Page 24 of Her Soul to Own

I don’t move right away.

I hear him descend the ladder, his boots hitting each rung with that same methodical rhythm. I half expect the fog to swallow him whole, but it doesn’t. It just clings to the tree trunks, curling like smoke around the limbs, like the garden itself is holding its breath.

Eventually, I follow him. But I don’t leave just yet.

I sit back down, tucking my legs under me again, and let my head tilt back against the wooden wall. My eyes fall shut, and the journal rests on my lap. For once, I don’t feel like running. Not from this place. Not right now.

A few minutes pass. Maybe more. Then there’s the soft creak of the ladder again. One step. Two. Then nothing. He’s not climbing. He’s waiting.

I sigh, not with annoyance but with something dangerously close to understanding.

“Fine,” I mutter.

He comes back up. This time, he doesn’t hover near the edge. He settles across from me, his elbows resting on his knees, the faint light of dawn painting his features in pale gold and shadow.

And we just sit. Two silhouettes suspended in mist and tranquility.

The sky turns from indigo to rose behind the estate, and the garden begins to glow. Slowly and gently, like a secret it’s trying to keep. From here, the world looks softer, like the estate isn’t a prison but a place untouched by time.

I glance sideways at him. From this angle, from a distance, we could be anything.

Two lovers. Two ghosts. Two strangers who never belonged anywhere but finally found a place to not belong together.

“You didn’t stop me from coming here,” I say quietly, breaking the stillness.

His gaze is steady. “You didn’t want to be stopped.”

I turn to look at him. There’s no smirk on my lips, no challenge in my eyes. Just the truth. And something else I don’t want to name.

I don’t smile. But I don’t look away either.

And for a single fragile moment, the war between us—the obsession, the power plays, the push and pull—goes quiet.

When I finally climb down, my fingers are stiff from the chill, and my brain is screaming at me with a hundred contradictions. One of them, the loudest, says,You need to get laid before you do something you can’t take back.

I pull out my phone and shoot off a text.You up? Let’s meet at the same place at around eight.

The message is for Jake. Easy and familiar Jake. He knows the drill. No small talk, no expectations, just release. And right now, I need release more than I need air.

I glance over my shoulder.

Silas stands a few yards away, half-shrouded in mist with his arms folded, looking like sin incarnate with an actual license to kill.

I raise two fingers in a mocking little salute. “Back to your post, Creed.”

He says nothing, but I catch the strain in his face before I turn and strut back inside like I didn’t just offer myself up to chaos.

Let him watch. Let himburn.

Chapter 6 – Silas – The Boyfriend Vanishes

She’s dressing for war.

I can tell by the way she moves, slow and fluid, every piece of clothing a weapon chosen to kill something inside me. Her dress is black, tight, and cut dangerously high on the thigh. Her hair’s pulled back, just messy enough to look effortless but just sharp enough to make me wish I didn’t have eyes. The neckline plunges with the kind of calculated precision that screams,This is for me. But I know you’re watching.

She sprays perfume with a little flick of her wrist; a cloud of temptation lingers in the air like a taunt. Then she pauses and glances at her phone. The smile she gives the screen is soft. It’s the kind of smile that doesn’t belong to strangers.

And then she looks up, straight into the hallway camera.

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