Cilian got a call on his phone and walked out, waving for Ren to do whatever he wanted, but soon after he walked out, a maid walked in and said,
"It's time to wash up."
Of course, Ren needed a bath, after never being taken proper care of since he was in that cage of an auction house.
He nodded and went to the bathroom.
The bathroom was large, looking like white marble and gold fixtures. It was too bright and too clean, contrasting to Ren's dirty state.
He stood there, his hands still blind but the maid came and unlocked his cuffs.
"What about this?" He asked, referring to the collar but the maid shook her head.
"I do not have the keys for that." she said, her words fumbling on top of each other.
Ren let out an agitated huff. The way the heavy iron collar shafted his skin made him feel like he was suffocating. He wanted to get rid of it, but couldn't force it off. He tried to keep his neck straight but it managed to pull him down no matter what.
Ren decided to ignore it and took off his ragged shirt along with his briefs, and sat on the edge of the deep porcelain tub, his hands.
The maid stood near the vanity, her head bowed so low he could only see the top of her white cap. She was suddenly shaking.
When she stepped forward to test the water temperature, her hand splashed awkwardly, sending droplets across the floor.
"I can wash myself," Ren said, his voice sounding even, compared to that of the maids.
"The... Master said I must assist you, sir," she whispered. She didn't look up at him, and wouldn't even look at the water either, as if it was a taboo.
She also seemed awkward when she was taking off his cuff. What was her problem?
Ren closed his eyes. Master. The word made his stomach turn. He looked down at his body.
He was thin—too thin. His ribs jutted out, and his skin was a pale, sickly grey from months of being locked in dark rooms. His right shoulder was slumped, the muscle tight and knotted from an old injury he'd never had the chance to let heal.
The maid began to scrub his back. She was gentle, but every time the sponge brushed a bruise, Ren flinched.
He thought of his father. A Pierce does not show pain, the old man would go on saying. A Pierce stands like a pillar, even when the ground is shaking.
But pillars don't have broken ribs. Ren thought.
Right now, his father's teachings only served to taunt his pathetic state all the more, but he just couldn't forget them no matter how much he tried.
When the bath was over, the maid patted him dry and handed him a simple silk robe. It was deep green—the same color as the walls in the bedroom. It was distasteful knowing it was all part of Cilian's plot.
"You will need to come with me downstairs, sir. For dinner." The maid said. "The master is waiting."
Ren didn't move for a long moment. He looked at the maid. She looked terrified, her eyes darting to the door as if she expected Cillian to walk in and find her failing at her task.
"Fine," Ren said. He stood up, his legs feeling heavy.
He focused on his weight, shifting it to his left side to ease the pull on his injured shoulder.
After finally putting on a silk robe, Ren looked less like livestock and more like a human being, recovering a little of the glow he was so famous for back then.
The walk down the marble staircase felt like a march to the gallows. The collar rattled with every step, a constant reminder that he was still someone's prisoner… someone's pet. And it was a sick bastard on top of it.
He reached the dining hall that for some reason was dark, and he looked at the dining table. It was long, and looked like it could seat twenty people, but only one seat was set at the head.
Cillian was already there, leaning back in his chair, a glass of dark red wine in his black gloved hand. He wore a simple black shirt, the top buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up, and looking perfectly relaxed.
As Ren approached, Cillian's fox-like eyes drifted over him, taking in the damp hair and the way the silk robe hung off his bony frame. A slow, thin smile spread across his face.
"Look at you," Cillian murmured, his voice smooth and airy. "Refreshed. You look truly beautiful tonight, Ren."
The word hit Ren like a physical blow. Beautiful. Not strong. Not a rival. A decoration.
Ren's vision blurred with a sudden, hot surge of rage. He reached the table, looking at the perfectly plated steak and the crystal water glass.
"I'm not your toy, Cillian," Ren spat.
"I didn't say you were. I just stated a fact." Cillian gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit. Eat. You're all skin and bones. I like my things to be well-maintained."
His things? So I'm a thing now?
Ren didn't sit. Instead, he reached out and swept his hands across the table.
The porcelain plate and translucent base shattered against the floor, along with the red wine which splashed like blood. The crystal glass turned into a thousand shards of light. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.
Ren panted, his chest heaving, his eyes locked on Cillian's face. He expected a shout. He expected the Alpha to growl, to use his pheromones to crush him into the floor.
But Cillian didn't even flinch. His smile simply... drifted away, leaving his face cold and blank.
"That was expensive," Cillian said quietly.
"Hit me then," Ren challenged. "Do it now and get it over with."
He felt he could only endure all of this if Cilian became violent towards him. He would rather die than live through this humiliation.
Cillian stood up slowly. He didn't look at Ren. He looked at the maid who had followed Ren into the room and was now huddled by the sideboard.
"Mary," Cillian called out.
The girl drifted forward, her face pale with fear.
"Y-yes, Master?"
Cillian stepped toward her. Before Ren could even process what he was about to do, Cillian's hand swung out. The crack of the slap echoed through the hall. The girl fell to the floor, clutching her crimson cheek, a small sob breaking from her lips but she tried not to let it out too much, for fear of offending her master even more.
"I apologize, master," she apologized, even though she knew she hadn't done anything wrong.
Ren froze. The fire in his blood turned to ice and terror. What just happened?
"I know you're upset, Ren," Cillian said, his voice returning to that pleasant, melodic tone. He looked at his gloved hand as if checking for dust. "But let's not be too violent, okay? Every time you break something, someone else has to pay the price and it's not fair, right? It would be a shame if Mary here lost her job—or something more—just because you can't control your temper."