The elevator doors slid opens with a jolt and Sylvain stepped into a world he had never imagined—deep down, he had always feared.
Silas's penthouse stretched before him like a palace designed to intimidate. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city skyline, rain cascading down the glass in glimmering sheets. Golden light reflected off polished marble, casting long shadows that seemed to crawl toward him with every step.
The scent of leather, aged wood, and faint expensive cologne filled the space. It was warm, the air felt oppressive.
Sylvain stopped mid-step. His hands twitched from the strangest combination of anger, pride, and disbelief. This was the man—the boy he had tormented in school—standing behind him, holding the power to crush him completely, and yet… somehow, he looked effortless. Perfectly terrifying.
Silas appeared silently at his side, as though he had been moving through the room like a shadow. "Take off your coat,"
Sylvain expensive coat slid to the floor, his fingers brushing against the marble tiles. He caught himself staring at the space—a desk of dark wood, sleek chairs, walls lined with books and rare artifacts but his mind kept returning to Silas, who was now walking slowly around him, studying him like a predator would a cornered animal.
"Sit," Silas commanded, nodding toward a black leather chair near the window.
Sylvain took a deep breath and sat on the chair with his heads bowed.
Humiliating. But the contract he had signed was his stakehold of having his freedom.
Silas leaned casually against the desk, his arms crossed. "I assume you're tired after all that talk," he said, voice deceptively calm. "Hungry?"
Sylvain pride bristled. "I'm fine."
Silas's cold, piercing gaze lingered on him. "You'll eat when I say, after all you have to do what was written on the contract. Which I do recall has sexual pleasure."
Sylvain's chest tightened. He had always been used to being in control. Every room he entered, every meeting he attended, he had dictated the flow of conversation and attention of others in every room he entered.
Now… he was nothing more than a guest in this place, and he was learning every detail that mattered to Silas.
A soft chime echoed through the penthouse.
"Bring the meal," Silas muttered. A sleek man appeared from the shadows, bowing slightly..The man placed a tray on the table in front of Sylvain
A simple breakfast, elegantly plated. Fruit, warm bread, and a glass of freshly squeezed juice.
Sylvain stared at the tray. It was almost insulting in its normalcy. It felt like a reminder that while the city going about its business, he was here—under the control of a man who had waited ten years for this exact moment.
"You'll eat," Silas said again.
Sylvain picked up the fork reluctantly, his fingers shaking. He wanted to resist, to throw the tray across the room, to do anything to reclaim the tiniest bit of autonomy.
But the reality and the knowledge that his brother's freedom rested entirely on his obedience, kept him rooted.
Silas circled the chair again observing and measuring him. His shadow fell over Sylvain and Sylvain breath caught.
Sylvain, who had once ruled over others with a flick of his hand, now sat under his gaze.
"Do you understand the rules?" his voice sounded excited.
Sylvain swallowed. He forced his voice to remain steady. "I do."
Silas's lips curved into a faint, predatory smile. "Good."
The room seemed to grow colder, more charged. Sylvain felt the weight of Silas's attention pressing down on him from every angle. It was suffocating and intoxicating all at once. He hated the way his pulse quickened. He hated that part of him that wanted more.
"You're here to serve," Silas continued, finally sitting in a chair opposite him. "To… entertain me when I wish, and exist only under my rules."
Sylvain's pride flared. "I—"
"—will not be argued with," Silas interrupted. The authority in his voice was absolute. "If you think you can fight back, that illusion will end very quickly."
Sylvain forced himself to look away, biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself from replying.
Silas leaned back, "This isn't punishment," he said slowly. "It's… your karma"
Sylvain's head snapped up. "Karma?"
"Yes," Silas said, calm. "For everything you have done and how stupid you were. I want you to see why I've waited ten years for this. Why I've orchestrated everything and why I've brought you here."
"What… what do you want from me?" he asked cautiously.
Silas tilted his head. His blue eyes gleamed. "Everything, your mind. Your body."
Sylvain swallowed hard. He had known this wouldn't be simple. But he hadn't expected it to feel like this—like his very existence had been stripped down to the point where Silas's words alone dictated whether he lived or die.
A faint chime echoed through the penthouse again.
"Your first day isn't over," Silas said, rising slowly. He moved toward the wall of windows, gazing at the storm outside. "I have plans tonight. People to meet. Games to play. But you… you'll stay here, in my suite until I return. And you will do nothing except prepare for me. Understand?"
Sylvain nodded, his inner child screaming against the word.
"Good," Silas said. He turned, and his eyes locked onto Sylvain's once more. "And Sylvain…"
"Yes?"
"You belong to me now. And if you survive them…" He leaned closer, and his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Perhaps then, I'll consider whether you deserve more."
Sylvain stomach turned. His chest felt tight. His mind raced with every possible way to escape, to argue, to fight—but he knew deep down there was no escape.
He had signed the contract. He had walked into his trap. And now… he was trapped. The door closed behind Silas with a soft click, leaving Sylvain alone in the penthouse suite, the rain hammering against the windows, the city lights flickering like a thousand tiny accusations.