Avery took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and pushed the door open.
What she saw made her freeze.
And then her eyes nearly exploded from their sockets.
"Oh my god—" she gasped, backing up like she'd walked into a crime scene.
"I—! I should wash my eyes with phenyl!" She shouted.
There, in the middle of the room, Silas stood shirtless—broad chest slick with droplets of water, every muscle on his torso carved with impossible precision like a sculpture brought to life.
His abs rippled with every subtle movement, leading down to the towel that hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing just enough to set her imagination on fire. His skin glistened under the soft glow of the warm lights, taut and golden, while steam curled around him like a sultry veil, making him look like some forbidden god of temptation that had stumbled straight out of a romance novel gone horribly, horribly wrong.
Avery slapped her hands over her face and spun around so fast she nearly lost her balance. "Oh my god," she muttered under her breath, desperately trying to scrub the image from her memory. But her mind betrayed her, replaying the sight in high definition—again and again and again.
Oh how she wished she had some memory erasing potion to help her forget the images and the feelings it was giving her.
Behind her, Silas chuckled, the sound low and maddeningly amused. "You came to my room to get your things and ended up getting me instead," he teased, voice dripping with warmth and mischief.
"Shut up!" she snapped, her voice high-pitched and shaky as she kept her hands on her eyes like it might offer salvation.
"Didn't expect such a passionate reunion on our wedding night, Mrs. Blackwood," he added smugly.
"I swear, if you don't shut up right now—!" she retorted but was cut in between.
"Oh, come on, Avy. You should've knocked." Silas said enjoying seeing her flustered because of him.
"Who keeps their door open when they're… almost naked?" she hissed, the last part barely a whisper, like even saying it aloud might burn her tongue.
"I don't need to lock the door when nobody's allowed in here except me," he replied smoothly. Then came the quiet, definitive click of the door locking.
Her heart leapt. She peeked through her fingers—just to check what was happening around her but Silas was now infront of her standing there, towel low, chest bare, and eyes fixed on her like she was his personal entertainment. She squeaked and shut her eyes even tighter, as if that would erase the heat crawling up her neck.
"Why are you still standing here, Silas? Go and put on some damn clothes! I don't want to see you like this!" she shouted, a mix of desperation and denial tangled in her voice.
But instead of leaving, he took a step toward her. Then another.
"Then why are you still in my room, Avy?" he murmured, now dangerously close—so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. The scent of him wrapped around her, heady and intoxicating—fresh cedarwood and a hint of something darker, deeper, uniquely him, like the aftershave he used had been designed to melt sanity.
"I… I came to get my things. I'll go as soon as I find them! So just—just go get dressed before I break your nose!" she threatened, her words wobbling in the air like her dignity.
To her immense relief, Silas finally relented. "Alright, alright," he said with a grin, retreating toward his closet. "I'll spare you—for now."
"Are you done yet?" she asked, still hiding behind her hands like a stubborn child caught in a nightmare.
Silas smiled at her—soft, genuine, and annoyingly fond. Having her here, flustered and fuming, filled his chest with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. Not power. Not control. Just… her. And it was somehow everything.
"Yes, I'm done. You can open your eyes now," he said gently.
Avery let out a dramatic sigh of relief, slowly parting her fingers like she didn't trust the world not to betray her again.
Just as her eyes fell on him he was dressed in a navy-blue satin robe that hung open just enough to still be infuriating, tied lazily at his waist, revealing flashes of skin and chest that could make Avery curse every fabric choice in his wardrobe.
She scolded herself internally and decided to get on with the work she was here for .
"Now move away from here so I can take my things to my room," Avery said sharply, pushing Silas aside with a determined shove before marching over to the closet. Her movements were brisk, mechanical—anything to keep her gaze from wandering back to the man who had single-handedly turned this night into a fever dream.
Silas stepped aside without protest, watching her with an infuriatingly amused smile as she yanked her clothes off the hangers and dumped them unceremoniously onto the bed. She was clearly trying to work fast, as if she could outrun the embarrassment still clinging to her skin like a second layer.
He could live in this moment all his life and would never complan ,her here with him,being herself, being the beautiful,smart and sassy Avery he always loved .
He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, silently supervising like a hawk. Every time she shot him a glare, he responded with a knowing grin, only making her cheeks burn hotter.
Once all her clothes were stuffed into the suitcase along with her skin-care bottles and makeup pouches, she turned her attention to the bottom drawer.
The dreaded drawer.
Her eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what lay inside. Silas was still watching. Of course he was.
Forming a perfect plan she cleared her throat and spun around. "Do you have a hair dryer in your bathroom?"
Silas raised a brow but nodded. "Yeah. I'll grab it for you," he said, already halfway to the bathroom with a boyish spring in his step, like he was secretly enjoying her flustered state way too much.
As soon as he disappeared behind the door, Avery launched into action. Like a thief on a timer, she yanked the drawer open and swept her undergarments—every lacy, embarrassing piece—into her suitcase, zipping it shut just as Silas stepped out.
"You got the dryer?" she asked, feigning innocence so hard it nearly gave her a cramp.
"Yeah, here!" he said, handing it to her with a bright, smug smile.
"Thanks," she muttered, shoving it into the suitcase like it was cursed, then snapping the case shut with finality. She turned on her heel, reached near the door, fingers outstretched for the door handle like it was her salvation.
But then—
"Avy, I think you left this behind."
She froze mid-step. The tone in his voice already told her she wasn't going to like what came next.
Slowly, with dread settling in her chest, she turned around.
Silas stood there with a devilish smirk stretched across his face, holding up a black lace bra between two fingers like it was some sort of victory banner. Her black lace bra.
Her face went crimson in an instant.
"Give me that!" she shrieked, storming across the room and snatched it from his hand. But the next moment her foot caught on the edge of the rug, and instead of a graceful exit, she stumbled forward—landing squarely on the bed.
On top of Silas.
Avery gasped, wide-eyed, mortified beyond reason. Silas lay beneath her, completely relaxed, arms spread like this was the best moment of his day.
She scrambled to sit up, but not before he let out a rich, unrestrained laugh—warm and real, the kind that came from deep in the chest. "God, you're something else," he chuckled.
Flustered and fuming, she hit his chest with her fist. "Shut up! This isn't funny!"
"Oh, it's so funny," he said, still laughing as his hand instinctively settled around her waist, holding her in place.
"Silas!" she snapped, trying to wriggle free, but the way his fingers curled into her waist sent an electric shock down her spine. "Let go of me!"
But he wasn't laughing anymore.
His smile faded, replaced by something deeper—more intense. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, everything fell into stillness. The air grew thick, heavy with unspoken tension. Her breath caught.
"Silas…" she warned, voice trembling now for a completely different reason. "Let me go or I… I'll…"
She trailed off, because she had no idea what threat to make. Her mind had stopped working the moment his gaze dropped to her lips.
Her heart pounded against her ribcage like it was trying to break free.
"Or you'll what?" he asked softly, his voice low, husky, the hint of challenge unmistakable in his tone.
Avery opened her mouth, but nothing came out—only a quiet gasp as his thumb brushed gently along her waist, anchoring her in place, igniting her skin with a heat she had no name for.