The sun was too bright.
After days of living in the dim, atmospheric halls of the Blackwood estate, the morning light reflecting off the windows of Atelier V, the city's most exclusive tailor, felt like a spotlight on a crime scene.
"Keep your head up, Ren," Vane's voice came from behind him, low and biting. "You are about to become a Blackwood. Stop looking like you're waiting for a blow to fall."
Ren stiffened, adjusting the silver thorn in his ear. He was dressed in a simple but prohibitively expensive black turtleneck and trousers, yet he felt naked under Vane's scrutiny.
Julian was already inside, buzzing with a nervous, puppy-like energy. He was holding up fabric swatches—whites, creams, ivories—looking for the perfect shade for Ren's wedding suit.
"Father! Ren! Look at this silk," Julian said, beaming as they approached. He held up a swatch of moonlight-white silk. "I think this would look incredible against Ren's skin. It's so pure, don't you think?"
Vane stepped forward, his presence instantly dimming Julian's light. He took the white silk from Julian's hand, feeling the texture between his thumb and forefinger.
His eyes traveled slowly over Ren, lingering on the bruises on his neck that the high collar of the turtleneck almost, but not quite, hid.
"It's too loud," Vane said, dropping the white silk as if it were trash. "White is for those with nothing to hide. Ren needs something with more... depth."
Vane turned to the tailor, who was standing at a respectful distance, looking like he was holding his breath. "Midnight charcoal. Raw silk. I want him to look like the shadow he's becoming, not a ghost."
"Of course, Mr. Blackwood," the tailor bowed.
"But Father," Julian interjected, his voice tinged with a rare moment of frustration. "It's a wedding, not a funeral. I want him to shine."
Vane turned his head slowly toward his son.
The look was so cold, so dismissive, that Julian actually stepped back. "He will shine, Julian. Because he will be standing next to the Blackwood name. Now, go to the front. The jeweler is waiting with the ring concepts. I need to ensure the fit of this suit is... precise."
Julian lingered for a second, looking at Ren with a sad, confused expression, before nodding and walking toward the front of the boutique.
The moment the curtains of the fitting area swept shut, Vane moved.
He didn't touch Ren's face this time. He stepped behind him, looking at Ren's reflection in the three-way mirror. He placed his hands on Ren's shoulders, his heavy rings cold against Ren's collarbone.
"Look at yourself, Ren," Vane commanded, his gaze meeting Ren's in the glass.
Ren looked. He saw a boy who looked like he belonged in a palace, but whose eyes were filled with the haunting of the slums.
"Julian wants to dress you in white because he wants to believe you're innocent," Vane whispered, his hands sliding down to Ren's waist, pulling him back against his chest.
"He wants to believe I rescued you out of the goodness of my heart. He wants a fairy tale."
Vane's grip tightened, his large hands nearly meeting around Ren's slim waist.
"But you and I know the truth. You aren't innocent. You're a survivor who traded his soul for his father's life. You don't belong in white."
Vane leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of Ren's ear, right against the silver thorn. "You belong in the dark. With me."
Ren's breath hitched. He could see Julian through the gap in the curtains, just thirty feet away, looking at diamond bands. The risk was sickening. The betrayal was absolute. And yet, as Vane's hands moved with possessive authority over his body, Ren felt a terrifying surge of heat.
"Does he touch you like this, Ren?" Vane growled, his voice a vibration in Ren's spine.
"Does he make your heart race until you feel like you're going to faint?"
"No," Ren gasped, his eyes closing.
"Good." Vane pulled away suddenly, leaving Ren cold and trembling. He smoothed out the front of his own suit, his expression returning to a mask of professional indifference. "The charcoal silk. Tell the tailor you love it. If I see a single tear on your face when we walk out there, I'll remind you exactly why I'm the one paying for the rings."
Vane flicked the curtain open, stepping out into the sun-drenched store as if he hadn't just shattered Ren's world again.
"Julian!" Vane called out, his voice smooth and paternal. "The charcoal is perfect. Come see how your fiancé looks in a real man's colors."
Ren stood in the center of the mirrors, his reflection shattered into three pieces. He was trapped between the boy who loved a lie and the man who loved the truth—and the truth was a darkness that was starting to feel like home.
It still feels suffocating
Too suffocating..