The silence of the library was heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fireplace and the sound of Ren's own ragged breathing.
Vane didn't let go of Ren's neck. His thumb continued to stroke the skin just behind the silver earring, a gesture that was half-caress, half-strangulation. He was cataloging Ren's reactions—the way his pupils dilated, the way his pulse thrummed against Vane's palm like a panicked bird.
"You're trembling," Vane remarked, his voice dropping to a gravelly silk. "Is it the cold, or are you finally realizing what you've signed away?
"You planned this," Ren spat, though he didn't pull away. He couldn't. The warmth of Vane's hand was the only thing keeping him from collapsing. "The thugs. My father. You let them in."
Vane's eyes didn't flicker with guilt; they gleamed with a dark sort of pride. "I simply withdrew my hand, Ren. I wanted you to understand the difference between the world out there and the world inside these walls. Out there, you are a victim. In here... you are mine."
He leaned in closer, his nose brushing against Ren's temple. "And I protect what is mine."
Vane reached over to the desk and pressed a silent intercom button. Seconds later, the heavy doors opened, and Elias appeared.
"The guest suite is prepared," Vane said, his eyes never leaving Ren's. "Burn his clothes. Every stitch. I want nothing from that hovel entering this house. Get him a doctor for his hand, a hot bath, and silk. Only silk."
"Yes, Master," Elias bowed.
"Wait," Ren croaked, his voice failing him.
"My father. You promised."
Vane finally released his grip, stepping back just enough to let Ren breathe, though the cold air that rushed in felt like a fresh bruise.
"The debt is cleared. The men who touched you will be... handled. Your father will be moved to a facility where his 'vices' can be managed under guard. He will live, Ren. But you will never see him again without my permission. Is that understood?"
Ren felt a tear finally escape, tracking a hot line through the grime on his cheek. It was a total severance. He was being cut out of his own life and grafted onto the Blackwood family tree like a strange, beautiful parasite.
"Understood," Ren whispered.
"Good. Now go. You look like a ghost, and I prefer my prizes to have a little more color."
The guest suite was a cathedral of silver and grey.
Ren sat on the edge of a bathtub that was large enough to drown in, watching as a maid—who refused to meet his eyes—poured scented oils into the steaming water. Beside the tub lay a robe of deep emerald silk, so soft it looked like liquid.
After the maid left, Ren stripped. He saw the bruises on his ribs from the kitchen floor, the red marks on his neck where Vane had held him, and the swelling in his hand. He looked at the silver thorn in his ear.
He climbed into the water, the heat stinging his cuts, and closed his eyes.
But he didn't see the water. He saw Vane's stormy eyes. He felt the phantom pressure of Vane's thumb behind his ear. He was supposed to marry the son. He was supposed to be a "distraction."
A soft knock at the door startled him.
"Ren?"
The voice was young, hesitant, and lacked any of the iron weight that Vane's carried.
"It's... it's Julian. My father said you arrived.
Can I come in? Or... I can wait in the bedroom. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Father said you had a 'disagreement' with some people from your old neighborhood."
Ren froze, his heart sinking. Julian. His fiancé. The man he was supposed to pretend to love while the father watched from the shadows.
"I'm in the bath," Ren called out, his voice hollow.
"Oh! Sorry. I'll just... I'll wait out here. Take your time. I'm just glad you're safe, Ren. I've been asking Father to bring you here for weeks, but he kept saying you weren't 'ready' yet. I guess he was right."
Ren leaned his head back against the marble, a bitter laugh bubbling in his throat. Julian thought this was a rescue. Julian thought he had won.
But as Ren looked at the heavy gold fixtures and the reinforced glass of the windows, he realized Julian was just as much a prisoner as he was. The only difference was that Julian loved his jailer.
Ren reached up and touched the silver thorn. He wasn't sure if he loved the jailer yet, but as the heat of the water soaked into his bones, he knew one thing for certain.
He was never going to be "ready" for what Vane Blackwood had planned for him.