At Night.
Milo had just finished his shower. The warm water had helped him relax after a long day at work. Even though he was tired, he was happy.
He stepped out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind him into the bedroom. He dried himself off with a towel. He was completely naked. For thirteen years, he had gotten used to it.
To Milo, being naked was normal.
Suddenly, the door opened. Stella walked in with a stack of clean towels. She looked at Milo and let out a loud, high-pitched scream. She dropped the towels on the floor and covered her eyes with her hands.
Milo froze. His heart pounded against his ribs. He stood perfectly still, his wet skin growing cold in the air.
What? What happened?
Stella opened one eye, seeing Milo still standing there motionless.
"Put your clothes on!" Stella shouted. "Please, put something on!"
Milo, shocked, realized he was naked. This wasn't the Hartley mansion. He felt a wave of shame.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
He scrambled to the chair where his own clothes were. He pulled on the tight trousers and the white shirt he had arrived in.
"I'm done. I'm dressed," Milo said quietly.
Stella lowered her hands. Her face was bright red. She looked at Milo in disbelief.
"You scared me. Oh God..." She trailed off, taking a deep breath to calm her heart. He took the towel back and placed it on the table.
"Forgive me," Milo said.
He handed her the guest clothes Stella had lent him earlier. They were folded neatly.
Stella took the clothes. "Your master is here. Nero Hartley. He is waiting in the living room."
Milo's stomach dropped. The reality of his life came crashing back. He looked at the floor.
Stella saw the sudden change in Milo's face. He looked sad.
"Are you okay?" Stella asked. She stepped closer, her voice soft.
Milo looked at her and forced a small smile. "Yes. I'm fine. Thank you for your kindness. I will remember it."
Stella smiled back, though she looked worried. "Don't worry. It was just my job. You helped us a lot today. Maybe you can come back and help again sometime."
Milo didn't answer. He knew he was never coming back. He hoped that Nero would be satisfied with the information that Salvatore was healthy. He hoped he wouldn't get another hit.
Milo walked through the hallway with his head bowed, not ready to leave. He reached the living room and stopped at the entrance. Nero was sitting on a sofa, a wide, confident smirk on his face. Salvatore sat across from him. The air in the room was thick with tension.
When Milo entered, both men stopped talking.
"Hi, Milo!" Nero greeted him happily. He motioned for Milo to come closer.
Milo complied. He walked closer.
Salvatore looked at Milo. He saw the way the young man's shoulders hunched and how his hands were shaking. He saw the pure terror behind his eyes.
"He is very good," Salvatore said suddenly. He meant it in reference to Milo's work skills.
Nero took it differently. "Of course he was."
Salvatore kept his eyes on Milo. "He can stay a bit longer if he wants."
It was a hint. Salvatore was giving Milo an opening. If Milo said he wanted to stay, Salvatore would keep him. Milo looked at Salvatore. His heart leaped with sudden, desperate hope. Could he really stay here?
Nero saw that spark of hope in Milo's eyes. His smirk twitched. He leaned forward, his golden eyes locking onto Milo.
"Thank you, Salvatore," Nero said. His voice was smooth as honey, but it felt like a threat. "But Milo never stays out of the house for long. I'm sure he missed me. He gets very lonely without me."
Milo looked at the floor. He swallowed hard.
Salvatore narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure he missed you? He looked quite depressed to see you."
Nero remained calm, but he didn't look at Salvatore anymore. He focused entirely on Milo. He didn't speak, but he gave Milo the look. It was a threatening look. It was the look that told Milo exactly what would happen if he embarrassed Nero in front of people.
Milo felt a wave of panic. His heart was pounding wildly.
"As I said," Salvatore repeated, his voice firm. "If he wants to stay here, I will let him. Milo? What do you want?"
Milo's fingers dug into the palms of his hands. He felt the sweat on his forehead. He wanted to scream that he wanted to stay. He wanted to beg Salvatore to hide him. But he was paralyzed.
Nero stood up. He walked over to Milo and placed a hand on his chin. He squeezed just hard enough to hurt.
"Salvatore, you don't know my Milo. He is a very loyal boy. He wouldn't want to leave me. Right, Milo?"
Milo's heart was beating so fast he felt dizzy. He looked at Salvatore. Salvatore was waiting for him to be brave. But then he looked at Nero. He saw the cold, golden eyes.
Nero's touch and voice sparked a sense of familiarity within him, something that made him kneel down immediately.
His mind was racing and in agony. If he stayed here, and Salvatore changed his mind later, he would have nowhere to go, and then Nero would beat him to death.
"Milo?" Nero's voice dropped an octave. It was the tone of an owner calling a dog.
Milo's body gave out. The years of trauma, the fear, the invisible chains wrapped around his mind, it was all too much. He couldn't resist the pull of Nero's control.
Slowly… helplessly… he dropped to his knees.
Right there, between the two powerful men. His fingers trembled against the floor.
Salvatore was still watching. Waiting.
Milo's lips parted. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.
He wanted to speak.
He wanted to say stay.
He wanted to beg.
But then, Nero's hand tightened on his chin. The silent threat. The familiar fear.
It crushed everything.
Milo lowered his head. "I…" his voice broke.
He looked at Nero's shoes. "I... will come back with you."
Silence filled the room.
And just like that… the door to his freedom closed.