The city had once been balanced, held together by three pillars of the underground syndicate: the Vane, the Mordecai, and the Pierce families. Each had its territory, its laws, and its peace.
It was a tripod of power that everyone assumed was unshakeable.
Until the night it wasn't.
In a single, coordinated strike that defied every rule of the syndicate, the Pierce legacy was systematically dismantled. It wasn't a slow decline; it was an execution led by the man who had just seized the Vane throne. Cillian Vane.
He hadn't just expanded his borders—he had erased a bloodline. By sunrise, the Pierce district was a graveyard, and Ren was the only piece of the wreckage left breathing.
Most of the city thought it was a simple grab for land and power, including Ren. To him, this man had served him the worst betrayal of his life.
It hurt so much he couldn't believe it.
If it had been done by a stranger, it wouldn't have hurt so much, but it was. It was carried out by the man he had shared his first heat with, wishing for a future that was now all ash.
He felt used, and he felt pathetic.
The interior of the blacked-out sedan was silent, save for the low hum of the engine.
Ren stared at the leather of the seat beneath his bound hands and dry skin. It was supple, expensive, and smelled of the same clinical 'new car' scent that Cillian had always preferred.
It felt horribly similar to the seat of Cillian's old car—the one they had sat in two years ago, back when the world still felt… whole.
Ren closed his eyes, the physical sensation of the leather triggering a memory he desperately wanted to kill. He remembered the heat of that summer night, the feverish pull of his first Omega cycle, and the way Cillian's steady hands had felt on his skin.
He had trusted that touch. He had let Cillian see him at his most vulnerable, believing they were building a bridge between their families.
Instead, Cillian had used that bridge to bring an army to his front door.
A dull throb started in Ren's right shoulder, and he was reminded of the strain from his final, desperate sword drill before the estate fell.
He shifted his weight, trying to find that 'warrior's center' his father had obsessed over, but the seat was too soft, and the car was too smooth. It offered him no leverage.
He used me, Ren thought, his pulse quickening with a mix of shame and hatred. Every touch, every word... it was just reconnaissance.
"What are you doing?" Cillian's voice cut through the dark, as sharp as a razor.
Ren didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to see the face of the man who had turned from his first love into his family's butcher.
"I'm remembering how much I hate this car," Ren lied, his voice dry and raspy.
"Liar." He felt the seat shift as Cillian leaned closer. His Alpha's pheromones—that cold, suffocating winter scent—filled the car, triggering an instinctive shiver that Ren couldn't suppress. "Instead, I think you're remembering the night you went into heat in my arms. You're either reliving that moment or wondering if I was planning the massacre even then."
Ren finally opened his eyes with a snap, the lifeless void replaced by a searing, vengeful glare.
"I don't have to wonder, Cillian. I know what you are and the kind of thoughts that go through your mind." he spat out hatefully, gritting his teeth. "You're a monster."
Cillian reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the iron collar on Ren's neck, a dark amusement dancing in his eyes.
"And yet, here you are. Back in my car. Back in my hands. It's almost like destiny, isn't it, Pierce? Back in the arms of the monster you so much despise."
Ren turned his face away, evading Cilian's touch but Cilian didn't plan to be gentle. He grabbed Ren's jaw roughly and brought his face to meet his eyes.
"You can either make this hard for yourself, or you can try to live like how things were back then." He said, his eyes still glinting with that amusement.
He wouldn't stop spreading his Pheromones and Ren trembled, clutching his hand tight.
"Let go." He said through gritted teeth.
"Your answer," Cilian demanded, his voice smooth yet vile. "Will you pretend like you're a good boy or will you make things hard for yourself?"
Ren frowned, the hatred in his eyes leaking into venom.
"You know, you owe me for being alive. So it's the least you can do."
"I don't owe you anything," he rasped. "I'd rather be in hell than in a space with you."
"Well, it's too bad your wishes never come true," Cilian said and finally let go of Ren's jaw. "You could've been happy."
That mocking expression on Cilian's face made Ren want to gag. He hated that Cilian was loving every moment of this. Hated that his vulnerability was just a piece of entertainment to this bastard.
"Remember, Ren. I own you now." He said, his finger catching the link of the cuff. "So you have to be good to me, if you want to live the rest of your life peacefully."
"And what are you going to do if I decide not to be nice?" Ren asked and Cilian nudged his cheek, checking something.
Ren, of course, tried to evade his touch, and Cilian gave it a deep thought.
"Hm, I wonder. I can't bring myself to hurt this pretty face of yours," he said, "But I'm not sure I'm that nice as to let you off if you upset me on multiple occasions. Just be a good boy, Ren. Take it as a warning."
To hell with your warning. Ren had no plans on doing as Cilian said, even if he threatened him with a whip and a stick.
He was going to be defiant until the end.