Ayla wasn't an early riser, but she knew Silas was.
Even when she lived a different life—one that now felt distant and unreachable—she had never been the type to wake up before sunrise. But she also understood that she couldn't just lie around, doing nothing, while she stayed under his roof. She couldn't afford to be seen as someone without purpose, someone merely surviving without contributing. Silas despised that kind of existence. He respected ambition, movement, persistence. And right now, she had none of those things. But she had to try.
That night, she barely slept. She lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional sounds of the city outside. The walls of Silas's home were thick, insulating the space from the outside world. But that only made her more aware of the silence inside—deep, pressing, and suffocating.
She turned over in bed, pressing her face into the pillow, but rest wouldn't come. Her thoughts churned restlessly, circling the same worries over and over again. Her situation was precarious. She had nothing with her—no clothes, no phone, not even essential documents. The only things she had were two cards and her passport.
For now at least she has that much money that she won't have to be a burden over Silas.
At some point, she must have drifted into a light, fitful sleep because the next thing she knew, she was staring at the dim glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. The clock beside the bed read 6:00 Am.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to get up.
After a quick shower, she dressed in the only clothes she had—Silas's. The fabric hung loosely on her frame, making her look even smaller than she already was. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how little she had left, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She ran her fingers through her damp hair, smoothing it down as best as she could before stepping out of the guest room.
The house was silent, the air crisp and still.
Silas was likely still upstairs, though she knew he would be awake. He had always been disciplined with his schedule, never allowing himself the luxury of a slow morning. If anything, he would already be preparing for the day ahead, sorting through emails, checking on business reports.
Ayla moved quietly to the kitchen, pushing past the weight of hesitation.
She didn't want to be a freeloader.
She had forced her way into his home—she wouldn't be so shameless as to do nothing while she stayed here.
Opening the cabinets, she took stock of what was available. The kitchen was well-stocked, filled with the essentials but neatly organized, as though rarely used. She hesitated, considering what to make. Something simple. Something quick. She wanted to show that she was capable, that she could at least handle this much.
The soft sound of footsteps reached her before she saw him.
She turned just as Silas entered the kitchen, dressed in his usual sharp attire. His presence was commanding, even in the early morning light.
For a moment, they simply looked at each other.
Then, breaking the silence, she asked, "Would you like some coffee?"
Silas studied her for a brief moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he nodded, saying nothing, before turning back toward the staircase.
Ayla exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing just a little as she set to work preparing the coffee. The scent filled the kitchen, warm and familiar. She poured it into a cup, steadying her hands before carrying it to the living room.
Silas returned a moment later, holding a set of neatly folded clothes in his hands.
She blinked in surprise as he extended them toward her.
Ayla hesitated, but eventually took the clothes from his hands, fingers brushing against the soft fabric. They were clean but still similar to the oversized ones she wore now.
She wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she clutched the clothes and sat down opposite him.
They drank their coffee in silence.
Silas was focused on his phone, scrolling through emails or messages. Ayla, on the other hand, found herself watching him, her eyes lingering a little too long. She admired him—not just for his success, but for his unwavering sense of purpose. For the way he carried himself, always so composed, so certain.
He must have felt her gaze because, without warning, he looked up.
Ayla's heart jumped in her chest, and panic flooded her system. Embarrassed, she quickly turned away, gripping the coffee cup as she stood. "I'll… I'll get started on breakfast."
She rushed back to the kitchen before he could say anything, her face burning.
She prepared breakfast with quick, efficient movements, hoping the small act of cooking would help ground her. The last thing she wanted was for Silas to think she was some useless guest, taking up space without contributing anything.
When she finally set the table, Silas joined her without a word. They ate in silence, the quiet only broken by the occasional clink of silverware against plates.
Halfway through the meal, Silas spoke.
"Eat more."
Ayla glanced up, surprised.
"You're not eating properly," he continued as he looked at her with his deep eyes.
She looked down at her plate, feeling a strange warmth in her chest. It wasn't kindness exactly—Silas didn't offer warmth in the way others did. But there was something in his tone that made her want to listen.
So, she did.
After breakfast, Silas stood, adjusting his watch. His time was up—he had to leave for work.
Ayla followed him to the door, unsure of what to say. She felt awkward, standing there, knowing he was going out into the world while she remained behind.
Then, unexpectedly, he pulled out a card and handed it to her.
Ayla looked up at him, stunned.
The difference in their heights was noticeable—he was nearly 188 cm, towering over her small frame. His presence was intimidating, a reminder of the vast gap between them. She hesitated, reluctant to take the card.
"Use it if you need anything," Silas said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Ayla swallowed hard but eventually took the card, feeling its weight between her fingers. She didn't want to accept it. She already felt like a burden—she couldn't bear the thought of depending on him financially as well.
As he turned to leave, she tightened her grip on the card, making a silent promise to herself.
She wouldn't use it.
She had seen firsthand how hard he worked, how much effort he had put into building his business from the ground up. His company was still growing, still struggling to reach true stability. She wouldn't add to his burdens.
If she stayed, she had to find a way to contribute.
Not just by cooking meals or keeping the house in order.
She had to find a way to stand beside him, not as a burden—but as an equal.