Page 94 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime. I step inside, grateful for the small, contained space, the illusion of separation it offers.
But Silas and Max are already there, crowding into the car before the doors can shut.
The second they’re inside, Silas swears under his breath. He reaches for me without hesitation, pulling me into the solid wall of his chest.
I let him.
For once, I don't overthink it. I just let myself lean into him, let myself be held.
Max moves to the panel, stabbing the button for the lobby with more force than necessary. His entire body is vibrating with an anger he’s barely holding in check.
I press my forehead against Silas’s chest, breathing in the clean, familiar scent of him. It grounds me, just a little. Enough to keep the worst of the panic at bay.
Silas wraps his arms around me tighter, his hand stroking up and down my back in slow, soothing passes. I feel him press a kiss to the crown of my head, murmuring something I can’t quite make out, but the intent is clear.
You’re safe.
You’re not alone.
The elevator hums quietly around us as it descends. Every second that ticks by feels heavier, denser, dragging me deeper into a fatigue I don't know how to fight.
Max glances over his shoulder, his gaze raking over me with a mix of frustration and helplessness. I know he’s looking for signs—injuries, panic, anything he can fix with a quick, decisive action.
But there’s nothing to fix. Not externally.
All the damage is internal. Deeper than skin. Deeper than bone.
The elevator dings as it reaches the ground floor. Silas doesn’t let go. He keeps one arm firmly around my waist as we move, guiding me gently but insistently toward the car waiting at the curb.
I blink against the too-bright light of the lobby, against the stares I can feel pressing in from every direction. I keep my head down, my steps small and careful, forcing my body to move when every part of me wants to crumple.
The driver opens the rear door without a word.
The second I’m inside, the door shuts with a muffled thud.
I fold into the seat, curling my knees up toward my chest without thinking. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window, willing the chill to seep into my skin, to numb the rawness scraping me apart from the inside out.
"Home," Max says, voice low and hard. "Now."
The car pulls away from the curb smoothly, the city blurring past the windows. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the tears slipping down my cheeks. I try to wipe them away discreetly, but my hands are shaking too badly to do much more than smear them across my skin.
Silas notices immediately. He reaches for me, and for the first time since this nightmare started, I stop trying to hold it together.
The sob that rips out of me is ugly and broken and loud in the small space of the car, but I can’t stop it. I can’t even pretend to.
Silas pulls me tighter against him, cradling me in his arms, rocking me gently without saying a word.
Max reaches across the seat, his hand finding my thigh.
Neither of them says anything.
They don't tell me it's going to be okay.
They don't make promises they can't keep.
They just stay.
And somehow, that’s enough.
