we’d finished eating, I stacked the empty plates and slid off the stool. I barely made it two steps before I felt him behind me again.
He didn’t move. Didn’t step away as I loaded the plates into the dishwasher. Instead, his hands found my waist, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
I exhaled slowly, loading the last fork, fully aware of how his chest brushed against my back with every breath.
“You planning on helping, or just standing there, breathing dramatically?”
His grip tightened, just for a second. “Just standing here.”
I huffed out a soft laugh, shutting the dishwasher and turning in his hold.
The elevator chimed and Finn strolled in, hands in his pockets, a lazy smirk already tugging at his lips. “Alright, Lils, time to—”
He stopped dead. His gaze flicked from me, tucked against Silas’ chest, to Silas himself, whose arms remained locked firmly around me.
Silas’ voice was low. “What the fuck?”
Finn’s eyes went wide. “I’m thinking the same thing.”
I exhaled sharply through my nose, already bracing. “Finn—”
Silas turned his gaze down to me, then back to Finn, then back to me. “Time to what?”
Finn blinked, cleared his throat, and backpedaled toward the elevator. “Time to have lunch and talk about the weather. Rain’s been crazy, huh?”
Silas’ grip on my waist didn’t loosen. “Finn. It’s 9a.m.”
Finn grimaced. “Look, man. I thought you had a meeting this morning, okay? Before you get all… Silas… about it, let’s just—”
“No,” Silas cut him off. “I want to hear it from her.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I forced a completely unconvincing smile. “Finn’s been, uh… helping me out.”
“And what does that mean?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
I licked my lip s, glancing at Finn, who was now doing a really terrible job of pretending he wasn’t there. “You know… just… the usual. Taxes, oil changes, navigating the treacherous world of extended warranties.”
“Lilith.”
“Fine. He’s been helping me throw punches properly. Teaching me how to you know… not get murdered.”
Silas went very, very still. “How long?”
I shifted on my feet. I’d never noticed how nice the kitchen floor was until now. “A while.”
“A while?” he repeated, voice tight.
I nodded. “Yeah. A while.”
His jaw ticked.
Finn took another step back toward the elevator. “Welp. Looks like you two have this under control. I’m just gonna…” He pointed vaguely at the elevator.
“Don’t.” His voice was sharp. His eyes locked onto me. “You’re staying for this.”
Finn huffed, muttering something about hating it here, before stepping towards the kitchen like a man walking to his execution.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Silas asked.
“You were… can we not get into that again, please?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t push. He knew why I hadn’t told him.
Finn chimed in. “In her defence, she’s not terrible. I mean, I still wouldn’t bet on her against a raccoon, but—”
“Shut up,” I snapped.
Silas sighed, tilting his head toward Finn. “And why did you agree?”
Finn shrugged. “She asked for it.”
Silas’ expression darkened instantly. “Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean. Don’t be an ass.”
“Did he hurt you?” Silas asked, searching my face.
I blinked. “What? No. Not at all.”
Finn raised his hands. “Dude, I wouldn’t hurt her. You know that.”
Silas didn’t even blink in his direction. Just looked at me, eyes sharp and unreadable. “Show me.”
I frowned. “Show you what?”
“What you’ve learned.”
Oh, fuck.
My eyes went wide. So did Finn’s. We both turned to each other in a silent agreement— ‘this is not going to end well.’
Completely unfazed by our silent crisis, Silas turned on his heel, heading for the gym like he was marching into battle.
“Wait, what? Right now?”
“Yep.” He didn’t stop. “You too, Finn.”
Finn let out a strangled noise. “Oh, come on. Why am I being dragged into this?”
Silas didn’t answer. Didn’t even look back.
Finn turned to me. “We could run.”
“He’d find us.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, he would.”
I let out a suffering sigh, giving my coffee one last mournful look before following after them.
God help me.
Ten minutes later, I found myself standing in the gym, dressed properly, but absolutely not prepared for what was in front of me.
Two shirtless, tattooed, behemoth-sized men, standing like they were about to square off in some ancient gladiator battle.
Molly would fucking love this.
I cleared my throat. Loudly.
They both turned their heads in eerie synchronisation.
Silas tilted his head toward me and said, “Go on. Show me.”
Then, like the absolute menace he was, he went and sat down on the weight bench.
Holy Mary mother of all things good in the world.
Arms draped over his thighs, fingers lazily interlocked, tattoos stretched over his chest and ribs, biceps flexing just enough to be distracting.
Abs tensed as he leaned forward slightly, head tilted, dark eyes locked on me with an expression so unreadable it sent something electric down my spine.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.