In one swift, fluid motion, Silas flipped their positions, causing Avery to let out a startled gasp that turned into a half-scream as her back hit the mattress and he hovered over her.
The warmth of his body pressed close sent a tremor down her spine, her breath caught in her throat. His hand reached up gently, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear with such tender precision that her heart thudded louder than it had any right to.
He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes said everything—burning with unspoken longing, with something raw and real that made it impossible for Avery to look away.
Her heart and mind warred viciously, one screaming for distance and logic, the other surrendering to the intimacy that wrapped around them like a velvet haze. But the moment she met those piercing, storm-gray eyes, everything else faded to a blur. Like she was being pulled into a whirlpool and didn't know whether she wanted to escape or drown.
Silas's gaze dropped lower, lingering on her lips—soft and plush, flushed a delicate pink from the heat pooling in her cheeks. They parted slightly in anticipation, glistening in the low bedroom light, trembling ever so faintly with the breaths she hadn't realized she was holding.
He leaned closer, the space between them thinning to nothing. Avery's eyes fluttered shut, bracing herself for the inevitable. The kiss. The spark. The chaos.
But then—boom.
Her fist slammed straight into his nose with a satisfying thud.
"Shit!" Silas recoiled instantly, his head jerking back and his hand flying to his face as he stumbled off her, groaning from the impact.
Avery shot up from the bed, panting, hair a mess, and cheeks blazing red—but now from a completely different fire.
"I told you to leave me," she snapped, brushing herself off with as much composure as she could muster. "If you don't listen, this is what happens!"
Silas was still clutching his nose, blinking at her in disbelief. "That's the second time you've punched me in the nose."
Her triumphant smirk faltered slightly at the reminder.
But only slightly.
"Well," she said with a flick of her hair and a new surge of defiance, "you deserved it both times."
That made him chuckle, even as he winced. "You remember what happened the last time you punched me?"
Avery froze.
She did remember.
All too well.
A flash of memory struck her like lightning— Her eyes widened. No, no, no. She wasn't going down that road again.
Without another word, she spun on her heel, grabbed her suitcase, and all but sprinted for the door.
"I'm done here!" she called out over her shoulder, hoping her voice didn't betray the wild flutter in her chest.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silas sighed, then chuckled to himself as he walked over to the mirror. He tilted his face and gently touched the bridge of his nose, squinting.
"Thank God," he muttered. "Not as bad as last time."
Still, there was a stupid grin on his face.
Because even though she punched him—again—she remembered. And that meant something.
Something that made his bruised nose totally worth it.
_________________
Somewhere in Country Z, nestled atop the hills overlooking a private lake, stood a palatial estate that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a lavish 1980s dream—grand, decadent, and unapologetically opulent.
The manor's exterior was washed in ivory stone, with gilded railings lining the grand balconies. Inside, gleaming marble floors reflected the light from crystal chandeliers that hung like frozen fireworks from the high, coffered ceilings.
Heavy velvet drapes in deep burgundy framed every arched window, and ornate furniture carved from mahogany adorned the vast rooms, upholstered in cream and gold brocade.
At the top of the sweeping staircase, a woman descended with the kind of grace that could only come from years of practice—and privilege.
Vivienne Blackwood was a vision of old money elegance, dressed in a sleek ivory silk blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt of forest green, the fabric glimmering subtly under the chandelier light.
A long, double-strand pearl necklace draped from her collarbone to her waist, and diamond-studded earrings caught the light as she moved. Her shoes—classic Louboutin stilettos—clicked with rhythmic precision against the polished steps, and her perfectly coiffed chestnut hair was swept into a timeless French twist.
She paused halfway down to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle in her sleeve and scanned the grand salon below with a proud smile.
There, seated comfortably on an antique settee upholstered in wine velvet, was a girl in her early twenties—Alana Morgan.
Alana was the very image of a curated modern heiress. She wore a fitted lavender blazer over a white satin blouse paired with tailored high-waisted pants that hugged her slim frame. A designer crossbody bag, monogrammed with gold hardware, rested beside her. Her makeup was soft and flawless—nude pink lips, smoky lavender eyes, and a touch of highlighter that gave her cheekbones an ethereal glow.
Vivienne's expression softened into a smile as she descended the last few steps and approached.
"Oh, Alana! It feels like ages since I last saw you!" Vivienne gushed, her voice smooth and rich with practiced affection.
Alana rose gracefully, embracing her aunt with a light laugh. "Oh, Aunt Vivienne, you're too kind. We met two weeks ago, remember?"
They parted with air-kisses on the cheek just as Vivienne signaled the maids with a slight tilt of her chin. Within moments, a pair of uniformed staff glided into the room to prepare refreshments.
"Well, forgive me, darling," Vivienne sighed as they both sat down, crossing her legs with effortless poise. "It's just that I miss you when you're not here."
"I missed you too," Alana replied smoothly as she reached into her bag and pulled out a luxurious gift box wrapped in deep emerald ribbon.
"I got this for you in Country M," she said, presenting it with a smile.
Vivienne's eyes lit up as she untied the ribbon, lifting the lid to reveal an exquisite limited-edition Hermès silk scarf, hand-painted with the crest of a forgotten country E duchy and trimmed with gold thread.
"Oh my heavens, Alana!" Vivienne gasped, her hand covering her chest. "This is stunning! These designs are impossible to find now, even in city P .You know how to spoil me!"
Alana beamed, though the gleam in her eyes didn't quite reach her soul. "Only the best for you, Aunt."
"And how was your trip, darling? Tell me everything about Country M."
Alana launched into a well-rehearsed summary of her vacation—the art galleries, the five-star spas, the exclusive yacht party off the coast—while sipping delicately at the cup of tea placed in front of her.
"Here," Vivienne said with a pleased smile, "try this blend. Your uncle received it from a dear friend in Country X. You'll adore it."
Alana took a sip. It was bitter and strong with floral undertones she didn't care for, but she gave a bright smile all the same. "It's divine," she lied gracefully.
Vivienne looked pleased as Alana continued to nod and respond with the perfect balance of charm and elegance, all while barely suppressing the real reason for her visit.
Eventually, Alana placed her teacup gently on the glass table and leaned forward slightly, her tone changing—casually curious, yet layered with careful intent.
"Aunt, I heard Silas isn't here anymore… Where did he go?"
Vivienne let out a melodious laugh, eyes twinkling. "Ah! So that's why you're here. You only care about Silas!"
Alana chuckled, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. "Oh, Aunt, you know it's not like that. But... I did miss him. While I was in Country M, I thought about him a lot. I even dropped by his office today to give him the present I got him—but the staff said he wasn't there. And when I asked where he was, they said they couldn't disclose it."
Vivienne's expression shifted, mild surprise creasing her brow. "They didn't tell you? That's odd. Silas will raise hell over that once he hears it. You're family, for heaven's sake."
Alana gave a nervous, polite laugh. She didn't correct Vivienne's assumption. She couldn't afford to. The woman loved clinging to the illusion that Silas saw her as a mother not an aunt . Alana had to let her keep believing that if she wanted to get what she came for.
Vivienne sipped her tea and continued, "He didn't tell me exactly where he went either. You know how private he is. But don't worry, sweetheart. I'll find out for you. I'm sure he misses you just as much."
Alana kept her smile in place, though she wanted to roll her eyes. Missed her? Silas barely acknowledged her existence. Every time she tried to get closer, he shut her out completely. And yet here was Vivienne, peddling her delusions like a royal proclamation.
Alana had spent thousands on that scarf, hoping it would grease the wheels and get her some solid information. But this entire visit felt like a waste.
Just then, the butler entered the room with hurried steps—an unusual sight in such a tightly run household.
He bowed slightly before Vivienne. "Ma'am… they've located where the young master is."
The atmosphere shifted in an instant. The polished, elegant calm cracked like glass under a sudden tremor.
Vivienne straightened in her seat, her expression sharpening. "What did you say?"
The butler repeated, "They found the young master. He's been located."