Breadcrumbs

Two days later, Leo returned to her room after a grueling meeting with lawyers to find Silas kneeling by her nightstand.

Panic, cold and sharp, spiked in her chest.

"Don't touch that!" she shouted, rushing forward.

Silas froze. He held up his hands. The drawer was open. The stash of stale rolls and bruised apples was visible.

"I wasn't taking it," Silas said calmly.

He stood up, towering over her. He moved aside to reveal what he had been doing.

He had plugged a small, black mini-fridge into the wall outlet behind the nightstand.

Leo stopped, breathless. "What is that?"

"The kitchen is in the south wing," Silas said. His voice was devoid of judgment, matter-of-fact. "It’s a six-minute walk. That’s too far if you wake up hungry."

He opened the fridge.

It was packed. Yogurt cups. Cheese sticks. bottles of high-end juice. Chocolate bars. And on top of the fridge, a basket filled with fresh bagels, granola bars, and peanut butter.

"I noticed you prefer peanut butter," Silas said. "Chunky. Is that correct?"

Leo stared at the food. Then she looked at Silas.

He wasn't mocking her. He wasn't reporting her hoarding to Marcus. He was validating her need. He was fortifying her position.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

"My job is to protect you," Silas said. "Starvation is a threat. Anxiety is a threat. I am neutralizing the threats."

Leo felt a stinging sensation in her eyes. She blinked rapidly, looking away. "I'm not crazy. I just... sometimes the money runs out."

"Not anymore," Silas said softly. He stepped closer, daring to bridge the professional distance. "The money is yours, Leo. The food is yours. But until you believe that..." He gestured to the fridge. "...this is here."

He turned to leave, pausing at the door. "I'll be outside."

"Silas?"

He looked back.

"Thank you."

He nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a ghost of a smile.

\---

The bonding happened in the Greenhouse.

It was a glass sanctuary on the edge of the cliffs, filled with orchids and humidity. It was the only place on the estate that felt warm.

Leo was hiding there before the "Introduction Gala"—a press event Marcus had organized to introduce the Lost Heiress to the board of directors.

She was wearing the heels the stylist had forced on her. They were beautiful torture devices, pinching her toes until they bled.

Silas found her sitting on a potting bench, the shoes kicked off, rubbing her heel.

"They hurt," Leo said, looking up at him.

Silas didn't say *suck it up*. He knelt in front of her.

"Let me see."

He took her foot in his large, rough hand. His touch was incredibly gentle. He examined the blister forming on her heel.

He reached into one of the many pockets of his tactical vest and pulled out a first-aid kit.

"This will sting," he warned.

He cleaned the blister and applied a padded bandage. The contrast between his lethal appearance and his tender care made Leo’s chest ache.

"Do I have to go tonight?" Leo asked, watching the top of his head. "I don't belong there, Silas. I'm just a waitress in a borrowed dress."

Silas finished the bandage and looked up. He didn't let go of her foot.

"You are Leonora Vance," he said firmly. "You survived eighteen years of a world that tried to erase you. Those people in the boardroom? They haven't survived anything but a bad stock market day. You are stronger than all of them."

"You have to say that. You're on the payroll."

"I don't lie," Silas said. "Not to you."

He stood up, offering her a hand.

"Put the shoes back on only when you walk through the doors. Until then, lean on me."

Leo took his hand. It was warm, calloused, and solid. For the first time since arriving at Highland Manor, she didn't feel like a trespasser. She felt guarded.

\---