Silva

Chapter Fifteen

• Irisa •

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Silva is wealthy, that much I know. He bought the old condo, purchased an estate just for me, and got me a car.

I live in a massive city with an amount of traffic that makes me want to rip out my hair. It just wouldn't make sense to buy a car when I could use the money on daily things.

It's been a couple of days since I saw Silva, but he never lets my night end without a phone call. That is his rule; he doesn't want me walking alone at night.

He can't stop me.

Well, I didn't end up going out on my nightly walks again without him. Rather than for safety reasons, I like having his company beside me.

Today is the official moving day. Procrastination sucks.

Now, I'm in my dusty apartment packing and inhaling flying dust while embracing the harsh winter wind.

I'm above multiple floors, so it's even worse.

It's either glacial breezes or suffocation by dust.

I pull open the kitchen cabinet, finding more books than I remember buying. The bookshelf was filled, and I had to find a place to put the others without resorting to throwing them away.

I can donate, but I'm selfishly greedy when things are mine. I'm not a generous person, and I know it's a problem.

Maybe that's why I have trouble getting friends. The logical concept of losing profit for emotional generosity is outlandish.

I pick up the book on the "sharing is caring" perception. A layer of dust flies off the cover as it falls from my hand and into the welcoming trash bin.

My doorbell rings. I kick the bin to the side and go to open the door. Silva glowers with the same judgmental frown, but his form-fitting suit distracts me enough to filter away my words.

"What did you promise me?" he questions taciturnly.

I let him in as his heady scent whiffs through the small space. "Look before opening."

I shrug imperturbably and return to packing as he follows me to the stacked boxes.

"My sixth sense knew it was you," I say with a grin.

He's not impressed.

"Can you help me pack?" I ask while pointing to the cupboard filled with books.

He doesn't ask why they're there. I wouldn't know how to answer without looking like an idiot.

"I offered to pay," he says crossly.

Whether if it's a moving service or the man working for Silva's business, I refuse to have strangers strolling through my apartment and going through my personal things.

"Why waste money when I have a big, strong man to help me?"

I reach over and squeeze his burly arm as emphasis. He lightly taps my hand away, his handsome face dragging through a scowl as he cups my cheek gently. The gentleness doesn't stay for long when slight pressure forms under his big fingers as I'm reminded of the freshly healed bruise.

That robbery did a number on the jaw, but at least it didn't get dislocated. I remember seeing the robber's face on the news the day after it happened. He died under mysterious circumstances, and the police won't release the manner of death.

"Money is not an issue, and I'm not working for free," Silva reckons, breaking me out of my thoughts.

The smile drops on my face. I scrunch up my nose with a pout. I should've expected a businessman to reap some benefits out of this.