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Silas’s lips parted, his chest rising fast, bare skin flushed with fear .

Tears slid hot down his cheeks, but his voice steadied, soft and wrecked all at once.

“My last words?” He swallowed hard, crawling closer until the cold barrel pressed against his skin. “Then hear me out, because it’s the truth… Mateo, I love you. More than the job, more than the lies, more than myself. I should’ve told you sooner, but I was too much of a coward. I’m sorry. You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

Mateo’s jaw ticked, his breathing ragged, eyes blazing. The hand holding the gun shook harder, his finger brushing the trigger.

But the sight of Silas—shirtless, trembling, his pretty boy begging with tears in his eyes—twisted his rage into something unbearable.

Silas leaned forward, pressing his chest fully against the barrel, voice breaking into a whisper.

“If this is how it ends… at least I die knowing I was yours.”

Mateo’s breath caught, a choked sound tearing from his throat.

A sharp knock rattled the door.

Silas jerked, heart slamming against his ribs.

“Sir?” The butler’s voice carried through the wood, calm, steady. “Breakfast is ready.”

Silas blinked, chest heaving. The sheets clung to his damp skin, his hands still trembling as if the barrel of a gun had been pressed there seconds ago. He whipped his head around—

The room was empty.

No Mateo. No gun. No shattered voice calling him “pretty boy.”

Just the flickering TV still running the news headline, and his phone buzzing faintly where he’d dropped it.

Silas pressed both hands into his face, his body shaking. God… it wasn’t real. Just my mind. My guilt. My fear eating me alive.

The butler knocked again, softer this time. “Shall I come back later, sir?”

Silas swallowed hard, his voice hoarse. “W-ait a bit I'm coming.”

But he wasn’t. His chest hurt, his throat burned, and he couldn’t shake it—the way it had felt real. The way it had felt like Mateo knew. Like his secret was seconds from detonating in his face.

Silas dragged himself off the bed, throat raw, body heavy. He cracked the door open just enough to glare at the butler.

“I’m not hungry,” he muttered, his voice still shaky. “Take it away.”

The butler, unbothered, stepped forward and set the silver tray down on the table, porcelain clinking softly. Steam curled from the coffee cup. Fresh fruit. Eggs. Toast.

“Sir,” the butler said, bowing faintly, “Mr. Woods gave strict instructions. You are to eat.”

Silas stiffened. “What?”

The butler slid an envelope onto the edge of the tray, perfectly aligned. His white gloves never faltered. “He said you’d understand once you read this. I am merely the messenger.”

Silas’s pulse stuttered. He stared at the envelope like it might burn him if he touched it. The neat, bold scrawl of his name across the front made his stomach twist.

“Eat,” the butler repeated firmly, his tone leaving no room for protest. Then, without waiting for Silas to argue, he turned on his heel and left, the door clicking shut with finality.

Silas’s fingers trembled as he picked up the envelope. He tore it open too fast, the flap ripping unevenly.

A single folded sheet slid into his palm, Mateo’s handwriting bold across it.

He unfolded it.

Eat, pretty boy.
I don’t want those lips starving when they’re mine tonight.
Don’t overthink. Don’t run. You belong here, in my bed, in my world. I’ll take what’s mine when I’m back.

—M.

Silas’s chest tightened. His mouth went dry, heat rising in his face, crawling all the way down.

He pressed the paper against his lips, a shudder running through him.

“God, Mateo…” he whispered, guilt and longing warring in his chest. His eyes stung as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the note shaking in his hand.

His free hand clenched the bedsheet. How the hell am I supposed to go through with this… when he writes like that? When he wants me like that?

The food sat untouched on the tray, steam fading, while Silas stared at the note like it was both a love letter and a curse.

Another knock jolted Silas out of his spiraling thoughts. His head snapped toward the door, throat tightening.

This time it wasn’t the butler. A young woman in a neat black dress and apron stepped in, carrying a crystal vase filled with fresh white lilies.

Her smile was polite, her tone soft. “These are for you, Mr. Silas.”

Silas blinked, startled. “For… me?”

She crossed the room, setting the vase gently on the table beside the untouched breakfast tray. Then she placed a small envelope next to it, her gloved hands steady. “From Mr. Mateo. He said to tell you the flowers reminded him of you.”

Silas’s chest ached, his lips parting without sound. The woman bowed slightly and left, the door shutting quietly behind her, leaving only the scent of lilies and the note burning a hole into the silence.

With shaking fingers, he tore it open.

Lilies. Pure, beautiful, impossible to ignore—just like you. Don’t even think about running, Silas. I’ll find you, every time.

—M.

Silas clutched the paper, his heart slamming against his ribs. His guilt doubled, tripled, until it felt like it might crush him. Mateo, stop… stop making me love you more when I’m supposed to destroy you.

His phone felt heavy in his hand, his thumb hovering over the screen. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

But the ache in his chest overpowered reason. He opened Mateo’s contact—saved simply as Love—and typed, fingers trembling.

Silas: Where are you, love?
He hesitated, then added,
Silas: Can I see you? I need to tell you something important.

His thumb hovered over “send” for a heartbeat before he pressed it. The whoosh of the message leaving made his stomach twist.

What if he doesn’t answer? What if he knows? What if this is the end?

Silas dragged his knees to his chest, clutching the phone like it was the only tether he had left, eyes burning as he whispered to himself, “Please, Mateo… just answer me.”