Ingrid stayed a while longer, chatting with Elara and fussing over her
with a maternal concern that warmed the sterile room.
"Remember, you need to rest completely. Don't even think about
getting out of bed," she instructed, before turning a pointed look at
Silas. "And you—make yourself useful. A husband is meant to be leaned on,
especially at a time like this. Don't let her lift a finger, understand?
There's no room for pride here."
She was, in no uncertain terms, giving her niece-in-law full permission
to command her formidable nephew.
Elara nodded, a soft, obedient smile playing on her lips, thoroughly
charmed by Ingrid's fierce protectiveness.
"Alright then, I'll leave her in your hands," Ingrid said,
giving Silas's shoulder a final, meaningful pat before taking her leave.
Once the door clicked shut, Silas turned. Elara, propped against a
mountain of pillows, watched him approach. The quiet of the room felt heavy,
filled with the unspoken fears of the previous night.
"You've been here all day," she began, her voice soft with
concern. "With me, in the hospital. What about... everything else?"
There was the company, of course. But more pressingly, there was the
aftermath of Steven Cohen's attack—a web of chaos, enemies, and decisions that
surely demanded the attention of a man like him.
"What of it?" Silas replied, settling into the chair beside
her bed. He took her hand, his thumb unconsciously stroking the back of it. His
touch was familiar and grounding.
"The Winslow empire won't crumble without me for a few days. My
parents' legacy is secure. But you," his gaze intensified, locking with
hers, "and the lives growing inside you, need me here."
"You already carry enough uncertainty about this marriage, about
me. If I failed to be at your side when you needed me most, leaving you to the
care of strangers... what kind of man would that make me?"
He lifted their joined hands. His palms were rough with the calluses of
a man who had built his power not just in boardrooms but in shadows, his
knuckles scarred and veins prominent. They were hands that had wielded weapons,
but now, holding hers, they were impossibly gentle. They were the hands that
had pulled her back from the brink.
A wave of emotion crashed over Elara. The lingering terror from the
night, held at bay by the day's business, now threatened to choke her. Her
heart ached, and a stinging heat prickled behind her eyes.
"Silas," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I
want to hold you."
Last night had been the second time in her life she had stared into the
absolute abyss.
The first was when she was nine. A car crash. The screech of metal, the
shattering of glass. Her father and mother, gone in an instant. She had
survived, cocooned in her mother's final, desperate embrace.
People called her lucky.
None of them knew the survivor's guilt that haunted the little orphan
girl, the part of her that wished she had gone with them.
And now, faced with death once more, this man had, without a single
second of hesitation, chosen to save her. Even if he claimed it was his fault,
his protection and his care had seeped, drop by precious drop, into the
deepest, most guarded parts of her soul.
The heart is a treacherous thing. To claim it remained untouched would
be a lie.
In this moment, she needed to feel him—solid, real, and alive—to quiet
the tremors still echoing within her.
Seeing the sheen of tears in her wide, almond-shaped eyes, Silas's own
gaze darkened with a profound ache. He rose, sat on the edge of the bed, and
leaned forward, opening his arms. He gathered her carefully against his chest,
mindful of the IV line, and rested his chin on the crown of her head. His eyes
squeezed shut, brimming with a remorse so deep it was a physical pain.
She was so young. For all her bravery and composure last night, she was
still just a girl who needed to be cherished, to feel safe.
He would spend a lifetime making up for his failure to protect her, and
he was desperately grateful for the chance.
The afternoon passed quietly, punctuated only by the nurse coming to
check Elara's IV drip. Realising she would be bedridden for the foreseeable
future, Elara knew she had to cancel her upcoming business analysis project.
She called the head of the BA department, explaining she had to withdraw
for health reasons. They were understanding, assuring her to focus on her
recovery and that they had every confidence in her project's success,
especially with Chloe taking the lead.
After a brief discussion about the report, she hung up and called Chloe
directly.
Upon hearing Elara was in the hospital, Chloe's voice shot up an octave
in alarm. "Hospital?! What happened? I'm coming to see you as soon as I
wrap up this draft in a couple of days!"
Worried she'd be a distraction, Elara tried to dissuade her.
"Chloe, it's really not necessary—"
"Elara Thorne," Chloe interrupted, her tone brooking no
argument, "if you try to stop me, it means you don't consider me your best
friend!" The line went dead before Elara could get another word in.
Elara sighed, a wry smile touching her lips, and quickly sent Chloe the
hospital address along with a pleading kitten emoji.
Chloe's reply was instantaneous:
[That's more like it. If you want my forgiveness, you'll be even more
sensible and send a tall, dark, and handsome bodyguard to pick me up at the
airport. I've been surrounded by troglodytes on set lately and my eyes are in
desperate need of cleansing.]
Elara chuckled softly and typed back:
[Consider it done. Just send me your flight details and I'll dispatch
the finest specimen to collect you.]
She decided against sending Ben, not wanting to subject Chloe to his icy
demeanour. As she finalised the plans with a few more light-hearted texts, she
looked up and found Silas watching her from the sofa, his tablet forgotten in
his lap.
His expression had softened. "All sorted?"
"Mhm," Elara nodded. "Chloe's visiting in a few days.
Could you have Ethan pick her up from the airport?"
"Ethan is... occupied with other duties," Silas replied, his
face an unreadable mask. "Ben can go. Or I can assign someone else."
Hearing the finality in his tone regarding Ethan, Elara quickly
acquiesced. "Then Ben is fine. No need to find anyone else." At least
Chloe had met Ben before.
"Very well," Silas nodded. Then, he seamlessly changed the
subject. "Don't see this as a missed opportunity with the BA team. Once
you're discharged, I'll take you to the Winslow Group's consulting firm. You
can join any team you like, work on any project that interests you."
The casual, matter-of-fact way he offered her the keys to a corporate
kingdom was so blatantly powerful it was almost charming. It was the sound of a
man fully prepared to move heaven and earth for the woman he loved.
A slow, genuine smile spread across Elara's face. She crooked a finger,
beckoning him closer.
Silas raised an eyebrow, set his tablet aside, and came to her bedside.
"Yes?"
"Bend down," she instructed, her dark lashes fluttering.
"Lower your head."
A faint, amused smile touched his lips as he obediently leaned in,
bringing his face level with hers.
Quick as a flash, she pressed her soft lips to his in a firm, smacking
kiss before pulling back, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"There. A reward. Thank you for your guidance, Mr. Thorne."
Silas chuckled, a low, rich sound. He lifted a thumb to trace his own
bottom lip, his dark eyes fixed on her smiling mouth. "Is that all? Seems
a rather paltry reward for such a grand promise."
"I'm an invalid," she retorted, her delicate brows arching in
challenge. "What more did you expect?"
"..." Silas was momentarily speechless before a slow,
predatory grin spread across his face. "I'll remember that. I'll just have
to collect double once you're fully recovered."
Elara's eyes widened in mock indignation. "We'll see about
that!" She'd almost forgotten how shrewd this man could be, always looking
for an angle. She'd have to be on her guard.
Seeing the defiant gleam in her eyes, Silas knew she was already
planning to renege. He sighed in mock exasperation and ruffled her hair
affectionately.
Throughout the day, Silas's care had been impeccable. While initially
awkward about him helping her to the bathroom, Elara had to admit his
attentiveness was touching.
But when night fell and he returned from the ensuite with a basin of
warm water and a washcloth, announcing his intention to give her a bed bath, a
fresh wave of flustered embarrassment washed over her.
Their intimacy had been limited to a handful of passionate nights. Being
completely exposed and vulnerable under his intense gaze in the bright light of
the hospital room was a level of intimacy that sent a blush creeping up her
neck. The thought of his hands on her bare skin, not in passion but in care,
made her heart beat a frantic, nervous rhythm.