The sun was shining brightly through the tall windows of the Moretti mansion, but the light brought no warmth to Elian. He woke up slowly, his body feeling heavy and sore. Every movement reminded him of the night before of Julian's heavy weight, the coldness in his eyes, and the way he had left Elian alone in the dark to go to another person's bed.

Elian sat up, pulling the expensive silk sheets around his bare chest. The room was huge, filled with gold and velvet, but it felt like a prison cell. He looked at the door, half-expecting Julian to walk in with an apology, but deep down, he knew that wouldn't happen. The boy who had smiled at him in the dirt ten years ago was dead.

There was a knock on the door. It wasn't Julian. A young maid walked in, keeping her eyes on the floor. She was carrying a tray with a glass of water and some plain bread.

"The Don says you are to stay in this wing," she said softly. "You are not allowed in the main garden or the dining room while Miss Valentina is here."

Elian felt a sting in his heart. "While Valentina is here?"

"She is staying in the East Wing," the maid whispered, looking nervous. "The Don spent the night there. He says she needs comfort after the... the wedding incident."

Elian took the tray with shaking hands. "Thank you."

After the maid left, Elian walked to the window. From this height, he could see the beautiful gardens below. His heart stopped when he saw two figures walking near the fountain. It was Julian and Valentina.

Julian looked different out there. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket, and he looked relaxed. He was holding Valentina's hand, leaning in to say something that made her laugh. He touched her cheek with the same hand that had pinned Elian's wrists down just hours ago.

Elian leaned his forehead against the cold glass. It hurt to breathe. He had saved Julian's life because he believed Julian was a good person. He had spent ten years wondering if Julian was okay, only to find out that Julian hated him more than anyone in the world.

He spent the rest of the day in silence. He tried to read some of the books on the shelf, but he couldn't focus. His stomach felt strange a dull, fluttering sensation he had never felt before. He thought it was just the stress or the leftover medicine from his allergy attack.

Evening came, and Julian finally appeared. He didn't knock. He walked in, smelling of the outdoors and Valentina's perfume.

"You look pathetic," Julian said, standing at the door with his arms crossed.

"Why am I here, Julian?" Elian asked, his voice stronger than before. "If you hate looking at me, if you love her so much, why keep me here? My father is gone. You've had your revenge."

Julian walked over to him, his shadow falling over Elian. He grabbed a lock of Elian's dark hair and pulled it back, forcing Elian to look up. "Because your father is still alive in the wind, Elian. He is hiding. And as long as I have you, I have a leash on him. Plus..." Julian leaned down, his eyes scanning Elian's face. "I found out I quite enjoy the way you cry. It makes me feel powerful."

"You're a monster," Elian whispered.

"I am what your family made me," Julian replied. He let go of Elian's hair and turned to the door. "Tonight, I'm taking Valentina to the opera. You will stay here. If you try to leave this room, the guards have orders to break your legs. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Elian said, looking at the floor.

By the start of the second week, Elian felt like he was fading away. The mansion was  beautiful, but the air inside was thick with tension. Julian rarely spoke to him unless it was to remind him of his place, and Valentina had become a constant, poisonous presence.

It started with a sudden wave of nausea in the early morning.

Elian barely made it to the bathroom before he was sick. He leaned against the cold marble floor, gasping for air. His body felt weak, and his head was spinning. He thought maybe the medicine for his allergy had been too strong, or perhaps the kitchen was sending him spoiled food on Julian's orders.

When he finally stood up and looked in the mirror, he looked like a ghost. His skin was pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

A sharp knock at the door made him flinch. "Julian?" he whispered, hope rising in his chest.

The door swung open, but it was Valentina. She was dressed in a silk robe that probably cost more than Elian's life. She looked around the room with a look of pure disgust, her eyes stopping on Elian's messy hair and trembling hands.

"You look disgusting," she said, her voice high and mean. "Julian told me you were sick. He thinks you're just trying to get attention. He's out at the shooting range, by the way. He didn't even ask how you were before he left."

Elian gripped the edge of the sink. "What do you want, Valentina?"

"I want you to know that you are nothing," she said, stepping closer. She smelled of heavy roses. "Julian only married you to hurt your father. At night, when he's with me, he laughs about how pathetic you are. He calls you a 'pretty little mistake.'"

Elian flinched as if she had slapped him. "If he hates me so much, tell him to let me go."

"Oh, he won't do that," Valentina laughed. It was a cold, sharp sound. "He likes watching you suffer. It makes up for the fourteen hours he spent in that hole your father dug for him."

She walked over to the bed and sat on it, looking at the rumpled sheets. "I'm going to give him a son, Elian. A real heir. A boy with the Moretti name. You're just a Rossi. And everyone knows what happens to Rossis in this city."

She left the room, leaving her heavy perfume behind. Elian sank to the floor. He wanted to scream, but his throat was too tight.

Later that evening, Julian returned. He didn't come to check on Elian. He came because he wanted something. He walked into the room and saw Elian lying on the bed, curled into a ball.

"Get up," Julian said. "We have guests for dinner. You will dress in the suit I bought you. You will sit at my left side. You will not speak unless you are spoken to."

"Julian, I don't feel well," Elian said softly. "I think I've caught a fever."

Julian walked to the bed and grabbed Elian's arm, pulling him upright. "I don't care if you're dying. You will play the part of the obedient husband tonight. The other families need to see that I have tamed a Rossi. Do you understand?"

Elian looked into Julian's gray eyes. He saw no mercy there. "Yes, Julian."

The dinner was a nightmare. Elian sat at the long table, surrounded by men who looked like killers and women who looked like statues. Every time he looked at a plate of food, his stomach turned. The smell of the roasted meat made him want to gag.

"You aren't eating, Elian," one of the guests, an older man with a scarred face, said with a smile. "Is the Moretti food not good enough for a Rossi prince?"

Julian leaned back in his chair, his arm resting on the back of Elian's seat. It looked like an affectionate gesture to the guests, but Elian could feel the pressure of Julian's fingers digging into his shoulder.

"He's just shy," Julian said, his voice smooth. "My husband is still learning how to behave in a house of kings."

The guests laughed. Elian felt a hot flush of shame creep up his neck. He reached for his wine glass, hoping a sip of water would settle his stomach, but his hand slipped. The glass shattered on the table, red wine splashing across the white cloth like blood.

The table went silent.

Julian's face went dark. He didn't yell. He just looked at the mess, then at Elian. "Clean it up," he said quietly.

"I... I'm sorry," Elian whispered, reaching for a napkin.

"I said clean it up," Julian repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "Use your hands. Now."

Elian knelt on the floor, picking up the sharp pieces of glass while the guests watched in silence. A piece of glass cut his thumb, and a drop of his own blood mixed with the wine. He felt tears stinging his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

When he finished, Julian stood up. "Excuse us, gentlemen. My husband clearly needs a lesson in manners."

Julian dragged Elian out of the room and up the stairs. He threw him into their bedroom and slammed the door.

"You humiliated me!" Julian roared.

"It was an accident! I'm sick, Julian! Please, look at me!" Elian cried, holding his bleeding thumb.

Julian stepped into his space, his breath hot on Elian's face. For a second, Elian thought Julian was going to hit him. But instead, Julian grabbed his waist and shoved him against the door.

"You think being sick saves you?" Julian hissed. "You think because you saved me ten years ago, I owe you something? You owe me everything. You owe me your blood, your breath, and your body."

Julian took him again, right there against the door. It was faster and angrier than the first time. He didn't care about the cut on Elian's thumb or the way Elian was shaking. He wanted to punish Elian for the wine, for the dinner, and for the fact that every time he touched Elian, he felt a spark of something he didn't want to feel.

When Julian finished, he pushed Elian away. Elian slumped against the door, gasping for air.

"Stay here," Julian said, adjusting his tie. "I'm going back to the guests. Don't make another sound tonight."

After Julian left, Elian crawled to the bathroom. He threw up again, but this time, it was mostly bile. He sat on the floor, his hand resting on his lower stomach. The fluttering was stronger now. It felt like a tiny pulse, a secret heartbeat hidden under his skin.

He didn't know it yet, but the "sickness" wasn't a fever. It was the beginning of the end of the life he knew. He was carrying a Moretti heir, and in this house of wolves, that child was the only thing that might save him or be the reason Julian finally destroyed him.