63

63
Silas stumbled out of the hospital’s side entrance, his body weak but his will stubborn. He tightened the thin jacket around him and flagged down the first taxi that slowed by the curb.

The driver eyed him through the mirror as Silas fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills and coins. “That’s all I’ve got,” he muttered, voice raw. “Take me to the Woods cruise side’ suite.”

The driver shrugged, pocketed the change, and pulled away from the curb.

Silas slumped against the seat, his head pressing into the worn leather.

What the hell would I even say to him?

He rubbed his face with both hands, heart pounding unevenly. ‘I miss you’? ‘I can’t stop seeing you’? God, he’d laugh in my face. He’d tell me I was pathetic. And he’d be right.

The taxi jolted over a bump, dragging a groan from his chest. He pressed a hand over his ribs but didn’t ask the driver to stop.

I just need to see him… even if I make a fool of myself.

The car pulled up in front of the suite building. Silas’s hands shook as he reached for the door handle.

Silas dragged himself up the steps.

His knuckles brushed the door, knocking softly—hesitant, unsure if he even wanted an answer.

Silence.

He knocked again, a little firmer this time, but still no response. His throat tightened. Maybe he’s not here… maybe this was stupid.

Still, his hand reached for the handle, twisting it slowly. To his surprise, the door wasn’t locked. It creaked open with a low groan, the sound echoing into the stillness of the suite.

Silas hesitated on the threshold, his pulse racing. Then he stepped inside.

The first thing he saw stopped him cold.

A vase of flowers lay overturned on the floor, petals crushed and stems bent, water seeping into the rug.

Silas’s gaze lingered on the ruined bouquet, his throat tightening.

He crouched slowly, fingertips brushing over a crushed petal, soft and fragile against his skin.

“Mateo isn’t… a flower person,” he whispered to himself, voice breaking the silence.

The thought slammed into him.
He swallowed hard, his eyes burning.
“Wait… did he—” His breath caught. “Did he get it for me?”

The words hung in the air. His hand shook as he lifted a bent stem, drops of water sliding down his wrist.

His heart pounded violently. Why else would it be here? Why else would he keep them… and then throw them?

He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, choking back a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob.

God, Mateo… what are you doing to me?

Silas pushed himself up, the broken flower slipping from his hand. His feet moved on their own, carrying him deeper into the suite.

The living room was darker, shadows swallowing most of it, but what he could see made his stomach sink.

Empty bottles lay scattered across the floor, some rolling when his foot brushed them. The sharp smell of alcohol hung heavy in the air.

His chest tightened.
“What… he’s been drinking too?” he whispered, his voice cracking as he took another step. His eyes darted around the mess, disbelief sinking in. “I just left for a night…”

He dragged a hand through his hair, heart aching in a way he couldn’t control. How bad did I hurt him?

Silas swallowed hard, his throat dry as he stepped over the bottles. His hand brushed the wall until it found the next door. He pushed it open slowly, hoping, praying Mateo would be inside.

But the room was empty.

The sound of footsteps made him jerk his head up. A butler was walking past, carrying a folded cloth in his arms. Silas hurried forward, his voice unsteady.

“Excuse me,” he called softly, almost afraid of the answer. “Do you… do you know where Mr. Woods might be?”

The butler paused, looking him over with a hint of surprise. “Mr. Woods?” he repeated, his tone careful.

Silas’s hands tightened at his sides. “Please. I just… I need to know where he is.”

The butler’s eyes flicked over Silas, slowly measuring him. He adjusted the cloth in his arms before speaking.

“He might be in his private space,” the man said carefully. “But… they don’t just let anyone in there.” His gaze swept Silas up and down, doubt clear in his eyes. Giving him a once over

Silas lifted his chin, though his heart thudded painfully in his chest. “I’m his boyfriend, by the way.” The words came out sharper than he expected, but he didn’t take them back.

For a moment, the butler just studied him. Then, with a faint nod, he set the cloth aside and gestured down the hall.

“That way,” he said, pointing toward a door at the far end. “His private suite.”

Silas swallowed, his palms sweating as he followed the direction.

Silas reached the heavy door, his trembling hand just about to push it open when a massive figure stepped in front of him. The man’s broad shoulders blocked the way, his eyes cold.

“And you are?” the man asked, his deep voice like a warning.

Silas’s lips parted, his chest rising and falling fast. “I’m… I’m Mateo’s boyfriend,” he said, steadying his voice as much as he could.

A second guard leaned in, his mouth twisting into a cruel smirk. “Boyfriend?” He snorted. “That’s what all the sugar babies say. Drop a rich name, flash some puppy eyes, and hope to get in.”

Laughter followed, sharp and humiliating. Heat flushed Silas’s face. His throat closed, but words tumbled out in panic. “I—I’m his stripper. Stripper, I mean.”

The guards went quiet, exchanging a look. One raised an eyebrow, tapping a finger against his jaw. “Strange. Mr. Woods rejected all strippers tonight.”

The other tilted his head, eyeing Silas up and down. “Should we let this one in to… try?”

They chuckled, their eyes glittering with mockery, waiting to see him squirm.