The morning sun didn't bring clarity; it brought a suffocating performance.
Julian had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, his head resting on Ren's lap as they sat on the velvet sofa in the private morning room. Ren stared out at the gray horizon, his fingers mindlessly brushing through Julian's blonde hair. To anyone else, it looked like a portrait of a devoted spouse. To Ren, it felt like he was a criminal hiding a body.
The heavy oak doors creaked open.
Ren didn't have to look up. He felt the shift in the room's temperature, the way the shadows seemed to lengthen as Vane stepped inside. Vane was dressed for the office in a three-piece suit, looking sharp, lethal, and entirely rested.
"He's exhausted," Vane said, his voice a low vibration that made Ren's heart skip. "The docks can be... taxing for someone not built for them."
"He loves you," Ren whispered, his voice trembling as he looked down at Julian's sleeping face. "He trusts you."
"And that is his greatest weakness," Vane replied. He walked toward the sofa, his footsteps silent on the rug. He didn't stop until he was standing directly over them.
Vane reached out. He didn't touch his son. Instead, he reached down and gripped Ren's chin, forcing him to look up while Julian's head remained resting on Ren's knees.
The proximity was agonizing. One stir from Julian, one opening of his eyes, and the world would end.
"The mark I left on your neck," Vane murmured, his thumb tracing the edge of Ren's jaw. "Julian saw it, didn't he?"
Ren's breath hitched. "He... he thinks I'm clumsy. He believes me."
"For now." Vane leaned down, his face inches from Ren's. The scent of his dark cologne—that intoxicating mix of tobacco and cedar—overwhelmed the smell of the lilies in the room. "But we both know you aren't clumsy, Ren. You're a masterpiece. And masterpieces deserve to be signed."
Vane's hand moved from Ren's chin to his shoulder, his fingers digging into the silk of Ren's pajama top. With agonizing slowness, he pulled the collar aside, exposing the dark, possessive mark on Ren's skin.
He didn't pull away. Instead, Vane leaned down and pressed a slow, searing kiss directly onto the bruise, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.
Ren let out a sharp, muffled gasp, his hands clenching into the fabric of the sofa. Below him, Julian shifted in his sleep, a small groan escaping his lips.
Ren froze, his eyes wide with terror, staring at Julian's closed eyelids. If he woke up now, he would see his father's head bent over his husband's neck. He would see the truth in its most carnal form.
Vane didn't flinch. He lingered, his lips lingering against Ren's pulse point, proving that he feared nothing—not his son, not the truth, and certainly not the boy he had bought.
"Stop," Ren mouthed, his eyes pleading.
Vane finally pulled back, a ghost of a predatory smirk on his lips. He straightened his tie, looking down at his son with a cold, detached pity.
"Breakfast is in ten minutes," Vane said, his voice returning to its professional, icy tone. "Wake him up. Tell him I'm proud of his 'hard work' last night. And Ren..."
Vane paused at the door, his hand on the brass handle. He didn't turn back, but his voice carried a weight that pinned Ren to the seat.
"Wear the turtleneck I sent to your room. I don't want Julian to have to work so hard to lie to himself. Not yet."
The door clicked shut.
Ren sat in the silence, his skin burning where Vane had touched him. He looked down at Julian, who was just beginning to stir, blinking his eyes open with a sleepy, innocent smile.
"Ren?" Julian murmured, reaching up to touch Ren's cheek. "Did I fall asleep? I'm sorry. I just... I feel so safe with you."
Ren felt a sob catch in his throat, a jagged piece of glass he had to swallow. He forced a smile, his fingers trembling as he tucked the collar of his pajamas back into place.
"It's okay, Julian," Ren whispered, the lie tasting like poison. "Everything is exactly the way your father wants it to be."