Shunsuke drifted toward consciousness hours later, but he kept his eyes squeezed shut, the heavy fog of sleep still clinging to him. He was about to sit up when the low, hurried murmur of voices caught his ear. Two hosts were standing nearby, their whispers like the sharp hiss of a flickering candle, clearly intended for no one but themselves.

  “Did you see Ren with that woman and the child?” one of them hissed, the words cutting through Shunsuke’s lingering drowsiness.

  “I did,” the other replied, hushed and uneasy. “He told me she was his sister.”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t look like that to me. Not from where I was standing.”

  A heavy silence followed, and Shunsuke felt the weight of their gazes drift toward the couch where he lay. He forced his breathing to remain slow and rhythmic, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

  “Should we tell Shun?” the first one whispered, his voice laced with hesitation. “I mean, he and Ren are…”

  “No,” the other interrupted firmly, shaking his head. “We don’t know the truth. If she really is his sister, we’d be stirring up drama for nothing. Let it go.”

  The footsteps faded as they moved toward the far end of the room, leaving Shunsuke paralyzed under the weight of the blanket Kei had given him. The warmth of the tea from earlier was long gone, replaced by a cold, hollow ache in the pit of his stomach.

  Shunsuke finally shifted his weight, his muscles screaming after being cramped for so long. He began to stretch his legs, the pins and needles stinging as blood rushed back into his limbs. At the sound of the staff room door clicking open, he froze, but the familiar, rhythmic cadence of the footsteps told him exactly who it was.

  He didn’t open his eyes, but he felt Ren’s presence before he felt his touch. A firm hand began to run down Shunsuke’s legs, a slow and deliberate caress that helped guide them into a full stretch. Then, the air around him shifted as Ren leaned down, his warm breath ghosting against the sensitive shell of Shunsuke’s ear.

  “My beautiful Shun,” Ren murmured, his voice a low, honeyed vibration that seemed to bypass Shunsuke’s ears and settle straight in his chest. “It’s so cute that you have to fold yourself up just to fit because of your height.”

  The comment was light, almost teasing, but Shunsuke felt the words “sister” and “child” still echoing in the back of his mind. Ren’s touch, usually his greatest comfort, now felt like a beautiful mask—one he wasn’t sure he could trust anymore.

  Shunsuke felt Ren’s other hand settle heavily on his chest, the palm flat against his ribcage, measuring the frantic thrum of his heart.

  “What riled you up, my sweet Prince?”

  At the nickname, a involuntary tremor racked Shunsuke’s body. Ren caught it immediately—nothing Shunsuke did ever escaped him.

  “What’s wrong, Shun? Did you have a bad dream?”

  Before Shunsuke could pull together a lie, he felt Ren’s lips press against his own—a soft, demanding kiss that made something deep inside him stir with a mix of longing and betrayal. Ren pulled back just an inch, his gaze tracking the flutter of Shunsuke’s eyelashes.

  “I know you’re not sleeping, Shun.”

  Shunsuke finally forced his eyes open, meeting a gaze that was far too perceptive. Ren saw it all—the lingering confusion, the flickering doubt, the way Shunsuke was looking at him as if he were a stranger.

  “What happened?” Ren’s voice dropped, losing its honeyed edge and becoming dangerously quiet. “Why are you so distant? Do you no longer love me?”

  Shunsuke’s heart stuttered, the mere suggestion of not loving Ren sending a jolt of pure panic through him. He instinctively shook his head, his voice trembling as the words spilled out. “No, Ren. I could never... I could never stop loving you.”

  To Shunsuke, Ren wasn’t just a partner; he was his sanctuary, the only light and safety he had ever known in the cutthroat world of the club. The thought of losing that anchor was more terrifying than any lie Ren might be telling.

  For a fraction of a second, a smirk ghosted across Ren’s features—sharp, triumphant, and knowing. Shunsuke caught the expression, but in his state of distress, he misinterpreted it as a sign of relief or perhaps a private endearment. He didn’t see it for what it truly was: the look of a man who knew exactly how much power he held.

  “I would never betray you, Shun,” Ren murmured, his voice dropping to a soothing, magnetic frequency. He leaned in closer, his presence once again wrapping around Shunsuke like a velvet shroud, effectively smothering the echoes of the hosts’ whispers.

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  “Let’s go outside for a moment, Shun. I have some time before my next client,” Ren’s voice was a smooth, seductive velvet. “Let me show you how much I truly appreciate you, my prince.”

  Shunsuke stood, his body moving almost on instinct as he followed Ren out of the staff room and through the quiet hallway to the side entrance. The moment they stepped out, the freezing night air bit into Shunsuke’s cheeks, a sharp contrast to the stifling warmth of the club. But before he could even shiver, Ren was already pulling him deeper into the shadows of the alleyway.

  Their lips met again, but this time the kiss was different—hungry, sharp, and laced with a desperate possessiveness. Ren pressed his body firmly against Shunsuke’s, his movements demanding total submission.

  Despite being significantly taller, Shunsuke instinctively began to slouch, his shoulders curling inward as he tried to “shrink.” It was a habit he had perfected over time—an unspoken rule of their relationship. He knew he was much larger than Ren, a noticeable gap that could easily overshadow his mentor, so he constantly fought his own stature to ensure Ren always felt like the one in control.

  Under the dim alley lights, Shunsuke let himself be pinned against the cold brick, losing himself in the heat of Ren’s touch to drown out the lingering cold of the doubt in his heart.

  Shunsuke’s body went rigid the moment he felt Ren’s fingers brush against the cold metal of his belt. His breathing hitched, becoming shallow and rapid, a physical reaction he couldn’t quite mask.

  Ren pulled back just enough to look at him, a playful, knowing smile dancing on his lips. “What’s wrong, Shun? There’s no need to be so shy,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration as he trailed a line of lingering kisses along Shunsuke’s jawline. “It’s not as if this is the first time, is it?”

  Shunsuke squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his muscles to unclench. He told himself to relax—that this was Ren, the man who had saved him, the only person he belonged to. But the whispers from the staff room still felt like ice in his veins, making every touch feel heavier than usual.

  “I’m sorry, Ren...” Shunsuke whispered into the dark of the alley, his voice barely audible over the distant hum of the city. The apology felt hollow, but it was his only defense against the growing sense of wrongness he couldn’t put into words.

  The next thirty minutes were a hollow blur in Shunsuke’s mind. He wasn’t truly there; his consciousness had retreated somewhere distant and quiet, leaving only a shell behind that moved and obeyed exactly as Ren demanded. When it was over, Ren smoothed his clothes and stepped back into the warmth of the club without a backward glance, leaving Shunsuke alone in the shadows of the freezing alleyway.

  The silence that followed was deafening. Suddenly, a wave of nausea surged through him, violent and undeniable. Shunsuke doubled over, retching until his stomach was empty, his body shaking with a cold sweat. He whispered Ren’s name to the dark, a desperate mantra. I love him. I love him. So why did his body feel like a crime scene? Why was he flinching at the memory of a touch he was supposed to crave?

  Wiping his mouth and pulling his jacket tight, Shunsuke forced himself to walk back inside. He navigated the hallway like a ghost, slipping into the staff room where the air felt too thick to breathe.

  Kei was still there, his eyes narrowing with immediate concern the moment Shunsuke crossed the threshold. “Is everything okay, Shun-kun? You look... miserable.”

  Shunsuke didn’t meet his eyes. He reached for his backpack, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his heavy university textbooks—reminders of a world outside this club that felt increasingly out of reach.

  “I just felt a bit sick. I’m fine, thank you, Kei,” Shunsuke said, his voice flat and polite, the practiced mask of a host finally sliding into place.

  “If you need anything at all, Shun-kun... please, let me know,” Kei said. His voice had lost the polished, melodic lilt of a professional host, replaced by a raw, quiet sincerity.

  Shunsuke nodded, touched by the unexpected warmth. “I will. Thank you, Kei.”

  Kei’s gaze drifted to the worn straps of Shunsuke’s backpack. “What are you studying, anyway? I can’t imagine how stressful it is, balancing university with... all of this.”

  For the first time that night, a small, genuine smile flickered across Shunsuke’s face. “Music composition,” he explained, his voice softening with a hint of pride. “I’ve always had an affinity for it. Building something out of nothing but sound.”

  Kei smiled back, his expression brightening. “That’s a beautiful path. I always pinned you as the artistic type,” he said. “I played guitar myself when I was younger, but my parents... well, they told me I should choose a career that actually brought in money.” Kei let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle. “You know how it is. Parents and their expectations.”

  The smile died on Shunsuke’s lips. He nodded slowly, his throat tightening as he remained silent. He knew those expectations all too well—the crushing weight of being what someone else needed him to be, whether it was his parents’ ideal son or Ren’s perfect “Prince.”

  “I should go home,” Shunsuke murmured, the words feeling heavy and hollow in his mouth.

  Kei gave a single, somber nod. “Of course. See you tomorrow, Shun. Take care of yourself...” He paused, his voice dropping to a cautious, meaningful level. “...And don’t let anyone pull you under.”

  Shunsuke nodded, though the warning felt like it had come too late; he was already drowning. He turned and left the staff room, retracing his steps through the quiet hallway and out the side entrance. The midnight air was biting, but the forty-minute walk ahead of him offered a brief, cold freedom before he had to face his reality.

  He began the trek toward the residence—a place he was supposed to call “home,” but which had long ago become just another prison. His thoughts turned to Tsukasa, his older brother. Shunsuke knew Tsukasa would be waiting, likely already informed of his lateness to the earlier meeting.

  He knew exactly what that silence in the living room would mean: punishment. When it came to Tsukasa, there were no simple lectures or disappointed sighs. His brother’s discipline was calculated, sadistic, and designed to humiliate. As the lights of the city blurred around him, Shunsuke realized he was walking out of one man’s possessive grip and straight into another’s cruelty.