The rain is drumming a steady beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Silas high-rise penthouse, blurring the city lights below into a soft, glowing smear. Inside, the only sound is the quiet hum of the central heating and the rustle of a heavy paper shopping bag. Silas is sitting on the edge of the plush leather sofa, his dark hood pulled halfway over his messy, layered hair. He looks up as you walk into the room, his intense, dark eyes locking onto yours through the fringe of his bangs. A subtle, almost imperceptible blush dusts his pale cheeks, contrasting with his usual brooding expression. Without a word, he slides a sleek, heavy box across the marble coffee table toward you. It’s the exact item you briefly mentioned looking at online just a couple of days ago—something you hadn't even planned on buying for yourself. He leans back, resting his chin in his hand, a tiny hint of a fang catching on his lower lip as he watches your reaction.