Chapter 161: But Honeybun Must Be Hungry...

The car hums to a stop, the engine sighing into silence as the last vibrations tremble through the chassis. For a moment, I sit still, my hands resting on the steering wheel, staring through the windshield at the house before me.

Warm golden light glows from a few of the floor-to-ceiling windows while the rest remain dark, waiting.

I exhale slowly, then step out into the cold night air. The wind bites at my skin immediately—sharp and insistent, carrying the scent of fresh snow. The door closes behind me with a solid, satisfying thud. I adjust my coat, fingers brushing over the collar with practiced ease.

I begin walking toward the front door. Behind me comes the soft click of the passenger door, followed by quiet footsteps over the frozen ground.

I don’t turn around.

Silas follows, his footsteps soft and unhurried, keeping a careful distance. Two steps behind me, exactly the same as always.

"Call your secretary to pick you up," I say, the words falling flat and cold into the night air.

No answer. Just the steady rhythm of footsteps. He follows like a shadow that refuses to be shaken loose.

The door unlocks with a quiet click, the sound sharp and final in the stillness. I step inside, letting the warmth of the house envelop me like a slow embrace.

The faint scent of Silas’s pheromones hangs in the air, quietly weaving through the familiar stillness of the house.

Silas moves to enter behind me.

I turn sharply, blocking the doorway with my body. One hand braces against the doorframe, keeping him at the threshold.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

He looks up at me, blinking slowly. The cold patch still clings to his temple, a small white square stark against his skin.

His brown hair is a mess—tangled, wind-tossed, softened by the snow clinging to it like scattered starlight. A few strands fall across his forehead, catching the warm glow of the hallway light.

"I’m coming home," he says softly.

My jaw tightens.

"This is my house. Not yours."

He smiles—soft, certain, almost tender. The kind of smile that knows something I don’t.

"And you’re mine."

He tries to step past me. I press a hand against his chest, my fingers splayed against the fabric of his coat, stopping him. The touch is light, but he halts immediately, as if my hand carries more weight than I realize.

"I’m not yours."

"Ellis..." His voice softens into a quiet plea. "Please let me in."

"I’m not letting a stranger into my home." My words cut through the cold air between us. "Go somewhere else."

A flicker of hurt passes through his eyes.

"I’m not a stranger." His fingers catch my sleeve with familiar tenderness. "I’m your Silas."

I brush his hand away.

"You’re not."

"I am."

"My Silas is a Beta. He can’t speak. He’s fragile. Innocent." The words scrape against my throat. "Not a liar. Not a pervert. Not an Enigma."

I hold his gaze.

"Whoever you are... stop clinging to me."

His lower lip pushes into a small, practiced pout—so infuriatingly familiar it makes something tighten in my chest.

"I’m sick." His voice turns almost childlike. "It’s so cold out here. Please..."

My gaze drifts to the snow settling across the yard before returning to him.

"You walked around with a fever over one hundred and five without even flinching."

I meet his eyes, unmoved. "I know the snow barely affects you. Don’t be dramatic."

Before he can form another argument, I close the door. The lock slides into place with a sharp, final click.

A knock comes from the other side. Soft at first, barely audible, then more insistent. A quiet plea repeated against the wood.

I turn and walk deeper into the house, letting the warmth settle around me like a second skin. I shrug off my coat, tossing it onto the couch, then loosen my tie with a practiced tug. The silk slides through my fingers as I pull it free, leaving it draped loosely around my neck.

I sink onto the couch, the cushions giving beneath my weight. Tilting my head back, I stare at the ceiling where warm golden light pools across the walls.

What am I even doing with him?

Something restless stirs inside me—a strange, insistent pull that tugs at my chest, drawing me toward him without my permission. It’s like a current I can’t fight, a tide that refuses to recede. I press my palms against my thighs, grounding myself, but the feeling lingers.

Ellis. You can’t be fooled again.

My eyes drift shut. Exhaustion settles over me like a heavy blanket, pulling me under.

Knock... knock...

My eyes snap open. I sit upright, my gaze sweeping across the room.

Knock... knock...

My eyes settle on the glass wall.

And there he is.

Silas stands on the other side, snow drifting around him in a slow, silver curtain. It dusts his shoulders and hair, clinging to his lashes like tiny frozen stars. The garden lights cast a warm golden glow across the snow, framing him against the gathering darkness until he looks like someone caught between two worlds.

I stare at him.

He’s still here.

He presses his finger against the glass.

Slowly, deliberately, he writes a single line, his fingertip trailing through the cold condensation while his breath fogs the surface.

Ellis... Outside is so cold. Please let me in.

I look away, forcing myself to ignore the figure beyond the glass. My jaw tightens, my teeth grinding together.

He’s acting. Enigmas aren’t that fragile. He’ll leave once he gets tired.

A soft knock comes again.

What if he really is cold?

He was sick too. No matter what he is—Alpha, Enigma, or monster—he’s still human.

The thought slips into my mind without permission. I shake my head.

Why am I worrying about that liar?

Another knock.

My gaze drifts back to the glass.

His face is pressed lightly against the glass, not in desperation, but in quiet sorrow. His breath clouds the pane, both hands resting against the cold surface.

I stare at him.

He blinks at me slowly, innocently... like a child waiting to be let inside.

Before I realize it, my feet move on their own. I walk to the glass door and slide it open.

He steps inside before I can say a word, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing himself against me. The cold radiating from his body is startling, seeping through my shirt, his breath coming in short, shallow puffs against my shoulder.

"It’s so cold," he whispers, the words barely audible.

I press my hands against his shoulders, trying to push him away.

"Please..." His voice cracks, raw and thin. "Don’t."

I stop.

My hands remain suspended between resistance and surrender.

"Just stay like this for a moment," he murmurs against my collar, his breath gradually warming against my skin.

I close my eyes.

For a long, quiet moment, neither of us moves. His embrace is firm without being forceful, his body slowly thawing against mine. The snow on his shoulders melts into his coat, droplets sliding onto the floor. He doesn’t shiver. He simply breathes, slow and steady, his heartbeat a faint rhythm against my chest.

"Let me go."

He stubbornly shakes his head against my shoulder, his lips brushing the curve of my neck.

"It’s still cold," he whispers.

My eyes open.

"Are you feeling sick?"

He nods without letting go. "Please... let me hold you a little longer." His arms tighten around my waist.

I arch a brow, though he can’t see it.

"You’re acting."

"I’m not."

"If you don’t let go, I’ll kick you out."

He finally pulls back just enough to look at me. His hands remain around my waist, and his eyes blink up at me with innocent pleading.

"Please... no."

"You look like a stray dog."

A small smile blooms across his face, hopeful and impossibly bright.

"Then adopt me."

I look away, my jaw tightening.

"Shameless."

He gives my waist a gentle squeeze.

"Only for my Alpha."

I push him back and step away.

He stumbles but quickly catches himself, and I can already hear his footsteps following me as I head toward my room.

"You must be hungry," he calls after me. "Would you like soup? I can make porridge if you’d prefer something lighter."

"I don’t want anything."

"Are you feeling nauseous? I can adjust the seasoning—"

"I’m not hungry."

"But Honeybun must be hungry."

My steps come to an abrupt stop.

Honeybun?

I turn slowly to face him, my expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

"What do you mean by ’Honeybun’?"

He closes the distance between us without hurry. His hand rises and comes to rest gently against my belly. His palm is warm—so warm, as though the cold clinging to him moments ago had never existed.

"Our baby."

My eyes widen. Heat rushes up my neck, flooding my cheeks. I stare at him, completely speechless.

Honeybun.