The silence on the veranda lasted only as long as it took Damian to cross it.
There was no dramatic pause. No seizing of the jaw for a tense confrontation. The first blow was a backhand that cracked across Jace's face with the force of a gunshot, snapping his head to the side. The taste of copper flooded his mouth as his lip split against his teeth.
Jace stumbled, the railing catching him in the kidneys. Before he could even cry out, a hand fisted in the front of his exquisite tuxedo shirt, hauling him upright.
"You think this is a game?" Damian's voice was a low, venomous hiss, all pretense of civility incinerated. The man from the office, from the quiet mornings, was gone. This was the man from the stories the one who broke kneecaps and buried problems in concrete. His eyes were black pits of fury. "You think you can embarrass me in my own house and walk away?"
He drove his knee up into Jace's stomach. The air exploded from Jace's lungs in a sickening wheeze. He doubled over, only to be yanked upright again by his hair.
"I made you. I took a street rat and put him in silk," Damian snarled, spittle flying. "And this is how you repay me? With a fucking PowerPoint presentation?"
He shoved Jace hard. Jace's back hit the stone wall of the veranda, the impact shuddering through his bones. He slid down, gasping, the world swimming.
Damian loomed over him, a silhouette against the city lights. He wasn't even breathing hard. "Guards."
The two men appeared instantly. "Take him to the Blackwood house. The basement cell. Strip him of that ridiculous costume. I don't want to see a single thread of anything I paid for on him."
The guards hauled Jace to his feet. He was dragged, half-conscious, through the service corridors, past startled staff who quickly averted their eyes. He was thrown into the back of an unmarked SUV.
The journey was a nauseating blur. They arrived at a grim, secluded property not a sleek safe house, but a fortress of cold stone and barred windows. The "basement cell" was exactly that a concrete room with a drain in the floor, a single bare bulb, and a thin mattress in the corner. They tore the tuxedo from him, leaving him shivering in just his underwear.
He had no concept of time. An hour? Five? The door clanged open.
Damian stood there, having changed into simple, dark clothes. In his hand was not a tablet, but a leather riding crop. He tapped it lightly against his thigh.
"Get up."
Jace, curled on the mattress, didn't move fast enough. The crop whistled through the air and landed with a sharp crack across his shoulders. Jace cried out, a raw sound of pure pain, as a line of fire bloomed on his skin.
"I said, get up."
Trembling violently, Jace pushed himself to his feet. Damian circled him like a shark.
"You wanted my attention, Jace? You have it. Undivided." He stopped in front of him. "You are no longer a companion. You are not a lover. You are a lesson. A lesson in what happens when an animal forgets who feeds it."
The crop came down again, this time across the back of his thighs. Jace stumbled, biting his tongue to keep from screaming.
"You are property that has been damaged. And I will beat the defiance out of you until you are nothing but a reminder to myself, and to anyone who ever thinks of crossing me of the cost of betrayal."
The punishment was systematic, brutal, and devoid of the cold passion of their previous encounters. This was correction. This was degradation. Each strike was measured, designed to inflict maximum pain without leaving permanent marks that would show in a photograph. Shoulders, back, thighs, the soles of his feet.
Jace lost count. He sank to his knees, then to the cold concrete, sobs wrenching through him. The triumphant fire from the gala was extinguished, drowned in a flood of agony and terror.
Finally, Damian stopped. He crouched down, grabbing a handful of Jace's hair, forcing his head up. Jace's face was streaked with tears, snot, and blood from his split lip.
"The world thinks you're a victim now," Damian whispered, his breath hot against Jace's ear. "Let them. They will never see you again to ask. From now on, you exist in here. You earn the clothes on your back. You earn your food. You earn the privilege of not being in pain. And if you ever, ever think of pulling a stunt like that again…"
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a terrifying, intimate calm.
"I won't hit you. I will bring Luca here. And I will make you watch what I do to people who help you disobey me. Do you understand?"
A new, deeper terror seized Jace. He managed a weak, frantic nod.
Damian released him, letting his head thump back onto the concrete. He stood, wiping the crop clean on a handkerchief.
"The gilded cage was a mercy you squandered," he said, looking down at the broken figure on the floor. "Welcome to your new reality. This is what 'owned' really means."
He turned and left. The heavy door clanged shut, followed by the final, deafening sound of a bolt being thrown.
Alone in the stark, brutal silence, Jace curled into a ball, every breath a agony. He had wanted to break Damian's illusion. And he had. He'd shattered it completely, revealing the iron fist that had always been inside the velvet glove.
Now, he was truly imprisoned. And the warden had just shown him the true color of his hate.