Elian paced the length of his apartment—if it could even be called that. The cheap studio smelled like mold and fried oil from the food stall downstairs. The ceiling leaked when it rained, the water stains on the walls like bruises. He used to wake up wrapped in silk sheets. Now, he curled up on discount bedding with holes in it.
All the money was gone.
All of it.
The contract with Leonhart had bought him freedom—but freedom was expensive when you didn't plan to work and tried to maintain a lifestyle you hadn't earned. Lavish nights, spontaneous trips, and clothing he could never afford again. It had all gone up in smoke.
Elian stared at the cracked mirror above the sink. His reflection smirked at him. Bitter. Sharp.
"You were never meant to live like this," he muttered to himself.
He remembered how easy it used to be—how Leonhart's eyes always flicked down when Elian touched his collar, how power bent beneath charm, how the cold man let himself be softened because Elian knew how to make him need.
But Leonhart had changed.
Cold before—yes. But now colder. Clearer. That moment in the penthouse, when he threw Elian out without flinching, had bruised more than Elian would admit.
And the boy. Kevin.
Smiling like a fool. The type who looked like he believed in love. The kind who brought warmth and mess and honesty—everything Elian had learned to survive without.
Still, Elian wasn't done yet.
He picked up his phone, opened an old folder of photos—ones from their contract days. Some were candid, some were staged. But all of them showed Leonhart looking at him with something real.
He smirked.
He still had tools.
---
At that same moment, across town, Leonhart sat in the backseat of his car, scrolling through a message Kevin had sent earlier. A blurry picture of a cupcake with the caption:
> "It exploded in the oven. It now has a soul and wants revenge."
He chuckled, the sound strange in his own throat.
Then a message popped up from an unknown number.
"Miss me yet?"
Attached: a photo of Elian, lying in Leonhart's old bed, shirtless, biting down on a silk tie.
Leonhart's smile vanished.
The past was clawing its way back in.
---