It started with his voice.
Not loud, not sharp. Just steady. Low. Certain.
"Ayla."
Her name. That was all. But the way he said it—measured, serious, leaving no room for escape—made her chest tighten. She felt her stomach drop, and suddenly, the air seemed too thick to breathe.
She had calmed down earlier, or at least she thought she had, but the moment his voice pulled her attention back, the quiet thrum of anxiety exploded into something jagged and choking.
She looked at him.
Silas's gaze was fixed on her, steady as if he could see through every wall she'd built. And in that gaze, Ayla saw the question before he even spoke it.
"Why did you have to hide it?"
It was gentle—gentler than she expected. But the words still sliced through her like glass.
Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric of her sweater. Her breath caught. The memory of him finding out—of the way he had seen her speaking with the core investor, the one who had saved his company—flashed in her mind like a camera's white-hot glare. She had been so careful, so quiet, so hidden. And yet…
She could hear her own pulse in her ears.
"I…" Her voice failed. "I was… I thought…"
The words tangled into nothing. She swallowed, but it was useless. Her throat burned like she had swallowed fire.
Silas didn't interrupt. He didn't look impatient. But his stillness pressed against her like a weight, urging her to answer.
"I was scared," she blurted out. Her voice cracked. "I thought you wouldn't… accept it. That you'd hate me for interfering. I didn't want to overstep. I didn't—"
She stopped when her voice broke entirely.
The shame was unbearable. She wanted to shrink into herself, to curl so tightly that she could disappear. But instead, she did the only thing she could: she reached for him.
Her hand was small, trembling, and when her fingers wrapped around his, they felt almost powerless. If he wanted to, he could have pulled away in an instant. He could have shaken her off like she was nothing.
But he didn't.
He let her hold him.
That alone was enough to unravel her. Her chest caved in as she bent forward, clutching his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the world. Her voice came out in broken, desperate fragments.
"Please… don't throw me out. I didn't mean to hide it. I swear. I just—" Her breath hitched hard. "I just wanted to help. I can't—" She squeezed his hand tighter, her voice splintering. "I can't lose you."
The words were spilling before she could stop them. They were messy, clumsy, soaked with everything she had tried to keep buried for years.
"I've loved you," she said, her voice trembling so much it was almost a whisper. "For years.… I—" Her chest felt tight. "I can't survive if you leave me. I won't."
It wasn't dramatic exaggeration. It was the plain, unvarnished truth. She had built her days around his presence, her thoughts around the way he existed in the same air she breathed. Every quiet act of his—letting her slippers stay by the door, not moving her things, speaking her name—had rooted itself into her heart so deeply she could no longer imagine life without them.
Her hands moved before she thought. She hugged his arm, small head pressing into the fabric of his sleeve. Her face paled, her body was trembling too violently for her to notice. She was shaking from the inside out.
His body was still beside her—steady, unyielding—and for a moment, she felt almost safe. But then—
"Ayla."
Her name again. Serious.
Her breath faltered. Fear slammed into her chest so hard that it almost hurt. She was terrified of what would follow—terrified of the words that might come next. Words like leave. Words like enough.
"No—" She gripped his arm harder. "Don't hate me. Please. Please don't hate me. I love you—more than anything. I'll never interfere again, I swear, I'll listen to everything you say, I'll—just—" Her voice cracked completely. "Don't send me away. Please. I can't—"
She couldn't stop repeating it. The words were desperate, messy, uncontrolled. She wasn't even sure what she was saying anymore.
"I love you," she whispered again and again, like maybe if she said it enough times, it would sink into him. "You're everything to me. Everything. I can't breathe if you hate me. I can't—"
And then, her worst fear seemed to unfold before her eyes.
Silas's hand moved. His fingers touched hers—not to hold them tighter, but to loosen her grip. He was pulling her hands away from his arm.
Her vision went white.
He's letting go. He's breaking away.
The thought hit like a physical blow. Panic roared in her chest, so loud that she could barely hear herself think. The air in the room thinned until it felt like she was drowning. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe—
Her body locked up as she gasped, trying to force air in, but her chest only tightened more. The world blurred, her ears rang, her mind screamed with a single thought: He's leaving me.
Somewhere through the haze, she heard his voice—firm, commanding, cutting through the panic like a blade.
"Breathe."
She couldn't. Her lungs refused. The panic was too loud, too sharp.
And then—suddenly—he wasn't pulling away anymore. He was right in front of her. His hands gripped her shoulders, steady, grounding. And then—warmth. His breath against hers. His mouth on hers—not in a kiss, but giving her air.
The shock of it jolted her enough to inhale.
"That's it," he said, his tone still unshakable. "Again."
She obeyed, chest trembling with the effort. Each breath burned, but his voice kept her tethered. His palm rubbed her back in slow, firm motions—not lingering, not hesitant, but enough to remind her that she wasn't alone.
Gradually, the tightness in her chest began to loosen. The ringing in her ears dulled. She blinked, and the world came back into focus.
She realized then that she was still crying—silent tears slipping down her face without her even noticing. Her body felt wrung out, every muscle trembling from the weight of her panic.
Silas didn't move away. He didn't say much—he never did—but the way his hand stayed on her back, the way his presence didn't waver even when her sobs came in quiet waves… it was enough.
More than enough.
She wanted to say something, to thank him, to apologize, to explain the mess she had become. But the words caught in her throat.
Instead, she just stayed there, breathing slowly, letting the warmth of his quiet care sink in.
Because even if his words were few, his actions spoke in a language she could feel down to her bones. And for someone like her—someone who had been invisible for so long—that was everything.
And yet…
She was still scared.
Because she knew—no matter how much her love bled into the air between them—they had no relationship. No promises. No claims. She was still just Ayla. And he was still Silas.
And she didn't feel worthy of him.
Not yet.