⚠️ The story includes themes of BDSM, violence, and public humiliation throughout the chapters.
***
After everything that had happened, being forced to stand naked in front of a room full of people was no longer the thing Milo Hartley feared most.
Milo felt the air brushing against his skin. He held his breath every time his penis twitched and stiffened. But he couldn't move. He mustn't move.
His stomach tensed as he stayed in his position on all fours on the floor. His palms and knees pressed against the cold surface.
His focus was not on his hands and feet, or his state of complete nudity, but on the weight on his back.
Milo lowered his head, knowing he must not lift it even though the laughter around him made his blood boil.
"He can hold still this long? It's been over two hours," said one of them. Milo didn't know anyone in the room. He only knew one person, the one who was currently placing his booted foot on his back.
And that man was now chuckling smugly. "He's more afraid of my belt, right, Milo?"
Milo held his breath. His hands and feet began to tremble, but he tried hard to control it. He focused on answering the man. "Yes, Nero."
Nero chuckled, and the conversation around him continued as if Milo were just a piece of furniture in the room. A living table trying hard to remain still.
Milo felt his stomach tighten. His face began to turn pale. He was exhausted. His hands were shaking.
Nero knew it and was fully aware of it. Precisely because of that, he pressed his foot harder onto Milo's back, putting more weight on him.
Milo pressed his lips tightly together, closed his eyes, and held on as long as he could—until his hands started to cramp.
And he moved slightly, supporting the weight with his other hand.
Nero felt his foot move. He snorted.
Milo held his breath. He knew what was coming. It didn't take long before he felt his body being thrown to the side.
He groaned as he felt the kick to his stomach. But he couldn't afford to waste time lying there. He quickly crawled back to his original position. Stay still.
This time his body trembled even more.
"I'm sorry..." Milo whispered. "I'm really sorry..."
He didn't dare lift his head, but he heard what Nero was doing. And that familiar sound was enough to make him tense up.
The sound of the belt was so soft, yet it sounded so terrifying. Milo trembled as he grabbed Nero's leg, hugging it as if his life depended on it.
"I'm sorry... please, I'm sorry..."
Milo trembled violently, closing his eyes as Nero stood up, kicked him down, and raised the belt in his hand.
He closed his eyes, raised his hands to protect himself, and without realizing it, bit his own lip.
Milo held his breath. For a long time. It seemed like an eternity—until he couldn't feel the air in his lungs. Until he felt suffocated.
Very suffocated.
"Ah..." Milo opened his eyes. He was gasping for breath. His eyes were wide. Sweat drenched his body.
He looked around, searching for Nero.
But he was alone. In a small room.
Milo took several deep breaths, calming his racing heart.
A nightmare. A very bad one.
Milo grabbed the water bottle on the floor next to the mattress and gulped it down like a man dying of thirst in the desert. He wiped his sweaty forehead.
He put the bottle down and lay back down.
"Damn... that fucking nightmare," he whispered.
It wasn't a normal dream; what happened in his dream was exactly what he experienced every day. The terror and fear happened daily.
He just couldn't believe it. It had been two days since he had heard Nero's voice. He couldn't believe how peaceful it was.
Milo lay on a thin, stained mattress in a room that was barely large enough to hold it. The space was tiny and smelled like a clogged drain and old rot.
To anyone else, it was a hole in the wall in a forgotten part of the city. To Milo, it was the first place in thirteen years where the air didn't feel suffocating.
Real freedom.
He stared at the cracked ceiling and tried to close his eyes.
He wanted to sleep again.
He wanted to forget the nightmare. But his brain would not let him rest. Instead, it dragged him back to the day his life ended.
Milo was seven years old when his uncle drove him to the Hartley estate. His parents had just died in an accident. His father had died exactly twenty-four hours after Milo had asked him why there was a number "1" on his chest.
His uncle called him a curse. His uncle called him a monster.
He remembered standing in the living room of the Hartley mansion, clutching a small bag of clothes. He was alone and cold.
A twelve-year-old boy stood in front of him. The boy was tall for his age, with dark hair and eyes that looked at Milo as if he were a bug under glass.
The boy's name was Michael Hartley, but he told everyone to call him Nero.
"I asked my father to buy you," Nero said. His voice was cold even then. "If he hadn't, you would be a beggar on the street. That means you are my slave now."
Seven-year-old Milo had spent the whole day crying after losing his parents. Then he was scared and shaking so hard his teeth clicked together.
He didn't understand what a slave was, but he understood the look in Nero's eyes.
There were several grown men standing behind Nero, whom Milo later realized were Hartley guards. Their presence made the room feel smaller.
Then Nero gave his first command.
"Since you are my slave, you have to do whatever I tell you," the twelve-year-old boy said. "Now, take off all your clothes. You will not be using them anymore."
Milo was too paralyzed by fear to say no. He did what he was told. He spent his first night in that house standing in the middle of the living room, exposed and shivering, until he was so exhausted he could barely stand.
Eventually, Andro Hartley, Nero's father, walked into the room and told a servant to throw Milo into a small room in the servants' quarters.
Milo thought that was the end of the nightmare. He was wrong.
As they grew older, Nero's obsession became a physical weight. Nero treated Milo like a toy he wanted to break.
Over thirteen years, the humiliation became routine. Nero forced Milo to remain unclothed whenever he was in Nero's private room. He forced Milo to stand in corners or sit at his feet while he hosted parties for his friends.
Milo's sense of shame had died a long time ago.
If he refused, the punishment was worse. Nero would take him into a private room where no one could see. Only the servants heard the sounds that came from behind that door.
Sometimes Milo could not get out of bed for days after those sessions. But even then, Nero would not let him rest. If Nero called, Milo had to crawl to him, even if he felt like he was dying.
He had tried to run away many times. Each time he was caught. Each time the skin on his back was shredded as a reminder of who owned him.
This time, Milo had planned everything perfectly. He told no one. He didn't go to the police—he had learned. He had traveled to this remote, disgusting room, hoping the darkness would hide him.
Milo took a deep breath. His body was tense, but for a second he allowed himself to think he had made it.
Then the door to the small room was knocked on.
Milo immediately trembled. Bad thoughts instantly flooded his mind. He crawled backward until he was pressed against the wall.
A few moments later, the door opened, and Milo was ready with the bag in his hand to throw it.
But his alertness vanished when he saw Jojo. The brown-skinned, black-haired man smiled, revealing teeth yellowed by cigarettes.
"Hey, you haven't eaten all day. Let's get some food!" the man said.
Milo took a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs. He hadn't eaten since morning. But he was too afraid to go out.
Jojo forced him to get up. "You have to eat something."
After thinking for a long time, Milo finally nodded. Jojo had done him a big favor by helping him get this room. He had met the man on the night train.
He was lucky that the man had an acquaintance who would let him stay the night far from the city. They rode the bus for over an hour to get to the area.
"Wait," said Milo when he couldn't find his wallet. He immediately panicked.
Jojo moved closer. "What happened?"
Milo stared at Jojo with a horrified look. "My wallet..." His voice caught in his throat.
Jojo took Milo's bag and removed all of its contents. The wallet Milo was referring to was not there.
Milo trembled. He had just used that money to pay for the place. Where did he put it?
"I'm sure it's somewhere else in the room," said Jojo, even though the room barely had enough space for it.
Jojo patted Milo on the shoulder. "Don't worry, use my money. Come on! I'm hungry!"
Milo gave up. He had to find his wallet because that was all the money he had. He walked out following Jojo.
"There's a small store on the corner. It's a bit expensive, but they have everything," Jojo explained.
Milo didn't answer. His mind was still in turmoil. He couldn't think of anything except what he would do if he had lost his wallet.
"Wait here," Jojo suddenly said when they were under a tree across from the store.
"I'll get you food. Just wait here," Jojo said again.
Milo was confused about why he didn't just go with him. But he obeyed.
He didn't know what time it was, but it was very dark around them. During the day, the area was quiet, but at night it was even more eerie.
Milo stared at the tree branches above him. The tree was leafy and large. It looked old. Then he looked at Jojo, who had entered the store. He had to pay the man. He had to find a job soon.
It seemed like he waited a very long time. Jojo didn't come out. He was about to go after him when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned around.
Then he saw him. His eyes widened.
His heart hammered against his ribs. A man stood behind him.
It was Sean, Nero's most trusted guard.