Breakfast was a silent battlefield.
Ren sat at the long table, the high collar of the black turtleneck Vane had demanded feeling like a velvet noose. Every time he swallowed, the fabric rubbed against the mark on his neck—a stinging reminder of the mouth that had been there only minutes before.
Julian sat across from him, picking at a plate of eggs, his eyes shadowed with a fatigue that went deeper than a lack of sleep.
"Father," Julian said, his voice hesitant. "I was looking over the incident report from the docks this morning. The time stamps for the seizure... they don't seem to align with when the call came in."
Ren's heart stopped. He kept his eyes fixed on his coffee, the steam rising to dampen his lashes.
Vane didn't even blink. He continued to read the morning paper, the crisp snap of the pages the only sound in the room. "The docks are a chaotic environment, Julian. Paperwork is often the last thing on a foreman's mind when the police are at the gates. Do not go looking for ghosts where there are only clerical errors."
"I know, but—"
"Focus on your wife, Julian," Vane interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. He finally lowered the paper, his stormy gaze landing on Ren. "You've been married less than twenty-four hours and you're already obsessing over logistics. It's... disappointing."
Julian flinched, his face flushing a deep, shamed red. "I'm sorry, Father. You're right. I just... I want to be useful."
"Then be useful elsewhere," Vane murmured, his eyes never leaving Ren. "I have a meeting in the city. Ren will accompany me. I require his signature on the final trust documents."
"But I thought we were going to the gallery today," Julian said, looking at Ren with a wounded, hopeful expression.
"The gallery can wait," Vane stated. "The empire cannot."
The drive into the city was a suffocating experience. The privacy glass of the Maybach cut them off from the world, leaving Ren trapped in a cage of leather and Vane's overwhelming presence.
Vane didn't speak. He worked on his laptop, his large, scarred hands moving over the keys with a precision that made Ren shiver. Ren looked out the window, watching the blur of the city, his mind a chaotic storm of guilt and craving.
He is a monster, Ren thought, his fingers digging into the seat. He manipulated my father, he tricked his own son, and he marked me like an animal.
He looked at Vane's profile—the sharp, cold line of his jaw, the way his dark hair caught the light, the absolute, unshakable power he radiated.
He is dangerous, Ren whispered to himself, a silent prayer against the dark. But why do I feel like I'm falling?
It wasn't a fall into a pit; it was a fall into a fire.
Ren knew he should be repulsed. He should be plotting his escape. But every time Vane moved, every time the scent of his tobacco filled the car, Ren felt a magnetic pull so strong it made his bones ache. He didn't want the gallery. He didn't want the flowers or the kindness of Julian.
He wanted the man who saw him for exactly what he was: a beautiful, broken thing.
"You're thinking too loud, Little Bird," Vane said, not looking up from his screen.
Ren turned, his face hot. "I'm not thinking about anything."
Vane closed the laptop and turned toward him. In the dim light of the car, his eyes looked like obsidian. He reached out, his hand sliding behind Ren's neck, his thumb finding the sensitive spot right behind the silver thorn.
"You're thinking about the way you felt this morning," Vane murmured, leaning in until their foreheads touched. "You're thinking about how much you hate the fact that you enjoyed it. You're thinking that Julian's touch feels like water, but mine... mine feels like the sun."
"Stop it," Ren gasped, though he didn't pull away. He couldn't.
"The fall is the best part, Ren," Vane whispered, his lips grazing Ren's. "Stop trying to catch yourself. I'm already at the bottom, waiting to claim what's left of you."
Vane pulled him into a kiss that tasted of iron and silk, a deep, soul-consuming claim that left Ren breathless and shattered. As the car pulled up to the skyscraper that bore the Blackwood name, Ren realized the truth.
He wasn't being forced into the darkness anymore. He was walking into it with his eyes wide open, reaching for the hand of the man who had lit the fuse.