True to the cryptic promise he had made that night, Silas began to frequent the villa more often. But contrary to any frivolous illusions of sudden favor, his presence was quiet and terrifyingly precise, much like a Swiss pendulum clock.
He came primarily to handle the mountain of underworld affairs. The only thing Tess was permitted to do was enter the study, set down a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea, and immediately withdraw. Between them, a hidden yet unyielding distance was always maintained—a span exactly equal to the length of the large cedarwood desk that split the room in two. Silas never looked at her, nor did he ever utter a word to make her stay. That coldness felt like a ruthless yardstick, a tacit challenge to see how long her patience could endure; yet, from a certain perspective, it carried the breath of a strange respect. He was giving her room to breathe, respecting the boundary a predator sets for an untamed prey.
Two weeks passed in that steady rhythm. The instinctive fear within Tess—the very thing that used to make her heart race whenever his leather shoes thudded against the hallway floor—gradually wore away and vanished. She began to learn how to watch him beneath the twilight filtering through the glass windows: his high, resolute brow, his eyes as deep as a marsh, and his long, slender fingers turning each page of documents. He was no longer a phantom of death; he had become a habit.
Late one afternoon, a sudden summer downpour drenched the grounds, shaking the trees in the greenhouse outside. Tess brought the tea into the room as usual. Right as she set the porcelain cup down, a crack of thunder ripped across the sky, followed by a gust of wind from the unlatched window that sent the papers on the desk flying. By reflex, both of them reached out at the same time to catch the fluttering sheets.
Time seemed to congeal.
Their ten fingertips met in the wind-swept air. It was not a violent grasp, but rather Tess's slender, trembling fingertips accidentally brushing against the broad back of Silas's hand, which carried a hint of chill. He did not pull away. Those deep, dark eyes slowly drifted from the figures on the paper, locking onto her face. In the dim atmosphere mingled with the sound of rain, Silas subtly moved his thumb, tracing a gentle, caressing line over her knuckle. The touch was so light it felt almost surreal, yet it was as searing as an electric current running down Tess's spine, making her forget to draw her hand back. The barrier of the past two weeks, as it turned out, collapsed with a touch as light as a moth's wing.
Tess stood frozen, allowing these ambiguous actions to unfold. Looking at Silas's composure, she understood that all her cleverness—even the supernatural ability she possessed—amounted to nothing before a man so powerful, intelligent, and deeply weathered by life. But why her? A girl who, aside from her looks, had nothing outstanding to offer. When one of Silas's bodyguards entered to deliver some documents, Tess obediently stepped outside, unwilling to become an indiscreet woman who would earn Silas's contempt.
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Tess remained in the greenhouse, carrying out her daily duties as everything unfolded exactly as she had desired. Consequently, apart from trying to read more books to broaden her knowledge and striving to be more cautious, Tess had recently stopped using her supernatural ability to probe the memories of the wolves.
A bodyguard walked in, requesting her to have lunch with Silas. Slightly surprised, Tess quickly adjusted her attire and headed inside.
The dry click of the door latch closing behind her cut off the last bit of oxygen from the vast hallway. Tess stood rooted to the spot, her chest tightening in a suffocating breath. The room was so silent that she could hear her own heart drumming relentlessly, like the frantic beats before a battle. She was tightly strung with tension, yet an ambiguous anticipation welled up within her—a contradiction akin to someone standing on the edge of an abyss, longing to fly.
Silas sat there. This man's presence was always a tangible pressure weighing down on everything around him. But today, something had changed. Upon the polished mahogany table, the busy computer was nowhere to be seen, nor were there any files stamped "confidential," or soul-less statistical reports from the underworld branches. The space was strangely bare. All of his attention, all the sharp, piercing light from his gray eyes, was now directed entirely toward her.
The moment their eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot down Tess's spine. The instinct of a survivor in adversity, of someone acutely sensitive to danger, whispered a cruel truth into her ear: She had lost. Her little psychological game in the library, the defenses she had painstakingly built up—all had collapsed beneath the clairvoyant gaze of this powerful man. Tess knew that she was now no different from a fish caught in a net—not because the net was torn, but because the hunter himself had intentionally loosened it, allowing her to willingly swim into his deadly shallow waters.
"Sit," Silas said in a low tone, devoid of warmth yet carrying a supreme authority that brooked no refusal.
Tess took a deep breath, forcing her shoulders not to tremble as she gently stepped forward and sat opposite him. The dining table, originally meant for lavish feasts, now felt like a silent execution ground. To break the dense, awkward atmosphere engulfing them, Silas picked up the silver tongs. His movements were leisurely and elegant, like those of an aristocrat, as he softly placed a piece of pan-seared salmon fillet onto her plate. This unexpected attentiveness did not ease Tess's fear; on the contrary, it made her even more guarded. Hunters are only at their gentlest when they know the prey is completely under their control.
But contrary to her expectations of a harsh interrogation, Silas began with entirely ordinary questions. He asked about her shift in the greenhouse today, whether the clusters of hyacinths were adjusting well to the current humidity, and if the dietary regimen of the creatures on the estate required any adjustments. His tone was even and casual, like an ordinary man conversing with a guest.
Under his masterful guidance and measured pace, Tess gradually let her guard down. The fortified mask of defense she wore was stripped away, layer by layer, in the most natural manner. Her answers, brief at first, gradually became coherent and insightful as they touched upon her expertise. Her initial apprehension and hesitation vanished, giving way to a more comfortable, open demeanor. Although Tess remained unclear about the ultimate purpose behind this small talk, it was undeniably much better than the ambiguous state of their current relationship.
The meal passed in a state of faux equilibrium, until Silas set his napkin down, his voice dropping a fraction lower:
"I intend to transfer you to my private villa in the North. Starting tomorrow, you will no longer need to work in this greenhouse."
The statement was like a bucket of cold water splashed directly onto Tess's drifting mind. She looked up, startled. Leaving the greenhouse? That meant she had taken another step forward in her plan. Yet, regardless of that, it was truly too sudden.
"There," Silas continued, his eyes locking onto the expression on her face, "you will have a different duty. A duty meant exclusively for you, Tess."
He did not explain in detail what that assignment entailed, and Tess was intelligent enough to know she had no right to press for answers. This relocation was not a proposal; it was a sealed command. Silas's private villa—the true lair of the alpha wolf. Bringing her there meant he wanted her under his gaze twenty-four seven, turning her into a piece of private property that could never be shared.
A wave of regret surged within Tess, tightening in her throat as she thought of having to part with the wolf pack in the greenhouse. Especially Number 201—the wolf pup with the scarred ear, the only creature that had flung open the doors of its memories and soul for her to enter, the child that had shared with her the darkest and loneliest corners. The thought of leaving it behind made her heart ache as if it were being clawed apart.
She desperately wanted to speak up, to beg Silas to let her bring Number 201 along. But the words had barely touched the tip of her tongue before they were ruthlessly swallowed back down by her reason. Tess ridiculed herself. Who did she think she was? In Silas's world, she was merely a chess piece made slightly more valuable by her special ability, an intriguing toy he had just picked up. Her own future remained uncertain as she trembled to find a way to survive; where would she ever get the "weight" required to bring her most beloved creature along? Standing before a cold and rational Silas, any plea based on emotion was worthless and ridiculous.
Tess lowered her eyes to the now cold plate of food, her hand beneath the table gripping the hem of her clothes tightly. She had to accept it. This separation was the price she had to pay to take the next step on the thorny path of survival alongside this man.
Outside the window, the night wind rustled softly through the leaves of the greenhouse, like a silent farewell from the wolf pack to their protector. A new chapter, darker and far more alluring, had officially begun.