Chapter 163: Confessions & Ceremonies

Silas POV

Helena found me in my study three days before Beatrice's Luna ceremony. I was buried in legal documents, trying to focus on anything except the conversation I knew was coming.

"We need to talk," she said from the doorway.

I looked up and my chest tightened at the sight of her. We hadn't spoken properly in four days—not since our argument about me canceling our dinner plans for the third time in two weeks.

"About what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what.

"Don't play stupid, Silas. It doesn't suit you." She closed the door behind her and crossed her arms. "You promised you'd try. That you wouldn't run when things got real. But that's exactly what you've been doing."

I set down my pen. She was right, and we both knew it. After our breakthrough in the office weeks ago, things had been good. Better than good. We'd been spending real time together, talking, learning each other beyond the physical. But then the Council workload had increased, and I'd fallen back into old patterns—using work as a shield, keeping her at a distance when vulnerability felt too raw.

"I haven't been running," I said weakly.

"You canceled three dinners in a row. You've been 'too busy' every time I've tried to see you outside of Council meetings. You won't even look at me during sessions." Her voice was steady but I could hear the hurt underneath. "If you changed your mind about us, just say it. I can handle rejection. What I can't handle is you pretending to try while actually shutting me out."

"I didn't change my mind." I stood and moved around the desk. "Helena"

"Then what is it?" She stepped back when I reached for her. "Because from where I'm standing, you said all the right things that day in the office. You admitted you were scared, you promised to go slowly, to figure it out together. But the moment things felt too real, you retreated. Again."

She was right. The vulnerability had terrified me. So I'd done what I always did—buried myself in work, convinced myself I was protecting us both by maintaining professional distance.

"You're right," I admitted. "I've been pulling away. Not because I don't want this, but because" I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. "Because it's working. We've been good together. Really good. And that terrifies me more than failing ever did."

"Why?" Helena demanded. "Why does it scare you when things are actually going well?"

"Because I don't know how to keep it." The words came out harsher than I intended. "I watched my parents die, Helena. I know what it's like to have something good and lose it. And every time I look at you, every time we're happy together, part of me is just waiting for it to fall apart. So I pull back first. Before you can realize I'm not worth the effort."

Her expression softened. "Silas..."

"I know it's not fair to you," I continued. "You've been patient with me. More patient than I deserve. You asked me to try and I promised I would. But then I got scared and did exactly what you're accusing me of—I ran. I'm sorry."

Helena was quiet for a long moment, studying me. "Do you love me?"

"Yes." No hesitation this time. "I love you. I've loved you since that conversation in the office, maybe before. That's what makes it so terrifying."

"Then stop protecting yourself from me." She moved closer. "I'm not going to hurt you, Silas. But you keep pushing me away, and that will destroy this. Not some imaginary future disaster—your fear in the present."

"I know." I reached for her hands and this time she let me take them. "I'm sorry. I promised to try and then I retreated the moment it felt too vulnerable. That's not fair to you."

"No, it's not." But she squeezed my hands. "But I also know you're not going to change overnight. You're going to get scared. You're going to want to run. What I need to know is whether you'll fight through it. Whether you'll come back instead of hiding behind work."

"I will," I promised. "I want to come back, I want this to work."

"Then prove it," Helena said. "Not with words this time. Show me."

I pulled her closer, cupping her face in my hands. "I love you. And I'm done running. I'm done pretending work is more important than you. I'm done being afraid of losing you that I push you away first."

"Say it again," she said softly.

"I love you, Helena."

"Again."

"I love you."

She kissed me then, and I kissed her back with everything I had—relief and apology and promise all tangled together. Her arms came around my neck and I lifted her, documents scattering as I set her on the edge of my desk.

"I'm sorry," I murmured against her mouth between kisses. "I'm so sorry."

"Show me," she repeated, her fingers working at the buttons of my shirt.

I intended to do exactly that.Her hands pushed my shirt off my shoulders and I shrugged out of it, letting it fall to the floor. Her palms were warm against my chest, tracing the muscles there before sliding down to my belt.

"I missed you," she said. "I missed this. Us."

"Me too." I kissed her again, deeper this time, as my hands found the zipper at the back of her dress. I tugged it down slowly, the fabric parting to reveal smooth skin beneath.

She tugged my belt open, yanked my zipper down, and shoved my trousers past my hips. I kicked them off. Her legs hooked around my waist and pulled me tight against her. Only her thin panties separated us now. I could feel the heat of her pussy soaking through the fabric.

“Silas,” she whispered, voice shaky.

I kissed down the side of her neck. My hands slid up her bare thighs.

“I’m right here,” I told her. “Not leaving.”

I hooked two fingers into the crotch of her panties and dragged them to the side. She was drenched—slick and swollen. I lined myself up, the head of my cock nudging her entrance. She sucked in a breath.

“Please,” she said.

I pushed in slow. One long, steady slide until I was buried to the root. She was tight, hot, gripping me like a fist. Her head fell back, mouth open on a low moan.

“Look at me,” I said.

Her eyes fluttered open—dark, glassy, full of want. I started moving—slow, deep rolls of my hips, letting her feel every inch pulling out and sinking back in.

“I love you,” I said, voice low as I thrust harder. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she gasped, nails biting into my shoulders.

I picked up speed. One hand braced on the desk beside her hip, the other clamped on her thigh, yanking her into every stroke. Papers scattered. The desk groaned under us but I didn’t care.

“Harder,” she begged.

I gave it to her—hard, fast snaps of my hips, slamming deep enough that her whole body jolted each time. Her pussy fluttered and squeezed around my cock.

“Touch your clit,” I ordered, voice rough. “I want to feel you come on me.”