The mansion's library was more than just a treasury of knowledge; for Tess, it was her most vital strategic piece. She was certain that Silas frequented this place, as it was the only room—among thousands of precious artifacts—that both the old and new head butlers personally and meticulously cleaned. However, tracking his movements was akin to chasing a phantom. Previously, Tess and the other maids had been caught in an exhausting cycle of chores, leaving them with no mental space for anything else. Moreover, with a labyrinthine architecture of doors and secret passages known only to Silas and his inner circle of guards, he could appear and vanish at any moment without leaving a trace.
Tess paced slowly through the towering wooden shelves, her sharp eyes missing not a single detail. She meticulously inspected every book spine, and eventually, the marks of time upon the pages began to speak. Silas seemed to possess a particular fascination for linguistics, detective novels, and criminal psychology. Some books had frayed spines and slightly scuffed covers from being flipped through repeatedly—a clear testament to the master's favor. She silently memorized their locations, vowing to pour over each one to find a path into the man's mind.
The deeper she ventured into the library's hidden corners, the more stunned Tess was to discover a different facet of Silas's soul. Hidden beneath his ruthless and decisive exterior lay a profound appreciation for literature and traditional art. Ancient volumes lay silently in the dark corners; though weathered by time, they remained perfectly preserved, hinting at a contradictory romantic side within him. As she cradled an old poetry collection in her hands, Tess felt the weight of responsibility; even a minor slip that damaged these items would cost her dearly.
Though she had managed to map out Silas's preferences, the enigma of the woman who could truly stir his heart remained a cruel mystery. Even after scouring the memories of Wolf 201, Tess found only an extreme perfectionist—a man who wore a mask of absolute caution even when facing a mere animal. She knew she was playing a high-stakes gamble against time. A woman's youth is as brilliant yet fleeting as a late-blooming night cereus; if she could not leverage her understanding to capture his undivided attention now, she feared that once her beauty began to fade, the door to Silas's world would slam shut forever.
Ambition is a slow-acting poison, and her current position—a status that many in the slums would spend a lifetime chasing—remained a precarious foothold for Tess. The psychological ghosts of her past loomed so large that she realized if she did not stand at the pinnacle of power, she could never truly heal her own soul. In a den crawling with calculating schemers, trust was a luxury Tess refused to surrender to anyone else. She was solitary, and she was terrified—a primal fear of being useless and unable to protect those she held dear.
Memories of her wandering childhood years suddenly surged back like a bitter tide. As she grew, her radiant, almost extreme beauty became a curse that invited relentless harassment. There were those who had once stood up to shield her, only to vanish like sea foam, and others who recoiled from her very existence, unsettled by her "uniqueness." Those invisible scars continued to fester, carving a hollow void in her heart that nothing seemed able to fill.
Lost in the fragments of her past, Tess failed to notice that darkness had fully draped the room. As the clock struck seven in the evening, the library was submerged in a profound, lonely silence. Just as she reached out to light a candle, the sound of unfamiliar footsteps echoed from the hallway, making her heart tighten. It wasn't the stern rhythm of Mrs. Vena's gait, nor the decisive stride of Kane's. In a state of sheer panic, Tess didn't have time to think; she could only sit at the massive desk nearby, burying her head in her trembling hands and pretending to be deep in sleep.
The heavy wooden door groaned open. The murmurs of about three people filled the air, carrying a distinct dissatisfaction at seeing a stranger occupying their master's private domain. However, the commotion was swiftly quelled by an invisible force of authority. Tess heard the soft rustle of fabric as a tall man settled onto a nearby sofa, followed by the rhythmic, leisurely sound of pages being turned. Such nonchalant poise and oppressive silence could only belong to one man: Silas.
In the dim light, Tess felt her breath catching in her throat. She knew she was gambling, but tonight, even at the risk of a grave offense, she was determined to seize this sole opportunity to enter the vision of the most powerful man in this empire.
Tess took a deep breath, forcing her shoulders to stop trembling before slowly straightening her back. She feigned rubbing her eyes, her lashes still glistening with the dampness of her earlier tears, creating an air of calculated fragility. She stepped toward Silas and bowed with measured politeness, secretly betting that he wouldn't immediately strike her with a punishment for such an insolent intrusion.
Silas remained seated there, composed as a deity contemplating the mortal world through the pages of his book. His slender fingers glided gently over the deathly glossy black fur of the cat he had brought with him. Catching a glimpse of Silas's eyebrows arching slightly—an indifferent expression as if he were about to wave his hand and order his subordinates to cast her out—Tess was seized by a state of absolute panic. At that critical, hair-raising moment, she desperately blurted out a random remark:
"Master's cat..."
Tess hesitated. Because the moment was so rushed, her mind seemed to freeze, failing to conjure the rest of the sentence. A stifling silence enveloped the library, so heavy that one could hear her heart racing wildly against her chest. But at that very instant, Silas finally lifted his gaze from the book. He looked at her with calm amber eyes, his lips curling into a slight smirk:
"Does my Black have something to say to you?"
Tess nodded, struggling to keep her voice steady yet laced with the reserve of a subordinate: "It was too far... so I couldn't hear very clearly."
Silas said nothing; he only lifted his hand slightly, his slender fingers beckoning her closer. With her head still bowed, Tess stepped forward and knelt before him, pretending to observe Black intently. Her heart was as taut as a bowstring; she knew full well that if Silas caught her in a lie, the door to her future would be slammed shut forever. Fortunately, Black's subconscious was remarkably simple. Reading the memories of such a small creature was far easier than she had imagined.
Tess breathed a sigh of relief. She retreated to a safe distance before looking Silas directly in the eyes: "Black hasn't been able to eat lately, has he, Master?"
A rare flicker of surprise crossed Silas's gaze. "Indeed. What is ailing it? I have had it examined, yet the doctors insist there is nothing wrong."
Tess chose her words with calculated precision, aiming for an air of both professionalism and mystery: "It is a lingering scent. Black is exceptionally sensitive to a peculiar odor hidden nearby. In your room, Master, or perhaps where Black usually rests—has anything new been arranged lately? Its heart rate is fluctuating according to the frequency of an unusual infrasound, one that you cannot detect with the naked ear."
Silas fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. He pensively stroked Black's head before abruptly rising and striding toward the door to depart. Tess remained standing, a surge of disappointment washing over her like a tidal wave. She had poured out her soul, yet it seemed insufficient to hold the man's attention a moment longer. However, just as his towering figure reached the threshold, Silas came to a halt. He did not turn around, but his deep voice resonated through the room, making the very air vibrate:
"You must have been waiting for me for quite a while."
Tess flinched, her hands clenching each other until her knuckles turned white from the tension. She stammered, desperately trying to salvage her facade: "Master... there must be a misunderstanding here..."
Silas let out a subtle smirk—a smile laced with profound meaning and danger. He turned back, his gaze as sharp as a blade, as if peering directly into her soul: "You fell asleep, yet held no book in your hands. There are no cats in the greenhouse. Would a girl from the slums like you truly be so well-versed in matters of infrasound and scents?"
Tess stood paralyzed, her entire body stiffening as she realized her elaborate performance had been stripped bare beneath Silas's piercing observation. She was at a loss for words, but strangely, Silas's demeanor betrayed no anger. Instead, he watched her with a gaze brimming with intrigue—the kind of fascination a hunter reserves for a particularly cunning prey.
Before his silhouette vanished into the darkened corridor, Silas left behind a single, brief sentence that sent Tess's world spinning:
"I will return."