The car rolls to a stop in front of the cafe.
The signboard swings gently overhead, strung with warm lights and small flowers. The glow is soft, almost delicate. The evening air slls of fresh flowers.
I step out.
The pavent clicks softly beneath my shoes. Silas steps out too. The door closes behind him with a soft, solid thud.
He follows .
His fingers are still on the pearls at his neck.
The sa movent. Over and over. His thumb rolling across each one—then back again. A quiet rhythm.
Maybe the thousandth ti since we left the jewelry shop. Maybe more.
I glance at him.
A soft smile still rests on his lips. Not the polite one he gives strangers. Not the careful one from the wedding. Sothing else. Unguarded.
It’s been there since we left—since I fastened the clasp at the back of his neck, since the pearls settled against his collarbone like they belonged there.
He hasn’t stopped smiling. For no reason I can understand.
He’s lost his mind.
I look away. Annoying.
Just ignore him, Ellis.
Don’t look. Don’t think. Don’t wonder why.
I step forward. The café door swings open. A bell chis—soft, delicate, lingering in the air.
Inside, the place feels different. Transford.
Alara has touched every corner of it tonight—flowers hanging from above, soft and full, their scent thick in the air. Glass walls catch the light, reflecting it back in warm gold. Candles flicker on each table, small flas shifting with every movent.
There’s no crowd. Just a handful of guests, scattered around. Their voices low. Intimate. Almost swallowed by the soft music.
Peaceful.
Sum spots before I see him. His hand lifts in a lazy wave—fingers loose, casual, like he’s been waiting but won’t admit it.
"Ellis..."
His voice carries across the room—warm, familiar, pulling forward. My gaze finds him.
He walks toward , light on his feet, that sa carefree smile on his lips. Like always. Like nothing in the world has ever touched him.
"Finally." He stops in front of . "Mr. Charming arrives."
Then his eyes shift.
To Silas.
The smile freezes.
Just for a second. Sothing flickers across his face—sharp, unguarded. Surprise. Maybe more.
He blinks. Once. Twice. Adjusting.
Then the smile returns. Brighter now. Almost too bright.
"What a surprise." Sum looks at , one brow raised. "Ellis, you didn’t tell you were bringing Silas with you."
A pause.
"Aren’t you going to introduce ?"
I look away. My expression hardens. Introduction.
Sum watches . The silence stretches—soft music, the faint clink of glasses, quiet voices around us.
He sighs. Dramatically. "I knew you wouldn’t."
He raises his hand toward Silas, palm open. Easy. Friendly. "I’ll do it myself."
A different smile now—real. The one he uses when he wants to be liked.
"Hi. I’m Sum. Ellis’s best friend. We t at your wedding—but I didn’t get to introduce myself properly."
Silas takes his hand. Shakes it gently. His fingers—slender, pale—contrast against Sum’s darker skin.
He smiles.
Softly.
The sa smile he gives everyone. The one that reveals nothing—and everything.
Sum tilts his head. Studies him.
"You look even more beautiful up close."
Silas nods. Just a slight dip of his chin—maybe a thank you. Maybe just acknowledgnt. It’s hard to tell.
My voice cuts in. Flat. Hollow.
"Where’s Alara?"
Sum looks around, scanning the room—past the candles, the flowers, the guests pretending not to stare.
"She was here a mont ago—"
He points.
Alara stands near the back, speaking with soone in a dark suit. As if sensing us, she looks up. Her face lights up. Warm. Genuine. Effortless.
She excuses herself quickly and walks toward us—steps light, almost skipping.
"Hello, Ellis." She stops in front of . "Finally, you ca." Her head tilts, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I thought you weren’t going to."
"Why would you think that?"
She laughs. Soft. Knowing. Then her gaze shifts. To Silas.
He stands beside —but two steps back. Almost behind . Like he won’t take space unless it’s given.
Sum notices. Steps in.
"Ellis’s partner," he says. "Silas."
Alara’s smile widens. She offers her hand—warm, open. "Hello, Mr. Silas. I’m Alara."
Silas takes it. Shakes gently. That sa soft smile. A small nod.
Alara looks back at . "Ellis, you really surprised —bringing your beautiful partner."
I et her gaze. My expression stays flat.
It surprises too. Bringing him out like this. As my partner. Because I had no choice.
"You’re really beautiful," Alara says to Silas.
He nods again—a small dip of his head. His fingers move to the sleeve of his brown silk shirt, tugging it down. Adjusting. Again. And again.
I glance at his hands. The way his fingers keep pulling the fabric lower—hiding his skin.
Is he trying to cover the bruise?
"Let’s go," Alara says. "I’ll introduce you to my husband, Jane. And show you my café." She smiles. "I hope you like it."
Silas gives her another soft smile.
They walk away together—Alara gesturing lightly toward the flowers, the lights, the details she chose. Silas follows. Silent. Attentive.
I walk to a table. Sit down.
The chair is soft beneath . The wood smooth. Comfortable.
Sum follows. Lowers himself into the seat beside . His shoulder brushes mine—a habit. Familiar. Unthinking.
"Ellis..." His voice is quiet now. Careful. "Why didn’t you tell you were bringing him here?"
I cross my arms. Lean back. Let the chair hold . "It was sudden."
A teasing smile spreads across Sum’s lips—slow, like honey dripping from a spoon. "Don’t tell you were late because you were sitting on the couch—waiting for your wifey to get ready."
I look at him. A cold stare. Sharp enough to cut. "Stop talking nonsense."
Sum laughs. Light. Airy. Unrepentant. "Just kidding." His voice softens. Drops lower. "I’m just surprised. Seeing you two together."
My voice is flat. Empty.
"Dad forced to attend another family dinner. So I lied. Said I had plans with Silas." A pause. The words sit between us. "That’s the only reason I brought him here."
Sum sighs. His breath stirs the candle fla between us.
"So you’re using him as a shield." Not a question. "To keep your family away from yourself."
My gaze drifts across the room. Finds Silas. Stops—without realizing.
Standing with Alara and Jane. Smiling at sothing Jane said—or maybe at nothing at all. The pearls catch the light, throwing small reflections across his collarbone. His hands are folded in front of him, calm, patient.
I watch him for a long mont.
Using him as a shield?
Yeah.
Kind of.
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