The dinner wasn't scheduled.
Elian was called into the dining room just after nine—no warning, no context. The long table was set with steak, wine, dim lights. Leonhart sat at the head, sleeves rolled, hair slightly tousled like he'd come from some gala and ripped off the mask halfway through.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the seat beside him. Not across. Beside.
Elian obeyed.
There was only one place setting. One fork. One knife.
Leonhart cut a piece of his steak, chewed, swallowed. "You're not eating?"
"You didn't ask me to."
Leonhart smirked. "I'm not your keeper."
"Then why am I here?"
Leonhart cut another slice. Speared it. Held the fork out, across the table.
Elian hesitated—but only for a second.
Then he leaned in, lips closing around the bite. Leonhart watched him the entire time. He never blinked.
When Elian swallowed, Leonhart set the fork down.
"People beg to sit here," he said. "CEOs, foreign dignitaries, heirs who want to marry into my family. You walk in like you own the place."
"I didn't ask to be here."
"You didn't have to. You stayed."
Elian looked down at his hands. "Because I need the money."
Leonhart leaned closer. "That's not why you're still playing nice."
Elian looked up, eyes cool. "Is that what you think this is? Nice?"
Something in Leonhart's expression flickered—surprise, maybe. Or something darker.
Then, in one sudden motion, he stood and walked behind Elian's chair.
The air changed.
He leaned down, voice in Elian's ear. "You think I don't see it? That little wall you keep behind your smile. That leash you've put around your own neck before I ever touched you."
Elian's pulse spiked. He didn't answer.
Leonhart's fingers brushed his neck, slow and testing. "Let me guess. You came here expecting to be broken. Used. But it's not that easy with you, is it? You don't shatter. You watch."
The words were too close. Too sharp.
Leonhart's hand slipped lower, fingers brushing the first button of Elian's shirt. "Take this off."
Elian turned his head slowly.
"You want to control me," he said. "But you can't even tell if I'm giving in or letting you pretend I am."
A pause.
Leonhart's voice dropped. "So which is it?"
Elian slowly, deliberately undid the top button.
And whispered, "You'll never know."
---
That night, Leonhart took what Elian allowed.
Hands on silk skin. Mouth on throat. Teeth grazing lips. The heat of wealth and control and pent-up hunger pressed against quiet compliance.
Elian let it happen.
He gave just enough sound, just enough breath, just enough submission to make Leonhart believe he'd won.
But inside?
He was counting.
Every hour. Every touch.
Every moment until the wire transfer hit his account.
---
Chapter 6 Preview:
Leonhart becomes obsessed with Elian's "obedience"—but starts losing control emotionally.
Elian learns something dangerous from Leonhart's past that could be used against him.
Another intense night—this time, Elian takes the lead… subtly.