The elevator hissed open in the basement level of Elan Mode, the floor no one ever spoke about. Grace walked out first, Eva a step behind her. Their heels echoed sharply in the sterile, dim hallway. The air was scented with faint lavender and concrete, deceptively calming for what was beneath.
Behind the last door on the right, guarded and sealed with biometric access, was Julian.
They had softened the space. A cushioned chair. A real bed. Fresh linens. Even proper meals, delivered on time. He was no longer gagged, nor bound, but the key thing was: he wasn't free.
And he wouldn't be. Not until Grace decided.
"Should we drug him?" Eva asked casually, tying her long hair into a loose braid as she leaned against the doorframe.
Grace glanced over her shoulder. "Not yet. He's still digesting what happened. Let it marinate. He needs to simmer in confusion, not oblivion."
Eva smiled. "You're a terrifying woman."
"And you're the only one who knows how much worse I could be," Grace replied, expression unreadable.
They didn't go inside the room. Julian wouldn't see them today. That was part of the punishment, too, being forgotten by the ones you obsess over.
Instead, they left the floor like they had just come from a boring conference call, and walked into the elevator as though their world was not layered in secrets.
Silas opened the door to his apartment without a word.
Grace stood there, wrapped in late-night shadows and silent calm. Her hair was down now, loose waves brushing her back, her expression unreadable but softened by the flicker of hallway light. She hadn't told him she was coming. No message. No warning.
She had simply shown up.
His jaw was clenched. His eyes bloodshot. And his hand had been hovering over his phone, again, as if willing her to respond.
When he saw her, everything inside him stilled.
And then it surged.
"Where the f**k were you?" he growled.
She didn't flinch. "Busy."
"With whom?"
She smiled faintly. "Are you going to let me in or interrogate me from the hallway?"
His hand curled around the doorframe. For a moment, he looked as if he might slam the door. But then, like a thread snapping, he stepped aside.
The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the city's heartbeat outside his windows.
She walked in. Slowly. Like she belonged there.
"You ignored my messages. You vanished. You let me think..." He stopped himself, voice shaking with anger.
"I needed space," she said, slipping out of her coat and letting it drop onto his chair. "And I wanted to see what you'd do."
Silas stared at her like he couldn't decide whether to strangle her or kiss her. His eyes searched hers, wild and dark and torn.
"Grace…" His voice was lower now, cracked with something raw. "Don't play with me."
"I'm not," she whispered. "But I need you to know… I'm not the girl who needs saving."
She took a step forward.
Silas reached out and grabbed her wrist, not hard, but firm. "Then who the hell are you?"
Their faces were inches apart now.
Grace looked up at him, those siren-dark eyes gleaming like secrets. "Someone you'll never forget."
And then, the space between them vanished.
He didn't kiss her gently. There was nothing soft about the way he grabbed her waist, pulled her flush against him, mouth crashing onto hers like a storm. She gasped, and he devoured the sound. Months of obsession, stalking, and craving, all collided in that first kiss.
Grace didn't resist.
She matched his fury with her own fire, fingers tangling in his hair, lips demanding, surrendering, consuming. They stumbled back, knocking over a chair. She let herself be lifted, slammed against the wall, her laugh caught in his mouth.
He pulled her tighter, fingers trembling on her waist, dragging her top over her head, tasting the skin he'd only dreamed of.
He whispered her name against her collarbone, kissed down her neck, and lifted her like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the bedroom as if it were the last room in existence.
The air between them thickened, something feral, something desperate.
Silas laid her down gently, reverently. His touch didn't slow, but it deepened, no longer just about lust, but obsession unspoken.
Their hands clashed and clawed, shedding fabric like secrets, her dress slipping off her shoulders and pooling around her waist. She wore nothing beneath.
His breath hitched, but he said nothing, just stared, devoured, memorized.
When she arched into him, he followed.
And then...
He froze.
Breathing hard. Still locked around her.
"Grace…"
She blinked up at him. Flushed. Beautiful. Dangerous.
"…Do you want this?"
His voice cracked, more reverence than anger now.
Her eyes flickered, barely. A crack in the mask.
He saw it.
And something in Silas snapped.
Not in rage.
In ruin.
"Do I want this... a man touching me for the first time? A man I barely know? Yes, I do. I do want this man I barely know to love me like there is no tomorrow."
He backed away an inch, stuck on the word love, cupping her face, eyes wild and glassy, because he knew he was incapable of loving, but only ruining the things he touched.
"You were going to give this to me like it was nothing? After everything?"
Grace stepped closer, slowly, deliberately. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Not like it was nothing. Like it was yours."
Silas's throat bobbed with the weight of that. His fingers curled into fists, as if holding himself back.
Then he kissed her, slower now. Deeper. Possessive in a way that whispered I will burn the world for you.
He didn't rush her. He didn't demand. He asked for nothing, only followed her lead as she guided his hands back to her skin, whispering permission in the spaces between their kisses.
He worshipped her like she was both altar and flame.
And when she whispered his name that first time, it was more than a sound. It was a spell.
And he became hers.