(Elena POV)
Silas caught me before I could collapse completely.
One arm wrapped firmly around my waist, pulling me against him. Strong. Warm. Safe.
And somehow, that safety made everything worse.
"Hey," he said quietly.
That voice—soft, controlled, careful. As if he believed I might shatter at the slightest volume.
"You're okay."
I shook my head at once.
"No," I whispered.
For the first time in years, I truly meant it.
My chest throbbed with a deep, physical ache. All the memories Valentina had ripped open were clawing at me from within. The endless screaming. The suffocating fear. The crushing sense of being small, weak, and utterly unwanted.
I hated it.
God, I hated every second of it.
Silas's grip tightened on my waist as my breathing grew ragged.
"Elena."
I tried to pull away.
Big mistake.
The moment I moved, his other hand rose to my jaw—gentle but unyielding—tilting my face up to meet his.
"Look at me."
"I'm fine."
"Stop lying."
My eyes burned with unshed tears.
"I said I'm fine."
"And I said stop lying to me."
His voice stayed calm, but something lethal lurked beneath it. Not aimed at me. At her. At what she'd done.
I could see it burning in his eyes—that quiet, terrifying rage Silas carried like a second skin. The kind that didn't explode. It waited. It planned. It destroyed everything in its path.
"You're shaking," he murmured.
I hated how he noticed every little thing.
"I don't want you looking at me right now."
A flicker of pain crossed his face. Real pain. It seemed impossible from a man like him.
"Why?" he asked, voice low.
Because I look weak. Because I feel weak. Because I'm seven years old again, hiding under that bed and praying my father doesn't drag me out.
I couldn't say it.
Instead, I whispered, "She was right."
Silence swallowed the kitchen.
Then—
"No."
The word cut through the air, sharp and absolute.
I frowned. "You didn't even ask what part."
"I don't need to."
His thumb brushed my cheek in a fleeting caress before he caught himself and went still.
"She doesn't get to define you," he said quietly.
A bitter laugh slipped out of me.
"You don't know anything about me."
His gaze darkened.
"I know enough."
"No, you don't," I snapped, emotions crashing over me. "You only know the version I show the world. You don't know what my family was really like. You don't know what it felt like growing up in that house."
The second the words escaped, I wished I could take them back.
He was watching me too closely now. Too carefully.
"What house?" he asked, his tone dropping.
I looked away.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.
Then he said, "She hurt you on purpose."
"That's obvious."
"No." His voice lowered further. "She knew exactly where to cut deepest."
That truth twisted painfully in my stomach.
Valentina hadn't guessed. She knew.
And the realization terrified me.
Silas caught the change in my expression instantly. His jaw clenched.
"What did she mean?" he asked softly.
I froze.
"She said… I was still hiding under beds."
Hearing it spoken aloud made my skin crawl.
My throat tightened.
"That's none of your business."
His expression hardened—not with anger, but with something far more controlled and resolute.
"It became my business the moment someone used it to hurt you."
I shook my head quickly.
"No."
"Elena."
"No." My voice cracked. "Please."
That word stopped him cold.
Very slowly, he lowered his hand from my face. Not because he wanted to—because I had asked him to.
Somehow, that small act of restraint affected me more than anything else.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
His brows drew together. "For what?"
"For being… this."
Broken. Difficult. Too much.
Silas stared at me as if I'd lost my mind.
Then, in a voice dangerously soft, he said, "Don't ever apologize for surviving."
The words struck something deep and fragile inside me.
He knew it too. I could see it in his eyes.
Silas stepped closer again—just close enough to anchor me without overwhelming.
"You listen to me," he said, calm yet edged with steel. "That girl does not get to weaponize your pain."
The air between us felt thick, almost too warm.
"She will never come near you like this again."
No hesitation. No doubt. Only cold certainty.
And that terrified me almost as much as it comforted.
Because Silas didn't make idle promises. His threats carried the weight of vows.
"Silas…"
"No," he cut in quietly. "I should've dealt with her sooner."
The way he said it—cold. Final.
My stomach knotted.
"What are you going to do?"
He paused.
Then he looked at me, and for the first time, I glimpsed something dangerously close to losing control in his gaze.
"Whatever it takes."
My heart stuttered.
Not just from fear.
Because beneath the darkness and violence was a protectiveness so fierce it felt consuming. Like he would tear the world apart for anyone who made me cry. Burn everything down if it meant keeping me safe.
And the scariest part? A small piece of me believed he truly would.
Silas reached up slowly and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was surprisingly gentle. Careful.
"You should sleep," he murmured.
"I don't think I can."
His jaw tightened.
Then—
"Come with me."
I blinked. "What?"
"You're not sleeping alone tonight."
The words settled over me, slow and heavy.
My pulse spiked.
"That sounds insane when you say it like that," I muttered.
For the first time all night, the corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile.
"Good," he said softly. "Then stop overthinking it."
And somehow, for reasons I couldn't begin to explain, I followed him.