..
Under the shower, the Master helped him clean, his palms moving with a ghost-like lightness over Win's skin. It was as if he were exploring every inch of a long-lost treasure, his gaze lingering with a hunger that bordered on worship. The steam curled around them, masking the world outside. He pulled the man into a tight embrace, the sound of the water drummed against their skin as he leaned in to whisper, "Don't you dare smile like that at anyone else, or I will punish you."
"Are you jealous?" Win asked, his voice a fragile thread barely audible over the spray.
"Yes," the Master admitted, his voice thick with a dark, honest truth. "Very jealous."
Under the warmth of the shower, Mark began to worship him. He kissed Win's lips and cheeks, his touch moving down to the pulse point of his neck. They were completely wrapped up in each other. Mark picked him up, Win's legs locking around his waist. He pressed Win slightly against the slick, tiled wall, nibbling at his neck and chest. The desire Mark had harbored for this man his entire life was an inferno that couldn't be quenched in a single day.
"Kitty..... Baby, you are truly the best dessert," Mark murmured, his lips grazing the skin. "So sweet."
"Aaghhhh... And you are good... at eating.. dessert," Win moaned, burying his face in Mark's neck. The pleasure was ultimate, but the emotional weight was even greater. To Win, being held by the man the world called him the master—knowing this tenderness was reserved for him alone—was the true dream come true.
Eventually, the lingering pain in Win's waist made his head swim. He surrendered entirely, closing his eyes and letting his weight fall against Mark's sturdy shoulder. The Master held him with iron-clad strength, his large hands supporting Win's spine with a gentleness that ensured he wouldn't feel a single spark of unnecessary pain.
The Master's temperament had never been soft; to the world, he was a domineering force of nature. But here, in the steam and silence, he knelt in vulnerability. During the eternity they were apart, living had felt like a slow suffocation. He had only breathed for the hope of this reunion—like arid soil waiting for the first drop of rain.
Once the shower was over and the water clicked off, the sudden silence was heavy. Mark carried Win into the bedroom like a precious, fragile baby. He dried Win's body with the softest towel, terrified that even a light breeze might bruise that pale, porcelain skin. He helped him into a silk robe and dried his hair before tucking him into the cool, crisp sheets.
After taking a quick bath and changing his clothes, Mark returned to lay beside him. To the Master, Win was a cherished idol.
He sent a silent message to the head maid: Deliver risotto and the doctor's medicines to the door. Do not knock. Leave quietly.
He watched him with such depth and esteem that his eyes didn't blink even once, memorizing every lash and every breath, as if terrified that if he looked away, the man might vanish again.
..
A soft, single knock fractured the silence of the room. Mark moved with a hushed urgency, opening the door just wide enough to take the tray from the maid. The silver rattled slightly in his grip—a rare sign of the tremor in his hands.
On the tray sat two glass jars, clinical and cold. One was meant for the silver, faded ghosts of the past—the scars that had long since healed but still told a story of suffering. The other was for the raw, angry wounds that hadn't yet closed, the marks of a more recent cruelty.
Mark set the tray down with a heavy heart. He looked at the jars and then at Win, realizing that his life's work was no longer about building empires or hunting enemies. It was about this: carefully opening these jars to soothe the map of pain he had finally vowed to protect.
Mark wanted Win to rest, so he moved like a ghost. He carefully loosened the silk robe, exposing Win's stomach. The hands that never hesitated—hands that had pulled triggers and built a financial empire—trembled as he dipped his fingers into the cool cream. Suddenly, Mark's vision blurred. His chest felt tight, the air in the room suddenly too thin to breathe. A crushing weight of guilt settled in his heart, heavier than any business deal he'd ever brokered.
..
The icy touch of the ointment woke Win. He blinked, his eyes settling on Mark's bowed head and shaking hands. Win slowly sat up, pulling his robe closer, his heart aching at the sight of the powerful man before him looking so broken.
"Are you sad? Why are you crying?" Win whispered.
Mark didn't answer. He couldn't find a voice through the lump in his throat.
"Won't you tell me?" Win persisted, reaching out to touch Mark's damp cheek.
Suddenly, the Master surged forward, pulling Win into a fierce, desperate embrace. He buried his face in Win's chest, hiding his tears. Mark gritted his teeth against the unbearable agony in his soul. All his life, he had been a stone, but the torment of knowing he wasn't there to stop these scars from forming was finally shattering him. He felt a murderous heat behind his eyes; he wanted to destroy every person who had ever made Win bleed.
Win reached up, his fingers tracing slow, soothing circles across the broad expanse of Mark's back. He felt the tension finally bleeding out of the man's heavy frame. "You've only just grown up," Win whispered, the realization hitting him like a soft wave—beneath the lethal "Master" facade was simply a man who had been holding his breath for thirteen years, waiting for the permission to feel.
"Umm... let me hold you for a while," Mark rasped, his voice sounding raw and unanchored, as if the weight of the world was finally too much to carry alone.
"Okay..." Win murmured, pulling him closer.
Mark moved with a focus that was both clinical and desperate. He worked through the two glass jars with a ritualistic care, his massive, calloused fingers becoming impossibly light as they dipped into the ointments. He treated the "ghosts" of the past and the "raw" wounds of the present with a reverent touch, as if each stroke of his hand was a vow of protection. Only after he was certain that every inch of Win's skin was cared for did the Master allow the world to resume. They ate lunch in a quiet, domestic peace—the air finally clear of the ghosts that had haunted them since morning.
"Mr. Mark," Win said tentatively, the sound of his voice cutting through the quiet, rhythmic clink of silverware. "I want to go to the university tomorrow."
Mark froze. His fork hovered mid-air, and the domestic warmth of the lunch table suddenly turned cold. He remained silent, his gaze fixed on his plate as a familiar shadow of jealousy darkened his eyes.
"Why aren't you replying?" Win pushed gently.
Mark didn't look up, his jaw tightening into a hard, stubborn line. "Will you meet Justin there?"
The insecurity in his voice was a jarring contrast to his massive frame. Win smiled—a soft, knowing expression—and reached across the table to squeeze Mark's hand. The warmth of the touch seemed to ground the Master. "Don't be jealous. He is just a friend, Mark. Nothing more."
"Okay," Mark conceded, though his voice remained thick with possessive intent. "But I will drop you off at the gates myself. And I will be there the moment your classes end. No exceptions."
Win tilted his head, a playful concern in his eyes. "But your work? You're a CEO... aren't you busy?"
"No," Mark lied. He thought of the mountain of shipping manifests, the board meetings, and the "loose ends" waiting for his iron fist, and he dismissed them all in a single heartbeat. To him, the entire empire was a secondary thought compared to the safety of the man sitting across from him. "I am not busy at all."
"As you wish," Win whispered, conceding to the Master's protective shadow.
..
"Win brother! Win brother! Open the door!" Meera's voice chirped from the hallway.
Mark went to open the door, with Win following slowly behind. Win moved with a slight wince, one hand supporting his aching waist where the dull throb of the afternoon's intensity still lingered. When he saw Meera and David standing there with arms full of shopping bags, Win reached down to pick the little girl up. However, Mark moved faster, snatching Meera into his own arms before Win could strain himself.
"Didn't you just apply your medicine?" Mark scolded gently, his bloodshot eyes showing a rare, soft concern.
David handed several heavy shopping bags to Win with a warm, supportive smile and began to walk away. "David uncle!" Meera shouted. David turned back immediately. She wriggled out of Mark's arms, landed on her feet, and carefully chose two bags from Win's hands.
"These are for you and Daniel uncle," she said proudly, holding them out. "I bought cookies and toys for you, too."
David's expression melted into pure adoration. He bent down and pinched her cheeks softly. "Thank you, Meera," he said. She smiled so brightly she looked like a porcelain doll; David's light pinch left a cute, rosy glow on her cheeks.
As David prepared to leave, he signaled to the two guards stationed at the door. "There is no need to guard this room anymore."
..
The guards had been a secret measure taken by David and Daniel during the years Mark was desperately searching for Win. Back then, Mark had been consumed by a frantic, self-destructive rage. He had neglected his health, forgotten to eat, and refused to rest. His brothers had been forced to trick him with sleeping pills and appoint these guards just to ensure he didn't collapse from exhaustion. Now, seeing Mark calm and focused on Win, David knew the danger had passed.
The guards bowed to the Master and David before walking away. "I am heading to the office now," David said.
"Okay," Mark nodded, his voice calmer and steadier than it had been in years.
Mark closed the door, the click of the lock finally sounding like peace rather than a threat. Meera scrambled onto the sofa, patting the cushion and urging Win to join her with all the bags. Win sat beside her, and she began to excitedly reveal her treasures: piles of chocolates, soft plushies, and colorful storybooks.
She reached into a bag and handed a small gift to Mark. "Brother... this is for you."
Mark opened it to find a brown cat plushie holding a white plumeria flower. A genuine, rare smile broke across his face as he looked at the toy. For a man who handled cold steel and hard currency, the soft plushie was a strange, beautiful gift. Seeing his happiness made Meera's own smile grow even wider.
She then gave another bag to Win. He opened it to find a matching plushie—a white cat holding a plumeria. Win hugged the toy and smiled warmly. "Thank you, Meera... it's very beautiful."
Meera picked up one final bag and raised it toward Mark. "David uncle asked me to give this to you."
"It's for him," Mark said, nodding toward Win. Win opened the box to find a sleek, brand-new phone. He looked at Mark, his brow arching. "Did you order this for me?"
"I did."
"But where is my old phone? My contacts... everything was on there."
"That phone was broken," Mark said smoothly. His eyes were dark and steady, never wavering as he offered the lie.
Win looked at him, feeling the weight of the protection behind those words. He knew the old phone wasn't broken; he knew Mark had likely erased it to burn any bridge back to the life they had survived apart. But looking at the raw, desperate concern in Mark's gaze, Win didn't argue. He didn't want the past back anyway. He just nodded, his voice soft. "It's good. I like it."
The quiet was broken by Meera, who let out a long, dramatic yawn that seemed to exhaust her entire small body. "Win brother... I'm tired."
"Do you want to sleep here?" Win asked, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"No," she pouted, her eyes drooping with the weight of sleep. "I can't sleep here. There isn't a single panda in this room."
Mark watched the exchange, his heart tightening at the sight of them together. He summoned the head maid to escort Meera back to her own floor, but while they waited, Win pulled the little girl onto his lap. As she settled into his arms, her eyes drifted to the massive bouquet of plumerias on the bedside table.
"Win brother... Do you like those flowers?" she whispered.
"Umm... I like them very much," Win replied softly, his voice full of memories.
"Do you know..." Meera whispered, her voice trailing off as she slipped closer to sleep, "someone also gave me these flowers when I was near the lake... back at the old place. I liked that very much."
Win froze, his heart skipping a beat. "The lake?"
Beside him, the atmosphere around Mark shifted instantly. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the bouquet. If someone had given Meera plumerias at a lake near the orphanage, it can't be anyone other than Win.
..
A soft knock announced the maid's arrival. She lifted the yawning Meera into her arms and carried her away.
Mark and Win remained in the room, the mention of the lake hanging in Win's mind.
"Your sister is too cute," Win said softly, his fingers brushing over the soft fur of the white cat plushie Meera had gifted him. "How did she find something so perfect?"
"She has a good eye," Mark replied, his gaze not on the toy, but on the way the evening light caught the curve of Win's smile.
"I still can't believe she is your sister," Win teased, glancing up. "Look at you—always brooding, always intimidating. You were so rude back there; you didn't even say thank you to her."
Mark's expression softened, a shadow of a rare smile playing on his lips. "I was never rude to you. And I could never truly stay angry at you."
"Oh? What was that display in the lift then, huh?" Win asked, tilting his head back to meet Mark's eyes with a playful challenge.
The Master didn't answer with words. He stepped into Win's space, his massive frame looming over the smaller man, before he bent down to press a slow, reverent kiss against his forehead. "I love you so much," he whispered, his breath a warm ghost against Win's skin. "But I really can't control my jealousy. It's a part of me I can't kill... because I almost died without you."
Win reached up, pulling Mark down for a brief, lingering kiss. "I liked it," he admitted in a shy, barely-audible whisper. "I liked... when you get jealous. It makes me feel like I finally belong to someone."
Mark's eyes darkened, the predatory heat returning to his gaze. He leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of Win's ear, making the man shiver. "And what about the punishment I gave you?"
Win's cheeks turned a vivid scarlet. The memory of Mark's aggressive desire flashed through his mind like a fever dream. He tried to walk away to hide his flustered face, but Mark was faster. He caught Win by the waist, hauling him back until Win's back was pinned against Mark's solid, broad chest. Mark wrapped his arms around Win's shoulders, his touch both a protective hug and a possessive cage.
"Tell me... did you like it?" Mark whispered, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that Win felt in his own bones.
"How can you be so shameless?" Win gasped, his heart hammering against Mark's forearm like a trapped bird.
Mark turned Win around in his arms, forcing him to face the intensity in his eyes. He kissed Win's red cheeks and then his lips, slow and deep. "Kitty... I love you so much. Being here, like this, was all I ever dreamed of during the thirteen years we were apart. I never touched anyone else. Not once. I saved everything for you."
Win froze. The playfulness vanished, replaced by a stinging heat in his eyes. He looked at the man who had built an empire, searched the world, and stayed completely alone just to wait for him. The "Master" wasn't just a title; it was a mark of how much power Win had over Mark's heart.
"You are such a tease," Win murmured, hiding his face in the crook of Mark's neck. He inhaled deeply, the scent of Mark's skin—a mix of expensive sandalwood and the faint, lingering smell of the cold night air—settling into his lungs. "Making me shy all the time... aren't you tired of it?"
"No," Mark said, his voice dropping into a shameless, playful rumble. He raised his dark eyebrows, a flash of the "Sovereign" flickering in his eyes. He tightened his hold, pulling Win so close they shared the same breath. "I am not tired at all. I have a lifetime of missed kisses to catch up on, and I'm starting tonight."
Mark moved to scoop Win up to carry him to the bed. As he lifted him, a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain escaped Win's lips, his features twisting as the ache in his waist flared.
Mark froze instantly. A jagged shadow of worry slashed across his face, his grip turning from possessive to agonizingly careful. "Are you in pain?"
Win's face turned a violent, beautiful shade of crimson. "NO!" he blurted out, burying his face in Mark's chest to hide the evidence of their earlier intensity. He didn't want Mark to feel guilty; he wanted Mark to feel loved. To shift the heavy energy, he looked up, his eyes wide with a soft, searching curiosity. "Did you take Meera to the lake?"
Mark didn't answer immediately. He laid Win on the mattress with the meticulous care of a man handling a glass heart. He sat beside him, taking Win's hands in his own. His large, scarred knuckles—the same ones that had dealt death only hours ago—now cradled Win's fingers like the rarest treasure.
"Meera is not my biological sister," Mark confessed, the honesty raw in his throat. "I adopted her a year ago. While I was scouring the city for you, I found her in a place that didn't know how to love her. She was standing in the shadows, holding a branch of plumeria in her tiny hand..."
He looked at Win, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical weight. "The scent of those flowers was the only thing keeping me sane. It reminded me of you so much that I couldn't leave her there. I saved her because she was the only part of you I could find."
"Is that so?" Win whispered, his eyebrows lifting in a mix of wonder and heartbreak. He realized then that Meera wasn't just a sister—she was a living monument to the love Mark had refused to let die.
He looked at Mark, and for a moment, the room seemed to fall away. The realization hit him with the weight of a physical blow: Mark hadn't just been "looking" for him. He had been a man possessed.
He saw it then in the depth of Mark's dark eyes—the exhaustion of a man who had finally reached the end of a very long, very lonely road. To Mark, Win wasn't just a lover; he was the sun that the Sovereign's entire world orbited around.
..
..