"You can’t stay there, Raffy. Not after they broke the door."

Ignatius stood in the center of my ruined living room, his presence making the walls feel even closer together. He didn't ask. He spoke like the weather—unavoidable and absolute.

I looked at the shattered ceramic on the floor. My hands made small, jerky movements. I have nowhere else. Leo will come back.

Ignatius stepped over a broken chair, his hand landing on my shoulder. The weight of it was grounding, a heavy anchor in a storm. "Leo isn't coming back for a long time. He owes people far worse than the thugs I just chased out. My guest house is secure. Keyless entry. Private security. You won’t have to jump every time the wind rattles a window."

I let out a breath I’d been holding since Miller first kicked the door. A guest house. Security. It sounded like a dream. It sounded like a life where I didn't have to sleep with a kitchen knife under my pillow.

"Pack a bag," he commanded, his voice softening just enough to make me ache. "Just the essentials. I’ll buy you anything else you need."

I was a ghost in my own apartment, throwing old t-shirts into a duffel bag while Ignatius watched from the doorway. Every time I glanced at him, he was there—tall, steady, and looking at me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever bought. I felt a flush creep up my neck. No one had ever looked at me like that. To Leo, I was a burden. To the world, I was the "broken" kid who couldn't talk back. To Ignatius? I felt like a person.

The guest house was a glass and steel sanctuary tucked behind the iron gates of his estate. It smelled of expensive cedar and lemon polish.

"This is all for me?" I signed, my fingers clumsy with awe.

Ignatius leaned against the doorframe, his suit jacket draped over one arm. "For as long as you need it. But Raffy..." He paused, his gaze darkening. "You need to understand why you're here. Leo didn't just forget the rent. He gambled away your safety. He knew Miller was coming for you, and he left anyway."

My heart did a slow, sickening roll in my chest. No. Leo wouldn't.

"He’s my best friend, Raffy. It kills me to say it." Ignatius stepped closer, his shadow swallowing mine. "But he’s using you as a shield. He thinks because you’re... quiet, you’re an easy target for his debts. You’re safer here, away from his influence. Away from everyone."

The gratitude I felt earlier curdled into something sharper. Isolation. He was saying it was for my own good, but the word echoed in the high ceilings of the guest house. Away from everyone.

"Don't look so sad," he murmured, lifting my chin with a single finger. "You have me now. I’m the only one who won’t sell you out for a poker hand."

He left me then, the heavy oak door clicking shut with a finality that made the "sanctuary" feel a little more like a vault.

I spent the next hour pacing. Everything was too perfect. The bed sheets had a thread count higher than my monthly income. The fridge was stocked with things I couldn't pronounce. I felt like an intruder in a museum.

I reached for the light switch by the bed, my fingers brushing against a small, black plastic ridge tucked into the crown molding. It was tiny. Smaller than a shirt button.

I froze.

I pulled a chair over, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stood on the cushion, leaning in until my nose almost touched the wall.

A lens.

A pinhole camera, angled directly at the bed.

My stomach dropped. I scrambled down, my eyes darting around the room. Another one in the corner. Another in the vent. I wasn't in a guest house. I was in a cage with a view.

The door handle turned.

I didn't have time to move the chair. I stood there, paralyzed, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Ignatius walked in. He’d changed into a silk robe, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look like a savior anymore. He looked like a wolf who had finally cornered his lunch.

He stopped, his eyes moving from the chair to my face, then back to the chair.

"Raffy," he said, his voice dropping an octave. The warmth was gone. Only the razor blade remained. "You look nervous. You're shaking."

He took a step toward me, his hand reaching out.

"Are you hiding something from me? After everything I've done to keep you safe?"

"I’m the only one you can trust, Raffy. Remember that."

The words echoed in the marble hallway like a threat. Ignatius had gone to the main house for a "business meeting," leaving me with a heavy silence and a stomach full of lead. He thought I was sleeping. He thought I was the same docile, broken boy he’d pulled off the kitchen floor.

I crept toward the oak double doors of his study. My hands shook as I gripped the handle. It didn't budge. I pulled a bobby pin from my pocket—a trick Leo taught me when we were kids and he’d lost his house keys for the tenth time.

Click.

The door swung inward. The room smelled of expensive leather and old blood. I moved to the mahogany desk, my feet sinking into the thick carpet. I needed to find Leo’s gambling debts. I needed to see the numbers, to understand how my brother could be so cruel.

I pulled open the bottom drawer. A heavy, leather-bound ledger sat inside. I flipped it open, my eyes scanning the columns of names and figures.

There. Thorne, Leo.

My breath hitched. I traced the line across the page. But there were no losses at a casino. No betting slips. Just a date—the date the creditors trashed my apartment—and a payment entry next to it.

Payment to: Miller. Amount: $5,000. Status: Scripted Incident.

The air left my lungs in a violent rush. I flipped the page, my fingers tearing the paper in my haste.

Thorne, Leo. Payment to skip town: $10,000. Condition: Do not contact brother.

The room spun. The walls, the expensive books, the gold-leaf ceiling—it all turned into a blurred, nauseating mess. Ignatius didn’t save me. He didn’t pay a debt. He bought a crisis. He paid Miller to terrorize me. He paid my only family to abandon me.

Every tear I’d shed on his shoulder, every moment of "gratitude" I felt for my savior—it was all a performance directed by the man who called me "precious."

Thump.

A heavy vibration shook the floorboards behind me.

I spun around, the ledger slipping from my numb fingers and hitting the floor with a loud slap. Ignatius stood in the doorway. He wasn't wearing the robe anymore. He was back in his black suit, his silhouette sharp against the hallway light.

"You were always too curious for your own good, Raffy."

He didn't sound angry. He sounded bored. He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy, metallic thunk that resonated in my teeth.

I backed away, my hands flying up to sign, but my fingers were too stiff, too terrified to move. You lied. You paid them. You sent Leo away.

Ignatius laughed. It wasn't the warm, rich sound from before. It was a cold, jagged rasp.

"I didn't lie," he said, walking toward me with the slow, measured gait of a hunter who knew the trap had already sprung. "I told you your brother left you. I just forgot to mention I gave him the plane ticket. He took the money without a second thought, Raffy. He didn't even negotiate for your safety. He just... left."

He stopped inches from me. I could see the reflection of my own terrified face in his grey eyes.

"Why?" I mouthed. No sound came out. It never did.

"Because I wanted you," he whispered, reaching out to grip my jaw. His fingers dug into my skin, bruising and firm. "And you don't look at men like me unless you're desperate. You needed a hero, so I built you a villain. I bought the building. I bought the debt. I bought the thugs."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my forehead in a mocking benediction.

"I bought you, Rafferty. Every tear you cried over that broken vase made you cheaper to own. And now? Now there’s no one left to call. No brother. No home. Just me."

He shoved me back, and I hit the desk, the sharp edge bruising my hip. He didn't look like a saint. He looked like the monster I’d been running from my entire life.

"Get used to the view, Raffy," he snarled, his eyes dark with a terrifying, possessive hunger. "Because you're never leaving this estate again."