"You think this is about sickness?" Caesar tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Let me remind you what you did."
And then his voice dropped even lower — almost a whisper, but each word like thunder.
"You destroyed Seraphim. You brought down an entire operation I built from nothing. You didn't just blow up a mansion — you burned a legacy. My legacy."
"And I will do it again" Eun-jae growled.
"And now I'm doing mine," Caesar hissed. "This is your punishment, darling. You'll stay here — with me — until I decide I'm done with you. And then I'll kill you. Maybe slowly. Maybe fast. But either way, your body? It'll be dumped like garbage, and no one will ever find it."
Eun-jae's vision blurred with rage. His hands curled into fists. His chest burned like it would rip open from the force of his heartbreak.
"I WILL FIND A WAY OUT OF THIS FUCKING PLACE!" he screamed. "And when I do — I swear on everything I've got left — I'll make sure you pay for every bruise, every scar, every damn thing you've done to me. I'll destroy you, Caesar. Even if it's the last thing I do."
For a second, neither of them moved.
And then Caesar — the bastard — laughed.
Not loud. Not mocking. But soft and dangerous.
He looked down at Eun-jae, and his lips curled into that signature smirk — the one that meant he was two steps ahead and didn't care how much you hated him for it.
"Good luck," he whispered.
And then he walked away, hands in his pockets like he hadn't just promised death and ruin in the same breath.
Eun-jae stood alone in the kitchen, breathing hard, staring at the broken glass.
And even as his eyes burned and his body trembled with rage...
He was already planning his escape.
Meanwhile, deep inside the grand Romanov mansion — past gold-gilded corridors and polished marble floors — Octavian's bedroom door was shut firmly, muffling the soft gasps and muffled laughter coming from within.
The room was dim, lit only by the warm, golden glow of a chandelier above and the flickering fire in the hearth. Outside, the world was frozen under moonlight. But in here? It was heat, breath, hands, mouths — and a little too much expensive wine.
Nikolai had Octavian pressed against the wall, their lips fused like they'd been starving for this moment for years. Their kisses weren't gentle anymore. They were hungry. Wild. Full of quiet need and low moans tangled in between breaths. Octavian's shirt was halfway unbuttoned, collar tugged down, the exposed skin of his neck pink from Nikolai's kisses. He was flushed, his hair tousled, pupils blown wide.
And most shockingly of all — Octavian was smiling.
"I didn't know you were this smooth with your words," Octavian murmured breathlessly against Nikolai's lips, voice low and thick with tipsy amusement.
"You really know how to make a man go crazy."
Nikolai's lips curved into a sinful grin. "Mmm, and you really know how to take your time giving in," he teased, sliding his arms tighter around Octavian's waist, fingers brushing the skin under his shirt.
"Mhhmm," Octavian moaned softly, lips parting again for another kiss. His usual cold demeanor had melted into something softer, hazier. The alcohol had stripped away the stiff prince's formality, revealing a man who could laugh. Who could lean in with half-lidded eyes and giggle when kissed too hard.
And then — suddenly — Octavian let out a small gasp as Nikolai, with barely any effort, swooped him right off his feet.
Eyes wide, Octavian clutched Nikolai's shoulders, his legs instinctively wrapping slightly around him for balance. "Nikolai!" he gasped. "Am I not too heavy?!"
Nikolai laughed — that smooth, cocky kind of laugh that made hearts do backflips. "Too heavy?" he echoed, grinning up at the man in his arms. "Future husband, you're perfect. I should carry you like this every morning, every night, and maybe to every meeting if I get bored."
Octavian looked absolutely scandalized. And flustered. And red.
But Nikolai didn't give him time to retort.
He kissed him again — slow and deep — before walking them toward the massive bed, the silk sheets already slightly rumpled from earlier. He placed Octavian down with such care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle.
It was feral.
Predatory. Hungry.
Nikolai hovered above him, eyes dark with desire, his hands planted on either side of Octavian's head. His gaze roamed slowly, drinking in the flushed cheeks, the parted lips, the nervous flutter in Octavian's throat.
Octavian blinked up at him. "...What?"
Nikolai smirked.
"Nothing. Just can't believe a man as devastatingly gorgeous as you is still a virgin."
Octavian flushed deeper — half from embarrassment, half from heat. "Don't say it like that."
"Say it like what?" Nikolai teased, tilting his head innocently. "Like it's the hottest thing I've ever heard?"
And then — without warning — he reached down and ripped open Octavian's shirt in one smooth, practiced motion.
Buttons flew.
Fabric tore.
"Yipeeeee!" Nikolai shouted like a damn lunatic, kissing Octavian's collarbone and chest with playful, messy affection.
Octavian burst into laughter — the sound unfiltered, warm, and contagious. "What the hell was that sound you just made?!" he said through giggles, trying to push Nikolai away.
"Victory cry!" Nikolai declared proudly, ignoring the resistance and burying his face into Octavian's skin, planting a trail of dramatic, exaggerated kisses all over his chest. "Because I got you right where I want you, shirtless, blushing, mine."
"You're insane," Octavian wheezed, still laughing, trying to wriggle away as Nikolai blew a raspberry just below his ribs, which made him squeal and squirm.
"I'm your insane," Nikolai said with a wink, catching Octavian's wrists and pinning them gently above his head. "Say it."
"No—" Octavian gasped.
"Say it."
"Fine! You're my insane!" he cried out, laughing harder.
"Damn right I am." Nikolai leaned in close again, this time with his voice dropping low. "And you're mine, Octavian. All of you. Every sweet, untouchable, kissable inch."
The teasing dropped into something heavier, deeper. His fingers dragged slowly down Octavian's arms, sending chills everywhere they touched. The silence grew weighted, like the room was holding its breath just like Octavian was.
They stared at each other.
Not just lust — but something else flickering underneath.
"So, how 'bout you let me take that virginity and make sure the royal bloodline stays spicy?"
"NIKOLAI—!"
And with that, Octavian pulled a pillow over his own face, half-mortified, half-laughing — but not saying no.
Days had crawled by since Eun-jae was locked in that gilded prison Caesar called a mansion. Despite the marble floors and vaulted ceilings, despite the chandelier-lit halls and priceless art staring down at him like silent judges — it felt like a coffin. Every second ticked like a scream in his brain, his freedom strangled by velvet ropes and Caesar's twisted, smug version of hospitality.
Eun-jae was pacing the corridor in irritation, trailing his fingers along the wallpaper out of boredom and spite — when a familiar name froze him mid-step.
Yevgeni Kuznetsov.
His breath hitched. "That name..." he blinked, trying to process the sound as it echoed in his head. "No. That can't be—"
His heart rate spiked. "That's my dad's name."
Without a second thought, Eun-jae stormed toward the study, yanked the heavy oak doors open with a dramatic swing, and walked right in like he owned the damn place.
"Seriously? You're digging into my past now?" he said, arms crossed, chin up, eyes burning with defiance.
Caesar didn't even look startled. He was lounging in that leather chair behind his ridiculously massive desk, phone pressed to his ear, legs crossed like he was royalty.
"Ya pozvonyu tebe pozzhe, dnyom," Caesar said smoothly into the phone, voice calm, even lazy. Then he clicked it off and finally looked up, amused as hell.
Eun-jae's nostrils flared. "Let my father rest in peace. Don't touch his name. Don't even say it," he snapped. "Why the hell are you mentioning him?"
Caesar's eyes gleamed with something dangerous, like a cat toying with a bird. He stood up slowly, each movement oozing controlled power.
"Your father is Yevgeni Kuznetsov?" Caesar asked, tilting his head, mocking curiosity in his voice.
"Yes," Eun-jae said sharply. "Duh? I was still in my mom's stomach when he went off on a mission and never came back. He died."
There was a pause. Then Caesar snorted.
He laughed — the kind of laugh that made Eun-jae's blood boil, because it wasn't joyful. It was cruel. Entertained. Mocking.
"No wonder," Caesar said, tapping his chin. "The first time I saw you, I thought… damn, he looks familiar. But I didn't expect this." He chuckled again, the sound dark and twisted. "Wow. What a small, ironic little world. I've got his son locked up in my house."
Eun-jae narrowed his eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Caesar walked around the desk, then pulled out a slim black folder from the drawer. He flipped it open with flair and held out several glossy photographs. His smile was almost childlike in its mischief.
"Who said your father was dead?" Caesar asked sweetly. "Your daddy dearest is very much alive. In fact, he's doing great — thriving, even."
Eun-jae blinked, mouth slightly open as he stared at the photographs.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at the center of every image. The same sharp jawline. The same nose. His presence was powerful, and his eyes — those eyes — were hauntingly familiar. Cold. Piercing. Almost… like looking into a mirror.
Eun-jae felt something twist violently in his stomach. "No," he whispered. "That can't be. That's not him. That's—That's not possible."
"Oh?" Caesar raised a brow, lips twitching. "You don't even recognize your own father's face?"
Eun-jae looked back down at the pictures like they might burn through his hands. "My mom told me he died. She told me he went on a mission and never came back. That's what she believed. That's what I—"
"Sweetheart," Caesar interrupted, voice syrupy with condescension. "Your father isn't some noble agent who died serving the country. He's not a tragic hero. He's not dead. He's not even missing."
Caesar leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, right by Eun-jae's ear.
"Your father is the head of the Kuznetsov Syndicate."
Eun-jae's eyes widened in horror.
"He's mafia," Caesar finished with a smirk. "One of the most ruthless in Russia. And guess what? He's my rival. Your daddy and I? We've been trying to kill each other for years."
Eun-jae's throat went dry. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Caesar raised a brow. "You think I went through all this trouble to kidnap a brat with a pretty face and a bad attitude just for revenge?"
"You—" Eun-jae shook his head, clenching his fists. "You're messing with me. This is some twisted mind game. I'm not buying it."
Caesar reached out and lightly tapped Eun-jae's temple with a single finger.
"Oh, baby boy," he whispered, almost affectionately. "You're already drowning in the truth. You just don't want to see it."
Eun-jae swatted his hand away with a glare. "Don't touch me."
"Feisty." Caesar's grin widened. "Guess that runs in the bloodline too."
Eun-jae backed away, still clutching the photos like they were cursed. His heart was thundering in his chest, a war between denial and realization playing out across his face.
"I don't care who he is," Eun-jae snapped finally. "He left us. He left me. Whatever he is now has nothing to do with me."
"Are you sure about that?" Caesar whispered. "Because if he finds out you're here… well, I wonder what he'll do. Will he come for you?" He stepped closer. "Or will he sacrifice you like a pawn — just like he did the first time?"
Eun-jae's breath hitched.
And Caesar smiled.
Got him.
Eun-jae leaned on the edge of the desk like the weight of the truth had just slammed into his chest. His knuckles turned white against the polished wood, his breathing shallow and uneven. His mind was a swirling storm of memories, betrayal, and disbelief. His whole life — the story his mother told him, the father he mourned — it was all built on a lie. A cruel, perfectly crafted lie.
His mind was racing. Screaming. No. No. No. His dad wasn't supposed to be alive. He wasn't supposed to be a mafia kingpin.
Behind him, Caesar watched. Not like a man who felt guilty or empathetic. No. Caesar watched with entertainment in his eyes, like this was a movie he'd seen a hundred times but never got tired of — watching people break.
He moved quietly, the soft rustle of his coat and the click of his boots the only sound in the room as he approached from behind. He didn't speak. Not at first. He just reached out — slow, deliberate — and let his hands settle low on Eun-jae's hips.
Eun-jae tensed immediately, shoulders drawing up like a startled cat. "Don't touch me," he muttered, voice low but shaky.
Caesar ignored him.
His palms, firm and warm, began to drag upward. From the curve of Eun-jae's hips, up the sides of his torso, grazing over fabric until they landed on his tense shoulders.
His thumbs pressed into the knots of stress there, beginning to knead in slow, deliberate circles.
Eun-jae didn't move. He was too stunned, too emotionally fried, too caught between slapping Caesar and collapsing onto the floor.
"What kind of father does that, hmm?" Caesar murmured, his voice low — almost gentle, but laced with venom just beneath the surface. "Leaves behind a beautiful wife… a child in her belly… and slithers back to Russia like none of it mattered."
His thumbs moved expertly over Eun-jae's muscles, teasing out tension with the precision of someone who knew bodies. But it wasn't about comfort. It was about control.
"You know what I think?" Caesar said softly, lips now dangerously close to Eun-jae's ear. "I think he never planned on coming back."
Eun-jae's jaw clenched. His voice came out cold, sharp. "Shut the fuck up."
But Caesar just chuckled, low and pleased. "Aww, don't be like that. I'm just telling you the truth. Isn't that what you wanted, sweetheart?"
Eun-jae whipped around, shoving Caesar's hands off with a scowl. "You don't get to call me that."
But Caesar didn't flinch. He just leaned back slightly, smirking with those pale blue eyes that never stopped watching. "Why not? It suits you."
"Ugh, you're insufferable," Eun-jae snapped, crossing his arms tightly. "I'd rather listen to a mosquito lecture me than hear your voice."
Caesar only smiled wider, clearly enjoying every second of this back-and-forth. "Still got that fire in you, huh?" he said. "Good. I was worried that little revelation might break you."
Eun-jae glared, his voice tight with emotion. "You think you can just mess with people's lives for fun?"
"I don't think, darling." Caesar leaned in again, his breath brushing against Eun-jae's skin like silk and heat. "I know."
Eun-jae took a shaky step back, his mind racing. "You think you're so clever. But you're just another egomaniac with mommy issues and too much power."
Caesar's eyes darkened for a split second — a crack in the charm. But then he chuckled.
"Touché," he whispered. "But let's not forget — your daddy? He left you behind. I'm the one here now. Feeding you. Keeping you safe. Touching you just right when your whole world is falling apart."
His fingers ghosted over Eun-jae's arm again, feather-light.
Eun-jae smacked them away.
"Don't act like you care."
Caesar tilted his head, fake-pouting. "Oh, baby… I don't. But I do enjoy watching you squirm."
Eun-jae hated how his heart thudded, how his body still buzzed where Caesar had touched him. It wasn't attraction. It was manipulation. But damn if it didn't confuse the hell out of him.
"You're sick," he said flatly.
Caesar smirked again. "And you're delicious when you're angry."
He turned and strolled casually back toward the desk, adjusting his cuffs like they'd just finished a pleasant conversation over tea.
"So," he said, spinning one of the photographs in his fingers, "what now? Do you want to see him? Your father?"
Eun-jae's eyes narrowed.
"Or maybe," Caesar purred, "you'd rather forget the truth and go back to playing the orphaned prince. Hmm?"
Eun-jae didn't answer. His silence was loud, chaotic, and Caesar — devil that he was — let it hang in the air, satisfied.