A week passed in a surreal, structured blur. Jace's life became a series of rituals designed by Damian, each one weaving him more tightly into the fabric of a world that felt alien and yet, disturbingly, like a home he'd never known he needed.
He woke up in Damian's arms. They showered together, a silent, steam-filled communion. Damian would make breakfast perfect omelets, exotic fruits while Jace, following an unspoken directive, set the table. They went to the office. Jace was no longer a trophy on display; he was given a sleek laptop and vague, light administrative tasks—"Review these potential gallery acquisitions," or "Find three high-end caterers for the quarterly meeting." Work that felt real, that made him feel useful, not just owned.
Damian was different. Not soft never soft but the sharp edges of his control had been sheathed in a velvet layer of… attention. He asked for Jace's opinion on trivial matters. He'd brush a thumb over Jace's knuckles when handing him a document. At night, their intimacy was less about conquest and more about a deep, consuming exploration. Jace stopped fighting his own responses. He leaned into them, into the heat and the release, and each time he did, he felt Damian's quiet, triumphant satisfaction. It was a drug.
His new phone buzzed occasionally, but only with updates from Luca that grew increasingly strained.
Luca: You sure you're good?
Jace: Yeah.
Luca: He's not… hurting you?
Jace: No.
He couldn't explain the complexity. How could he tell Luca that the man who had essentially kidnapped him now looked at him with a focus that made his breath catch? That the cage had pillows and silk sheets and a view he'd only ever seen in movies? That some nights, wrapped in that possessive embrace, he felt safer than he ever had in his father's chaotic, debt-ridden house?
The doubt came on a Thursday afternoon. Damian was in a high-stakes video conference in his inner sanctum, and Jace was in the outer office, filing the caterer proposals. One of the folders slipped, spilling its contents. As he knelt to gather the papers, a single, non-standard sheet fluttered out from between Damian's corporate letterhead.
It was an old bank statement. Damian's letterhead, but the account number was different. Jace's eyes, trained from a lifetime of anxiety over bills, scanned it automatically. It was a record of a series of substantial outgoing payments, dated three years ago. The recipient's name was redacted, but the memo line was chillingly clear:
RE: Carter Obligation – Final Settlement. Per L. Agreement.
Carter. His last name. L.
A cold trickle, like ice water, started at the base of his skull and dripped down his spine. L. Agreement.
Luca.
Time seemed to slow, the hum of the office fading to a dull roar in his ears. He stared at the date. Three years ago. Just after his father died. When the "miracle" hospital payment had come through.
"The debt is gone, Jace. As of this morning." Damian's voice in the shower.
But this statement said the debt had been gone for years. Settled. By an agreement with "L."
His heart began to hammer, a frantic drum against his ribs. The caterer proposals were forgotten in his hands. This was a lie. A foundational, monumental lie. The financial terror that had driven him to Damian's office, that had made the reckless joke seem like a last resort… it had been a phantom. A ghost debt, already put to rest.
By Luca?
The thought was so absurd it made him dizzy. Luca, who worked at a record store. Luca, who borrowed five dollars for coffee. Luca, his best friend, who had held him while he cried from relief over the "miracle."
But the proof was in his trembling hands. The memo line glared up at him. Per L. Agreement.
Why? How? And why would Damian lie and claim he'd just cleared it?
The inner office door clicked open. Jace scrambled to shove the statement back into the folder, stacking the papers with clumsy haste. He looked up as Damian emerged, loosening his tie, his sharp gaze immediately finding Jace.
"Everything alright?" Damian asked, his eyes narrowing a fraction. He could always sense a shift in the atmosphere.
"Fine," Jace said, the word too quick, too high. He forced a smile, the expression feeling like a cracked mask on his face. "Just… dropped something."
Damian studied him for a long, silent moment, his head tilted like a raptor assessing prey. He took a slow step forward. "You look pale."
"I'm fine," Jace repeated, standing up, clutching the folder to his chest like a shield. The paper inside felt like it was burning through the leather, branding him with its secret.
Damian closed the distance, his hand coming up to cup Jace's jaw. His thumb stroked Jace's cheekbone, a gesture that had recently begun to feel like affection. Now, it felt like an interrogation. "Tell me."
In that moment, Jace made a choice. The instinct to survive, to not rock the gilded boat he now lived in, was stronger than the need for truth. Unraveling this thread could unravel everything the safety, the bizarre sense of belonging, the addictive heat of Damian's attention. It could lead back to the cold, terrifying freedom of the streets and the debts he now knew had been a lie all along.
He leaned into Damian's touch, hiding his eyes. "Just a headache. Really."
Damian's scrutiny didn't lessen, but he accepted the answer. He dropped a kiss on Jace's forehead. "Go lie down in the lounge. I'll have tea brought to you."
Jace nodded, a perfect, obedient doll. He walked on numb legs to the plush private lounge attached to the office, sinking onto a sofa that probably cost more than his father's car.
He stared out at the city, the glittering skyline he was starting to see as his view. But the gold was flaking off, revealing tarnished lead beneath. The foundation of his entire world with Damian was built on a lie. A lie that involved Luca.
And the most terrifying question of all whispered in his mind: If the debt that brought him here was never real… then what, exactly, was he paying for now?