Chapter 15: The Boy in Room 709
The ride to The Pearl Hotel was soaked in tension. The kind that clung to your skin and pulsed just beneath your ribs. Elias sat stiffly in the passenger seat of Damien's jet-black Range Rover, watching rain streak past the window like veins on glass. Damien hadn't said a word since they left the hospital. Not about the shattered apartment. Not about the kiss. Not about anything.
Elias cleared his throat, his voice low. "You're still mad."
Damien didn't take his eyes off the road. "Mad is too weak a word."
Silence swallowed the car again.
"Cassian means nothing like—"
Damien hit the brakes too hard at a red light. The jolt knocked Elias forward.
"Don't finish that sentence," Damien growled. His hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles bone-white. "Don't insult both of us."
Elias bit the inside of his cheek and stared back out the window, chest thudding.
They pulled up in front of The Pearl Hotel. Gold-plated letters shimmered in the gray light, elegant and haunting. Police tape fluttered like dying wings. Officers loitered, already losing interest.
Inside, Room 709 was a nightmare of luxury and violence.
The body had already been removed, but the afterimage lingered: blood soaked into satin sheets, lipstick smeared across the mirror—BEAUTY DIES—and the faintest echo of perfume.
"Victim's name was Jamie Luan," the on-site officer briefed them, voice too casual for a crime like this. "Nineteen. Escort. Last seen with Senator Musk's kid."
Damien waved the man off with a sneer. "You're already letting him lawyer out of this."
The officer flushed but didn't argue.
Damien crouched beside the bed, his sharp eyes scanning everything.
Elias stepped closer to the nightstand. The drawer was open slightly. Inside—lip gloss, a torn condom wrapper, and a pin.
He turned toward the mattress. Something glinted underneath. He slid his fingers in and retrieved a sliver of torn paper.
A note, scratched in shaking handwriting.
"I told you no."
Damien's mouth was a grim line. "He tried to say no to someone who didn't understand the word."
They were both quiet.
"I don't want to be numb to this," Elias whispered.
Damien's voice was cold. "Then stop kissing people who make you forget what pain feels like."
That hurt more than Elias expected. He said nothing.
---
Back at the hospital, Elias walked through sterile halls with too much weight in his chest. He needed clarity, air, something that wasn't Damien's jagged edges.
Cassian was sitting up in bed when Elias entered, color returning to his cheeks. His eyes lit up.
"You look like hell," Cassian grinned. "So I guess I'm not the only one having a rough day."
Elias walked to the bed, heart tight. "I thought I'd lost you."
"You didn't."
There was a pause. The kind that breathes. Then Elias leaned forward and kissed him.
It wasn't explosive. It wasn't desperate. It was honest.
Cassian didn't pull away. He just placed a hand over Elias's, squeezing.
Outside the door, a silent shutter clicked.
---
That night, Damien's apartment was an exploded storm. Lamps shattered, bookshelves upturned, glass crunched under his boots.
In the center of the chaos, Damien stood frozen, blood dripping from his knuckles. In his other hand, a photo.
Elias. Cassian. Kissing.
His phone buzzed. He answered without looking.
A voice on the other end: "You saw the photo. Good. Maybe now you'll stop playing guard dog and let the boy go."
Damien's voice was low, trembling with rage. "This is what you wanted? To break me?"
"Don't be dramatic—"
"LEAVE ELIAS ALONE!" Damien roared, hurling the phone across the room. "I will protect him even if it kills me. Even if I have to burn every name, every secret, every last goddamn soul that comes near him."
His voice cracked. "He's not your pawn. He's not a message. He's mine."
Fade to black.
Elias stood frozen in the middle of the wreckage.
Glass crunched beneath his feet. The apartment reeked of whiskey, blood, and anger. Damien hadn't said a word since they arrived—he just handed Elias a broom like he was handing down punishment from a god.
"You kissed him," Damien said finally, voice tight.
Elias didn't respond. His heart was already pounding too loudly to speak.
"You kissed him," Damien repeated, a hollow laugh breaking through his teeth. "Cassian. In the hospital. Right after almost dying."
"You don't own me," Elias said, quietly but firmly, sweeping up a pile of shattered picture frames. "You protect me, remember? That's what you keep saying."
Damien stepped closer, boots landing heavy. "You think this is about ownership?"
He grabbed Elias's wrist—just enough pressure to make his point, not enough to bruise.
Elias jerked away. "What do you want from me, Damien?"
Damien's lips parted. Words caught in his throat. Instead, he stepped back, expression wild and unreadable. "I want you to stop making me feel like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I can't breathe unless you're safe. Like I'd kill anyone who touches you, and I don't even know if that makes me a monster or just a man in love."
Elias's eyes widened. "What?"
Damien laughed bitterly. "Don't pretend you didn't know. But I see it now—you want someone lighter. Brighter. Someone like Cassian."
Elias turned away, throat tight. "Cassian is kind. Gentle. He doesn't manipulate me."
Damien's voice cracked on the edge of rage. "And yet he couldn't keep you safe. I did that."
"You scare me, Damien."
Silence stretched between them. It was the first time either of them had truly admitted it out loud.
Damien's jaw twitched. He walked to the far wall, picked up a photo of Elias—one of the few things left intact—and stared at it for a long moment.
Then his phone buzzed.
He answered sharply. "What?"
Damien receives a secret text from an unknown number:
"He was meant to die. Stay out of this."