Chapter 158: Get Lost... You Shameless Idiot...

The warmth against my body is too comfortable—too peaceful, too soft, too much like surrender. My entire frame feels weightless, as though every muscle, every nerve has finally let go, the tension of the past few days melting away.

My face is buried deep in something impossibly soft, impossibly warm, and my arms are wrapped around it, holding it close like a child clutching a pillow in the dark, seeking refuge from a world that has been too loud for too long.

A soft smile spreads across my lips, unconscious and untroubled, lingering in the fragile space between sleep and waking.

I squeeze the warmth, pulling it closer, burying my face deeper into its curve.

Then I feel it.

A heartbeat.

Restless. Alive. Pulsing steadily against my ear. Slow. Rhythmic. Patient.

My eyes open slowly.

The world swims into focus.

My face is pressed against bare skin—a warm, smooth chest rising and falling with the quiet rhythm of sleep. The skin beneath my cheek is almost too warm, and I can feel the faint vibration of each breath against my lips.

Silas.

His hand rests loosely around my waist, holding me close. My own arms are wrapped around him, tangled in the warmth of his body, my legs intertwined with his beneath the sheets.

And his body is burning.

Too warm. Too heated.

The heat radiates from him like a furnace, seeping through the thin fabric of my nightshirt and settling beneath my skin, making my own body feel heavy and slow.

With a sharp jerk, I push back and sit up. My heart pounds against my ribs, loud and frantic—a trapped bird beating against the silence of the room.

What the hell is this?

Silas stirs at the sudden movement. His eyes flutter open slowly, still clouded with sleep, his lashes heavy. He looks up at me, his gaze unfocused, his lips slightly parted.

I stare at him—at the bare expanse of his chest, at the way the morning light catches the line of his collarbones, at the quiet innocence on his face as he blinks up at me with those warm brown eyes.

Why is he on my bed?

And why is he half-undressed?

My eyes widen. I quickly glance down at myself. Beneath the blanket, I’m clean and fully dressed in my night suit, the soft fabric undisturbed against my skin.

A shaky breath of relief escapes me.

Then last night crashes back.

The soup.

The warmth spreading through my chest like honey, too comforting to question. The dizziness that came too quickly, too quietly, pulling me under like a tide before I could fight it. The darkness that swallowed me whole, soft and endless, like a dream I couldn’t wake from.

Anger surges through me—hot, sharp, tightening around my ribs until my jaw aches from clenching.

I move without thinking.

In one swift motion, I straddle him. My hands find his neck, fingers wrapping around the warm column of his throat. I tighten my grip just enough to feel the steady pulse beating beneath my fingertips.

Hard enough to remind him that I’m not someone to be toyed with. Not someone to be drugged and carried to bed like a helpless child.

Silas looks up at me, blinking slowly, completely unbothered by the grip around his throat. The pressure doesn’t seem to reach him. There’s no fear in his gaze. No panic. Only a quiet stillness, as though he’d been expecting this.

His voice is soft, still rough with sleep, drifting through the silence like smoke.

"Good morning, Ellis."

My fingers tighten around his neck.

"Last night." My voice comes out low and sharp, slicing through the quiet. "What the hell did you put in that soup?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. His eyes remain on mine, calm and unwavering, as though measuring the distance between my anger and his patience.

Finally, he speaks.

"It was a special herb from X Country." His voice is calm, almost matter-of-fact. "It’s used during pregnancy. It eases nausea, reduces morning sickness, and helps you sleep."

I lean closer until only inches separate us, my voice dropping to something dangerous.

"Do you have a death wish?"

He blinks once. His expression softens into something almost innocent.

"I’m sorry." His voice is barely above a whisper. "I should have told you."

Slowly, he lifts a hand to my face. His fingertips brush my cheek, impossibly gentle. His thumb traces beneath my eye, lingering over the skin that still bears the traces of sleepless nights and tears I never wanted him to see.

"But you look better than before." His thumb strokes my cheek once more. "Fresh." His gaze never leaves mine. "And beautiful."

His voice softens into a quiet murmur.

"Like always."

I slap his hand away and straighten.

"Get lost. Before I do something worse."

His hand moves quickly, finding my waist. His fingers tighten gently around my hips, holding me in place, stopping me from moving. The grip isn’t painful, but it’s unyielding.

"Don’t..."

His voice catches for a moment before he says quietly,

"Don’t move."

I stare at him, my anger tangling with something else. Confusion.

What happened...?

His face slowly turns red, the flush spreading across his cheeks and down the tips of his ears. His breathing grows uneven. He bites his lower lip, the movement almost involuntary, as though he’s struggling to keep himself under control. His fingers tighten slightly against my hips, pressing into the soft fabric of my night suit.

Then I feel it.

Something hard beneath me.

Long. Firm. Pressing against me through the thin fabric of his trousers.

My whole body freezes. My eyes widen.The air catches in my lungs.

Realization crashes over me like a bucket of ice water, sharp enough to cut through every trace of anger and confusion.

I scramble off him in one swift motion, putting as much distance between us as the bed allows. Heat rushes up my neck, spreading across my cheeks until my face burns with humiliation.

Silas slowly sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. His hair is tousled, loose strands falling across his forehead, making him look younger. Softer.

Almost... guilty.

I snatch up a pillow and hurl it at him, my voice sharp enough to crack.

"How dare you—"

He catches it with ease, his fingers curling around the fabric. His expression turns apologetic.

"I’m sorry." He lowers his gaze for a moment. "I didn’t do it on purpose." A brief pause. "It’s... a physical reaction."

His eyes flick back to mine before darting away again, almost shy.

"You’re the one who sat on me... in the wrong place."

A tiny smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"But it wasn’t exactly wrong."

I grab another pillow and throw it even harder.

"You pervert!"

The pillow smacks him square in the face. He pulls it away with a small sigh, his already messy hair now even more disheveled. He looks at me with those wide, innocent brown eyes—as if he has no idea why I’m angry.

"Ellis..." His voice is soft. "Please don’t be angry."

I don’t wait to hear another word.

I jump off the bed and head straight for the door, my steps quick, my face still burning.

His voice follows after me, quiet and sincere. "I’m sorry. I really didn’t do it on purpose."

Without looking back, I snap,

"Get lost, you shameless idiot."