The scent of roses didn't leave the greenhouse, even after they burned the soil.
Rayan could still smell it on his skin.
Gasoline-tinged petals. Blood-spattered stems.
He avoided mirrors again.
Not because of fear.
But because he wasn't sure what he'd see anymore.
Kael didn't leave the penthouse for three days.
He didn't hover.
He didn't chain.
He didn't touch.
He just stayed.
Quiet.
Existing in Rayan's orbit like gravity he no longer dared to claim.
On the fourth day, Rayan walked into the kitchen and found Kael still awake.
Unshaven. Pale.
A coffee mug sat untouched in front of him.
Rayan sat across from him.
"You haven't slept."
Kael didn't look up. "Didn't want to."
"…You're scared."
Kael's lips twitched faintly.
"Of what I might do. Again."
"No," Rayan said softly.
Kael looked up now.
And Rayan continued, voice barely above a breath:
"You're scared that I'll leave."
Silence.
Not denial.
Not outrage.
Just raw, naked honesty in Kael's eyes.
And then:
"Yes."
Rayan stood up.
Walked around the table.
Kael didn't move.
Didn't reach out.
Didn't breathe too loudly.
Like one wrong move might shatter this fragile thing between them.
Rayan touched Kael's chin.
Lifted his face.
And asked:
"Why didn't you touch me that night? When I was in heat?"
Kael's voice cracked.
"Because I made you a promise. And because you were scared."
"I'm not scared anymore."
Kael swallowed.
Hard.
"But you don't love me."
Rayan was quiet.
Then, honestly:
"I don't know what love feels like."
Kael looked like he might break.
But Rayan wasn't done.
He cupped Kael's face—not gently, but firmly, grounding both of them in the present.
And whispered:
"But I know what safety feels like now.
And for the first time, it looks like you."
Kael didn't kiss him.
Didn't move.
Just closed his eyes, and exhaled like someone who had been drowning for years and finally surfaced.
Later that night, Rayan lay in bed beside him.
Still clothed.
Still untouched.
But closer than they had ever been.
"Kael?"
"Hm?"
"Would you still want me if I never said 'I love you'?"
Kael turned his head slowly.
And said the only thing Rayan needed to hear:
"I want you even if you never stay.
But I will spend the rest of my life earning it if you do."
And just like that—
It wasn't obsession anymore.
It was something worse.
And more beautiful.
Something Kael had never dared to believe he was capable of.
Something Rayan didn't yet understand.
But something they both chose.
The night air was still.
Kael slept beside him—unmoving, unthreatening, arms folded close to his chest like he was afraid even in dreams of reaching too far.
Rayan sat awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
At the shadows.
At the one memory he never wanted to say aloud.
But tonight… he couldn't hold it anymore.
At 4:12 a.m., he whispered, "Kael?"
Kael stirred. Instantly alert.
He didn't sit up.
Didn't speak.
Just turned his head and waited.
That silence—the kind that said I'll listen, even if it breaks me—was all Rayan needed.
"I was ten," Rayan began.
Voice barely audible.
"My second heat came early. Too early. They said it was unstable. Dangerous. My mother called it defective."
Kael's breath caught—but he didn't speak.
"She took me to a clinic in the southern district. Said it was for stabilization. They didn't tell me what would happen. Just said it would fix me."
A pause.
Then:
"They strapped me to a chair.
Injected something cold into my spine.
And then they waited to see how long I could last without screaming."
Kael's hands gripped the sheets.
But he still didn't interrupt.
"There was a mirror on the ceiling," Rayan said. "So I could watch myself. They said if I cried, I'd prove I was weak. If I begged, I'd be labeled low-class. I bit through my lip before I made a sound."
His voice cracked, but he kept going.
"The nurse gave me a sticker afterward. Like I'd been good at the dentist. I still have it. It's in my old room at the Ardent estate."
Kael's voice came low, sharp, trembling:
"Tell me the names of the doctors."
Rayan blinked.
Kael sat up slowly, fully awake now, fire crawling up his spine.
"Give me the names. The nurse. The director. Anyone who—"
"No."
Rayan placed a hand on his chest.
Not to soothe.
To stop.
"You don't get to take this one from me. This is mine."
Kael looked wrecked.
He lowered his head into his hands.
"I should've found you sooner."
"You would've been killed."
"I should've risked it."
Rayan shifted closer.
Their foreheads touched.
And then, for the first time in his life, he said the truth out loud:
"They didn't just make me paranoid.
They made me think love is a performance.
That I only deserved care if I obeyed."
His breath hitched.
"I was so scared of you, Kael. Because you didn't ask me to obey. You just… stayed."
Kael looked at him then, eyes burning.
"I'll stay until you ask me to leave."
And Rayan whispered, broken but alive:
"Then don't leave. Not yet."
They didn't kiss.
They didn't touch.
But in that moment, something deeper than lust or obsession was sealed.
Not with force.
Not with chains.
But with truth.