The emerald silk felt like a second skin—too smooth, too expensive, and far too thin.
Ren stood before the full-length mirror in the guest suite, his damp hair pushed back, revealing the silver thorn in his ear. The doctor had already come and gone, wrapping Ren's hand in clean white gauze.
The ache was still there, but it felt distant now, numbed by the sheer exhaustion of existing in this house.
"The Master and Young Master are waiting," Elias said from the doorway. He didn't knock. In this house, privacy was a luxury Ren hadn't earned.
Ren followed the butler down the grand staircase. The estate was silent, but it wasn't the peaceful silence of a home; it was the bated breath of a tomb.
When they reached the dining hall, the sight made Ren stop in his tracks.
The table was a desert of white linen and polished silver. At one end sat Julian. He looked exactly like a prince from a fairy tale—blonde, blue-eyed, and wearing a smile that was far too bright for the darkness of this estate.
At the other end, shrouded in the shadows of the high-backed chair, sat Vane.
He was dressed in a charcoal vest over a black shirt, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that were corded with muscle and power. He didn't look up when Ren entered. He was cutting a piece of rare steak with surgical precision, the silver knife glinting in the light.
"Ren!" Julian stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the marble. He rushed over, taking Ren's uninjured hand in his. His touch was warm, but it felt like nothing compared to the phantom heat Vane had left on Ren's skin. "You look beautiful. That color... it suits you perfectly."
"Thank you, Julian," Ren whispered, his eyes involuntarily flickering toward the head of the table.
Vane finally looked up. His gaze didn't linger on Ren's face; it went straight to the silver earring. A dark, satisfied glint appeared in his eyes.
"Sit," Vane commanded. It wasn't a suggestion.
Julian pulled out the chair directly to Vane's right—the seat meant for the guest of honor, or perhaps, the most prized possession. Ren sat, feeling like a doll being placed on a shelf.
The dinner was a masterclass in psychological torture. Julian talked incessantly—about the wedding, about the charities he wanted Ren to join, about the travels they would take. He was desperate to build a "normal" life out of a nightmare.
"Father says we should have the ceremony in the private chapel on the grounds," Julian said, beaming at Ren. "Just family. What do you think, Ren?"
Ren opened his mouth to speak, but Vane interrupted before a sound could escape.
"Ren thinks whatever I tell him to think, Julian," Vane said smoothly, his voice a low vibration that made the wine in Ren's glass tremble. "Don't you, Ren?"
Ren's heart hammered. He felt Julian's confused gaze on him. Underneath the table, out of Julian's sight, Vane's hand moved. He placed his heavy, warm palm on Ren's thigh, his fingers digging slightly into the silk of the robe.
The shock of the contact made Ren gasp, his breath catching in his throat.
"Ren? Are you okay?" Julian asked, leaning forward with concern.
"I... I'm just tired," Ren choked out.
Vane's hand moved higher, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle on the sensitive skin of Ren's inner thigh. It was a blatant display of ownership, performed right in front of the man Ren was supposed to marry.
"He's overwhelmed, Julian," Vane murmured, taking a slow sip of his dark red wine, his eyes locked onto Ren's trembling ones. "It's a lot to take in. Moving from the gutter to a palace... it requires a certain level of 'adjustment.'"
"Of course," Julian said, his voice softening.
"I'm sorry, Ren. I'm rushing you. Father, thank you for bringing him here. I don't know what I would have done if anything had happened to him."
"I know exactly what you would have done," Vane said, his voice turning cold as he looked at his son. "You would have cried. You would have mourned. And you would have done nothing to save him. Because you don't have the stomach for what it takes to keep something beautiful."
Vane's hand tightened on Ren's thigh, a sharp, possessive pinch that forced Ren to bite his lip to keep from crying out.
"But I do," Vane whispered, his gaze returning to Ren. "I have the stomach for all of it."
The meal continued in a suffocating silence.
Julian looked down at his plate, cowed by his father's words, while Ren sat frozen, his body on fire where Vane touched him. He realized then that Julian wasn't his husband-to-be; Julian was a screen. A curtain.
Vane was the audience, the director, and the owner of the theater.
"Julian," Vane said as the dessert was cleared. "Go to the study. Review the guest list. I need a moment with our guest to discuss the... financial settlements."
"But Father—"
"Now, Julian."
Julian stood up, casting a lingering, worried look at Ren before bowing his head and leaving the room.
As soon as the heavy doors clicked shut, Vane didn't move his hand. He stood up, pulling Ren with him by the waist until they were chest to chest in the flickering candlelight.
"He's a boy playing at being a man," Vane growled, his hand moving up to grip Ren's chin, forcing him to look up. "He sees a husband. I see a debt that needs to be paid in full. Tell me, Little Bird... who do you see?"
Ren looked into the stormy depths of Vane's eyes and felt the last of his resistance crumble. He was terrified of this man, but he was also becoming addicted to the way Vane's gravity pulled at him.
"I see the man who owns me," Ren whispered, his voice broken.
Vane's smirk was the most dangerous thing Ren had ever seen. "Correct answer. Now, let's go to my office. We have so much more to 'settle.