The elevator doors closed behind Elian with a sound too soft for what he felt inside—panic clawing at his ribs, his throat, his gut.
The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.
Marble floors stretched beneath his worn sneakers. A crystal chandelier glittered above like frozen stars. The windows framed the city skyline, cold and untouchable, just like the man who owned it all.
Leonhart Vale stood by the bar, pouring whiskey into a glass that cost more than Elian's rent used to be.
He didn't glance back. "Shoes off. You're on my floors now."
Elian fumbled with his laces. "Yes, sir."
Leonhart turned, glass in hand. He was still in his suit. Still perfect. Still terrifying.
"You'll sleep in the maid's room," he said. "Six a.m. wake-up. Breakfast made. My schedule printed. No mistakes. No questions."
"Yes, sir."
"And you don't leave unless I say so. You don't speak unless I ask. You don't touch what's mine."
Elian stood frozen. "...Am I a servant?"
Leonhart's smile was sharp. "Servants get days off."
Elian bit his lip. "Then what am I?"
Leonhart stepped forward. Close again. Always close. He reached out—not to touch Elian, but to tilt his chin with one gloved finger. Not forceful. Just humiliatingly light.
"You're whatever I want you to be."
Elian didn't flinch. Not this time. He couldn't afford fear anymore. He stared up at Leonhart with quiet defiance, even if his knees shook inside.
That seemed to amuse him.
"You'll last longer than the others," Leonhart said.
Others?
"But don't mistake this for mercy. I didn't bring you here because I'm kind." He downed the whiskey in one slow gulp, then leaned in close, breath warm and expensive. "I brought you here because I'm bored."
Elian whispered, "I understand."
---
Later that night, Elian found the maid's room—no windows, one pillow, too small for anyone to stand straight.
He curled on the bed like a question mark, the sheets smelling like bleach and silence.
He didn't cry.
Not because he wasn't scared.
But because he'd already used up all his tears.
---
Chapter 3 Preview:
Elian adjusts to Leonhart's twisted routine: coffee exactly how he likes it, silence at breakfast, daily humiliations.
Leonhart begins testing boundaries: clothing control, personal space invasion, veiled commands that sound harmless but aren't.
Elian keeps enduring—until one day, he talks back.