The rain started just as she climbed the fence—cold needles slicing across her skin, baptizing her rebellion.
Aaliyah didn't care.
The torn edge of her scarf fluttered like a white flag in the storm behind her as she reached Silas's apartment. Her hands shook when she knocked. Her knees ached from gravel. Her breath came in short, wet sobs.
But when he opened the door and saw her soaked through, his face twisted with something between fury and fear.
"Aaliyah."
She didn't speak.
She just stepped inside and collapsed into him.
He held her like she might disappear—arms hard around her waist, chin resting on the crown of her head. They stood there, in the hallway shadows, like statues carved from desperation.
"You're freezing," he murmured, pulling the hoodie off his shoulders to wrap around her. "God, what happened?"
"I couldn't breathe there anymore," she whispered. "They're forcing me… to marry Amir."
The hoodie slipped down her shoulders.
Silas stepped back just enough to see her face.
She didn't know if he saw the tear tracks or the fire behind her eyes—but he reached up, touched her cheek with reverence.
"I would burn this whole city to the ground if they touch you," he said.
And just like that—something snapped.
She kissed him.
Or maybe he kissed her. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was real—hot and aching, their mouths colliding like thunder and flame.
Clothes came off in stuttered breaths.
Rain pounded on the windows, drowning out the noise of her guilt.
His hands gripped her thighs, pulled her into his lap as they tumbled onto the couch. She felt the urgency in him—how long he'd waited, how tightly he'd held back.
Now, he didn't.
He tasted every inch of her like she was a question he'd spent years trying to answer. She arched beneath him, nails dragging down his back, gasping his name like a prayer she didn't know if she believed in.
"Say it again," he begged, lips brushing her collarbone.
"Silas," she whispered, and again louder, "Silas—"
He entered her slow, painfully slow, like he didn't want to hurt her but couldn't bear to stop.
She cried out—but didn't pull away.
Their rhythm found them, built on whispered names and clutched sheets. He looked into her eyes the whole time, like he needed her to know he meant it.
That this wasn't lust.
That this was war, worship, surrender.
She shattered in his arms.
Twice.
And when it was over, he held her like something holy.
"I love you," he said again, breathing into her hair.
She closed her eyes.
She wanted to say it back.
But the words tasted like blood and doubt on her tongue.
--