Read Novel Full Chapter 777: Silas's Punishment
Chapter 777: Chapter 777: Silas’s Punishment
She’d apologised so many times. In the morning before he left. At night when he returned.
And every time, he’d only looked at her with that impossible gentleness, as though she hadn’t tried to throw herself into danger for his sake.
For a moment she became terrified… what if he never forgave her?
Ivy pressed her palms against her eyes. ‘Stop it. He’s still here. You’re still here.’
The smell of eggs drifted in from the kitchen. Her stomach responded with an undignified growl.
Today felt different.
She couldn’t pinpoint why; maybe it was the way the apartment seemed quieter or the fact that she’d slept deeper than she had in days.
Either way, when she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded toward the door, the kitchen was empty.
A single plate sat on the counter, covered with a cloth. Beside it, a note in Silas’s neat handwriting:
‘Wash up first. I’ll provide your clothes.’
Ivy blinked at the paper. Odd. But then, everything about Silas was precise in ways she still didn’t fully understand.
She ate quickly, rinsed her plate, and headed to the bathroom.
The shower was hot enough to turn her skin pink.
When she finally stepped out and wrapped herself in a towel, the bathroom door was slightly ajar.
A pile of fabric sat just outside on the hallway floor. Ivy crouched down.
Black with white lace trim. A little apron with a tiny bow at the back. Her face went hot. A maid’s outfit.
For a long moment she just stared at it, water dripping from her hair onto the floorboards. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
Silas had never been particularly adventurous in that department; he was gentle, attentive, almost reverent when he touched her.
If he wanted to play, if this was his way of bridging the distance that had grown between them this past week, then she wasn’t going to disappoint him.
She dropped the towel.
The dress hit her mid-thigh, the apron ties crisscrossing at her lower back, and she took her time fastening every little button, adjusting the lace headband in the mirror.
Her pink eyes were bright with something between embarrassment and anticipation.
‘Alright, Silas. Let’s play.’
She found him in the living room, seated on the sofa with a book open in his lap. He looked up when she entered, and Ivy watched for the reaction… the widening of his eyes and the slight parting of his lips.
She got both. What she didn’t expect was the deep flush that crept up his neck to the tips of his ears.
Ivy even walked up to him and teased him. “Good morning, Master. How may I serve you?”
Her voice was light, teasing. She stepped closer, hips swaying, ready for him to set the book aside and pull her onto his lap the way he always did.
He didn’t move. “Ivy.”
Something in his tone made her stop mid-step.
“You’ll be my maid,” Silas said, closing the book with deliberate care, “for the next two months. As repentance.”
The words landed like stones dropped into still water.
Her mouth opened. Closed. The lace headband suddenly felt ridiculous, the dress like a costume she’d been caught wearing. “Two… months?”
“You tried to sacrifice yourself.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.
“You made a decision that would have left me alone, and you did it without hesitation. I’ve spent a week listening to your apologies, Ivy. Words are easy.”
She flinched.
Silas stood. At his full height, he towered over her, blonde hair catching the morning light, and his eyes… those impossibly gentle blue eyes… held no anger. Only something far worse. Resolution.
“You said you’d do anything to make it right,” he continued. “Did you mean it?”
Her throat tightened. “Yes.”
“Then you’ll be my maid. You’ll follow my instructions. You’ll learn what it means to trust someone else’s judgement over your own.” He paused. “And I’ll be in charge of your pleasure for the duration.”
Ivy felt her pulse thrumming in places that had no business being excited given the circumstances. “I… I accept.”
Silas smiled.
It was not the soft smile he gave her over morning tea. It was something sharper, something that made her thighs press together beneath the ridiculous skirt.
“Good. Let’s begin.”
He produced a small silicone vibrator from his pocket, sleek and curved, the same shade of pale blue as his eyes.
Ivy’s breath caught. Silas knelt before her without ceremony, and the motion itself was so unexpectedly intimate that she had to brace a hand against the arm of the sofa.
“Lift your skirt.”
She obeyed.
His fingers were warm against her hip as he positioned the toy, and when it slid inside her, she let out a sound that was half gasp, half whimper.
“You’ll keep this in for the rest of the day,” he said, smoothing her skirt back into place. “I control the remote.”
The first pulse came without warning. Ivy’s knees buckled. “Ah–!”
Silas steadied her with a hand on her elbow, his expression maddeningly calm. “You have tasks to complete. Start with the breakfast dishes.”
The next eight hours unspooled in agonising fragments.
She washed the plates and forks and pans while the vibrator hummed at the lowest possible setting, just enough to make her hands tremble, not enough to satisfy.
Water splashed onto the counter. Silas sat at the kitchen table, reading.
Every time she found a rhythm, the vibration would stop. Silence.
Her body would sag with relief and frustration both, and then, just as she reached for a new dish, the buzzing would resume at a higher intensity.
“Silas.”
“The glasses are still dirty.”
She did. He sent her to water the plants on the balcony.
Each pot required her to bend at the waist, and each time she did, the angle of the toy shifted inside her in ways that made her see stars.
Halfway through the chores, the vibrator kicked to its highest setting and stayed there for thirty excruciating seconds while she gripped the railing and tried not to scream.
Then, silence again.
“Ivy.” His voice floated through the open balcony door. “Come inside. It’s time for your apology letter.”
She stumbled back into the living room, legs unsteady, the lace of her apron somehow still pristine despite everything. He’d set up a small desk with paper and pen.
“Write one page,” Silas instructed. “Reflect on what you did and why it was wrong. You’ll write a new letter every hour.”
The first letter took twenty minutes.
She’d barely finished the opening sentence when the vibrator pulsed three times in rapid succession. Her pen skidded across the page, leaving an ugly black trail.
“Start over.”
Every hour.
By late afternoon, a stack of crumpled attempts littered the floor around her feet.
Her handwriting had deteriorated from neat cursive to desperate scrawl. Some of the letters were legible. Most were not.
Somewhere around the fourth hour, she stopped pretending to focus on the words and instead focused on breathing.
Her underwear was soaked through. Had been for hours. The fabric of the maid’s dress clung to the inside of her thighs.
When she shifted in her chair, she could feel how ready she was, how much her body had been primed for something that never came.
Silas watched from the sofa.
Dinner came and went. She wasn’t hungry. He made her eat anyway, spooning soup into her mouth while she sat trembling in her ridiculous uniform, the vibrator dormant but still present, still there.
Night fell.
Ivy didn’t remember deciding to move. One moment she was standing by the sink with a dishrag in her hand, and the next she was crossing the living room with singular purpose, her pink eyes blazing.
She lunged.
Silas caught her easily, his book tumbling to the floor as she pressed her mouth to his.
The kiss was messy, desperate, and nothing like their usual gentle exchanges. She bit his lower lip. Tasted copper. Her hands fisted in his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped against his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… Silas, please…”
He didn’t answer with words.
His hands found her waist, then lower, gripping the backs of her thighs and lifting her.
Her legs wrapped around him on instinct, the skirt bunching up around her hips, and the vibrator was still inside her, still buzzing at some low frequency she’d lost track of hours ago.
He carried her to the bedroom.
She expected him to toss her onto the mattress.
Instead, he laid her down with the same careful gentleness he’d always shown her, even as his chest heaved and his eyes had gone dark.
The contradiction made something in her chest crack open.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again.
Silas said nothing.
He removed the vibrator with torturous slowness, and the emptiness that followed was almost worse than the teasing.
She whimpered. His fingers replaced the toy almost immediately, two, then three, curling inside her with practised precision.
“Silas!”