Page 139 of Her Soul to Own

She looks fierce, untamed, and free. Exactly what they tried to erase.

I hit post.

The emptiness inside me drones on, but it doesn’t hurt like before. Now, it feels like… space and room for something else to grow. Something sharp, something dangerous.

For a moment, I lean against the iron balcony railing and close my eyes. My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as the weight of the world is still there. My father, the lawsuits,the media firestorm. But for the first time, I’m not crumbling beneath it. I’m standing on top of it.

The wind tugs at my hair as I open my eyes again and stare into the void where my father’s empire used to feel untouchable. It feels smaller now. Breakable.

A faint creak behind me pulls me from my thoughts. I don’t need to turn to know who it is. His presence settles into the room like gravity.

Silas.

He steps closer, his boots quiet against the marble, and I feel his eyes on me before I even lift my head.

When I finally turn to face him, my lips curve into a smile. Small, real, and dangerous. “Hi,” I whisper.

And in his gaze, I see it. The same fire. The same promise.

The war isn’t over.

It has just begun.

Chapter 37 – Silas – Velvet Chains

She has no idea what she does to me.

Standing there, barefoot in the middle of the suite, and wrapped in nothing but one of my black dress shirts with the buttons undone and hanging off her shoulders like sin itself. Like she knows exactly where this is going. Like she planned it. Like she’s daring me. And fuck if I’m not falling for it every goddamn time.

The door clicks shut behind me as I walk toward her. My pulse is already a slow, heavy throb. She watches the way a prey watches a wolf, except she wants to be caught. Hell, she’s begging for it without saying a word.

There’s something different about her today though. A shift. All that rage, the pain she’s carried for weeks, for years, has settled into something sharper now. Controlled and purposeful. She has stepped into her war, and now she’s mine like never before.

“Take it off,” I tell her, my voice low, the words rougher than I intend. But it doesn’t matter. I want her stripped and completely bare for me.

She doesn’t hesitate, her fingers sliding over the buttons, slow and fucking planned, holding my stare like she’s challenging me with every flick of her wrist. The shirt slips off her shoulders, pooling at her waist before she lets it fall. The firelight glimmers over her skin, highlighting every curve and every inch of her that I’ve memorized but still can’t get enough of.

The rain begins to fall softly around us, cool droplets kissing our heated skin as I press her against the balcony railing.The storm is rolling in, but it only fuels the fire burning inside me.

“Turn around,” I growl against her ear. “Hands on the railing.”

Lyra obeys instantly, her movements graceful, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as I have. She presses her palms flat on the slick metal, her back arching and hips jutting out in a way that has my pulse roaring in my ears. She’s a vision, my vision, with her ass pushed out like an offering under the open sky.

God, one day I’ll take every inch of her in every way I crave, but not today. Today, I don’t have the patience for slow and careful. I need her now. Desperately.

I step in behind her, the rain slick on my skin, and slide out of my pants and boxers in one smooth motion. I’m more than ready, thick, hard, and aching. The sight of her standing there, wet and glistening, with her curves outlined, nearly undoes me.

I press in close, letting the head of my cock nestle between the warm, perfect curves of her ass. She’s burning, even with the rain falling around us in heavy, rhythmic sheets, her body radiating heat like a beacon, drawing me in and daring me to lose control.

I find the railing beside her hand and grip it tightly, anchoring myself. My chest brushes against her back, skin to skin, breath to breath. My mouth finds the shell of her ear, and I let my lips graze it, slow and deliberate.

She shivers, not from the cold, but from me. From this.

“You feel that?” I whisper, my voice low and rough. “That’s what you do to me.”

I press in, not yet inside her, just letting her feel the weight of me—the promise, the tension, the way I’m barely holding back.

And then, I wait for a second because the only thing better than taking her right now is knowing she wants it just as desperately as I do.

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