The next morning arrived far too quickly. Sylvain had barely slept. He had cried himself into an exhausted, fitful daze sometime after midnight, tears soaking the expensive pillow in the guest room.
The scenes from the previous night refused to leave him alone. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his own hand wrapped around Silas's thick cock, the way it had throbbed and jerked under his uncertain strokes, the low guttural moan that had escaped Silas's lips as he came.
The memory made Sylvain's cheeks burn with fresh embarrassment even now, hours later.
The way his hands had moved, hesitant at first, then guided. The way Silas had reacted—the low, controlled sounds that had slipped past his restraint. Even now, those sounds echoed in Sylvain's ears, making his face burn with fresh embarrassment.
"I actually did that…" he muttered under his breath, pressing his palms against his eyes as if he could erase the memory.
He had never imagined himself in such a position. Never thought he would be reduced to… that.
His thoughts spiraled, shame and confusion tangling together, until he didn't even notice the door opening.
"What are you thinking about this morning?" The voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. Sylvain froze.
Slowly, he lowered his hands and turned his head.
Silas stood by the door, already dressed, his presence filling the room with quiet authority. His expression was calm, almost amused, as though he had walked into something he fully expected.
"I… I… wa–was…" Sylvain stammered, his voice betraying him. Silas raised a brow, stepping further into the room.
"You are to serve me for three months, right?" he asked, his tone even, but laced with something heavier beneath.
Sylvain swallowed. "Yes… it's clearly stated."
"Then why," Silas continued, closing the distance between them, "are you still in bed?"
Sylvain's eyes burned with barely contained anger as he stared directly into Silas's cold gaze. For a moment, defiance flared hot in his chest. He wanted to snap back, to remind Silas that he wasn't some domestic servant.
But the memory of his brother's fragile situation and the casual way Silas had threatened him, choked the words down.
"I will prepare your meal now."
Silas studied him, then smiled faintly. "Good."
The word had barely left his lips before his hand moved again—this time gripping Sylvain by the back of his neck and pulling him forward. Their lips met.
Sylvain's eyes widened in shock. "What are you doing—?" he tried to say, but the words dissolved as Silas deepened the kiss.
"Stay still," Silas murmured against his lips. Then, without warning, he bit down lightly on Sylvain's lower lip.
A soft whimper escaped Sylvain before he could stop it. His body betrayed him, going rigid yet unresponsive, caught somewhere between resistance and acceptance.
During the brief struggle, Sylvain felt the unmistakable hardness of Silas's erection pressing against his stomach through the thin fabric of his robe. The contact sent an unwelcome jolt of heat through his own body.
After several long, humiliating seconds, Silas released him.
"Get going," he ordered, voice calm once more, as if the kiss had been nothing more than a casual good morning.
Sylvain stumbled back, breathing ragged, lips tingling and slightly swollen. He fled the room without another word, heart hammering against his ribs. Only when he reached the kitchen did he stop.
He leaned against the counter, inhaling deeply, trying to steady himself.
"What is wrong with him…" he whispered, though the question felt hollow.
The kitchen was enormous, stainless steel appliances, marble counters that gleamed under recessed lighting.
Sylvain opened the massive refrigerator and stared blankly at the abundance inside: fresh produce, premium cuts of meat, artisanal cheeses, exotic fruits. Enough food to feed a small army.
It left him dumbfounded. He had never cooked a proper meal in his life. Back when he still had power and money, chefs and takeout had handled everything.
His culinary skills were limited to boiling an egg or making instant noodles on desperate nights.
After several long moments of hesitation, he grabbed two eggs and a bottle of cold water. That would have to do.
"That should be enough," he muttered.
He moved cautiously, almost awkwardly, as if afraid of doing something wrong. He filled the kettle with water and plugged it in, then searched through the cabinets until he found a small pot and a cup.
Placing two eggs into the pot, he added water and set it on the electric cooker.
Next came the toaster. He found a loaf of bread and slid a few slices in, pressing the lever down clumsily.
A sharp whistle from the kettle startled him.
Sylvain flinched, rushing to turn it off. He poured the hot water into the cup, his movements careful this time.
He scanned the counter, spotting tea and sugar. "That should work…"
He prepared the tea as best as he could, then returned to the pot, removing the eggs once they were done and placing them in cold water.
He cracked the eggs onto a plate, arranged everything neatly, and carried it to the dining table.
Just as he set it down, the toaster clicked. He hurried back, retrieving the slices and placing them alongside the rest.
Just as he finished, Silas emerged from the master bedroom, fully dressed and looking devastatingly handsome. The tailored suit hugged his frame perfectly, exuding quiet power and wealth. Sylvain couldn't help but stare for a second before catching himself.
"Hmm… you do know how to do something," Silas remarked, lips curving into an amused smile as he inspected the simple breakfast.
"I learned a few things to survive," Sylvain muttered, keeping his tone neutral.
Silas sat down at the head of the table. "Go take a shower. We're going out." He picked up a piece of toast and bit into it, then frowned slightly. "No fruits? And this is too crispy."
"Where are we going?" Sylvain asked.
Silas didn't even glance up. "Don't ask me questions. You'll know when we get there." He took another bite.
"I don't have any clothes here. Can you let me go home?"
"No. There are clothes in the guest room for you." Silas picked up his phone and continued eating, effectively dismissing him.
Sylvain sighed heavily and returned to the guest room. He took a long, scalding shower, trying to scrub away the lingering feeling of Silas's lips and the ghost of last night's shame.
When he opened the wardrobe, he found an array of high-end clothing—designer hoodies, jeans, shirts, all in his size. Brands he used to wear without a second thought when his life was still his own. Now they felt like another layer of control.
He chose a simple black hoodie and dark blue jeans, dressing quickly.
After dressing, he returned to the dining area. Silas was still there, focused on his phone.
When he returned to the dining area, Silas was still on his phone. Sylvain stood awkwardly, unsure what to do next.
"Keep staring and I'll eat you up right here," Silas said without looking up, his tone casual but laced with dark promise.
Sylvain immediately dropped his gaze, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, breaking the heavy silence.
Silas laughed—deep, genuine, and surprisingly loud. "Sit and eat."
Cheeks burning with fresh embarrassment, Sylvain sat down. He picked up the second piece of toast and took a large bite. Silas slid the plate with the remaining egg and cup of tea toward him.
"Eat up."
Sylvain looked at him in surprise. This almost felt… considerate. Was this the same man who had made him stroke him to completion last night and then sent him to sleep alone?
"You can't fall ill," Silas explained, a sly smile playing on his lips. "I still need you to satisfy my urges."
The words were a cold splash of reality. Sylvain lowered his head and ate in silence, the food tasting mechanical now.
After the meal, Sylvain cleared the table and washed the dishes without being told.
When he finished, Silas stood."Alright, let's go."
He led the way to the underground garage where a sleek black luxury car waited. The same driver from before opened the door for Silas without sparing Sylvain a single glance.
"Office," Silas instructed as he slid into the backseat.
Sylvain walked around and entered from the other side. The driver closed the doors, and the car purred to life, gliding smoothly out of the garage and into the bustling city streets.
Sylvain stared out the tinted window, watching the world pass by.