Aries watched from his window.
He didn't move, didn't call out, just watched as Rowon climbed into the SUV. For a fleeting second, Felton's eyes flicked up — catching his gaze, holding it. A challenge. A dare. Stop us if you can.
Aries's jaw clenched, his hand curling into a fist at his side.
"So you've already made your choice, son," he muttered.
---
The drive was silent. Too silent. Neither Rowon nor Felton spoke, not even when the city fell behind and the forest swallowed the road.
Finally, the car rolled to a halt. The gates creaked open to reveal something out of place in the wilderness — a cottage perched above a wide, still lake.
Lake Cottage.
The place looked unreal. The cottage itself sat atop the water, bridges of thick, authentic wood crisscrossing across the lake like veins. The beams sank deep into the water, half-drowned, yet holding the structure with impossible strength. Remote. Hidden. A place where even if someone screamed until their throat tore—no one would hear.
Rowon stepped out of the car and froze. It was beautiful. Too beautiful.
"How did you even find this place?" he asked, still staring.
"The Browns' property," Felton answered casually, handing off the keys to a waiting guard.
Rowon's eyes narrowed. "So you really are… the next heir after Sage."
Felton said nothing.
"So it's Felton Brown, not Felton Fox." His tone carried a mocking lilt.
"I prefer Fox."
"Is that why Sage calls you that? Even though you're a Brown?"
Felton's expression didn't flicker. "No. He calls me Fox to remind me of my place."
Rowon side-eyed him. He knew Sage — that bastard just enjoyed messing with Felton. But he let the thought die. Felton wouldn't answer anyway.
They stepped onto the bridge, the wood groaning beneath their feet.
"Seriously," Rowon muttered, glancing around, "rich people will do anything for luxury."
Felton almost smacked the back of his head. As if Rowon wasn't the son of the chairman of the Detective Bureau himself.
Felton didn't look at him when he replied. "It's nothing."
Rowon scoffed, unconvinced.
The walk revealed more of the strange beauty of the place. Bridges linked cottage to cottage, each suspended over the lake like floating islands. At the center, a vast round table stood beneath a canopy of wood and vines. Above, a transparent sheet glistened, catching light from the sky. It looked almost holy. Beside it, a kitchen gleamed with polished tiles, rustic yet luxurious.
Rowon's chest tightened unexpectedly. I could live here.
The thought startled him, and he shoved it away immediately.
A door clicked open. Felton stood there, holding it, waiting.
Inside, Rowon was hit by quiet opulence. The nearest cottage was no rustic cabin but a five-star suite disguised in wood. Clean lines, silk sheets, air too warm, too intimate.
"Whoever made this deserves a medal," Rowon muttered.
"I designed it," Felton said simply.
Rowon spun, his eyes wide. "You what?!"
"I designed it," Felton repeated, stepping to the balcony. He lit a cigarette, the ember flaring against the evening. His gaze found Rowon's, unbothered. "You think I'm illiterate?"
Rowon blinked. "I didn't mean that. I just thought your job was… being a bodyguard."
Felton exhaled smoke, steady. "It is. But I'm also an architect."
Rowon shook his head, disbelief etched across his face. "You Browns really know how to throw surprises. Here I thought you were just a bunch of stubborn psychos fighting over BETA. Wait… does that mean Sage is something else too?"
"BETA is a pharmaceutical farm. Research, mostly," Felton said flatly. "And yes. Sage is a scientist."
Rowon froze. "What the fuck."
"Why else do you think he wants BETA? He's been running half the research himself. He's been insane since the day he was born."
Rowon burst into laughter, resting his elbows on the railing. "No way. I really thought you guys were just manipulative bastards good at bed. But shit—you've actually got hot professions." Rowon thought to himself, Sam's going to get even hornier when he hears this. His thoughts spun recklessly. Great. Now I've gotta warn Rai and Jean. Sam's in danger. As Sam is sleeping with the other psycho brother. Not-brothers. Whatever.
But then Felton stepped closer, closing the space between them. His voice dropped low.
"Are you still sore in the back?"
Every other thought shattered. Rowon's neck flushed red instantly, heat rushing to his skin at the memory of Phi Phi Island.
Felton's lips curved. "Don't worry. I won't pound on you tonight."
Relief washed over Rowon before he could stop it. His back still ached, his body still tender. If Felton touched him again like that, he'd probably land in a hospital bed. Too humiliating to even imagine.
Rowon cleared his throat. "Then why bring me here?"
Felton offered him a cigarette, eyes softer now, almost unreadable.
"Let's talk."
And Rowon's heart clenched. Hard.
*****
Around 4:30 AM, the apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and Sam's slow, even breathing. He was sprawled across the bed, still flushed from their earlier session, arms relaxed, face serene in sleep. Sage sat beside him, laptop open, eyes narrowing as a new message notification blinked.
It was from Mr. Wright. A threat. A video, " You fucker. How dare you touch my son!! "
Curious, Sage clicked it—and the video loaded instantly.
There they were: himself and Sam, entangled, moving together. Every gasp, every shiver, every wet, broken moan from Sam was captured in high definition. The way Sam arched, called his name, gave himself completely—it was intoxicating to watch again. And now, Mr. Wright had seen it too.
Sage's lips curved into a slow, dark smirk. Not shock. Not fear. Amusement. Pure, delicious amusement. He reached over, brushing a finger through Sam's hair, pressing a soft kiss to the temple of the boy who was sleeping peacefully beside him.
He saved the video. A trophy.
Then, with deliberate calm, he typed his reply to Mr. Wright:
"As you can see, your son is safe… and with me. He's mine now."
The reply sent, Sage leaned back, eyes glinting in the dim light. Almost immediately, another message arrived.
"You'll pay for touching my son!"
Sage let out a low, slow laugh. The sound was rich, dangerous, and amused all at once. The fury, the helplessness in the message—it was intoxicating. He could almost hear the old man grinding his teeth from a distance, powerless.
And as he stared at Sam sleeping beside him, chest rising and falling, Sage made a decision.
Sam would not go home. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until Sonia's engagement. The next time the Wright family saw Sam, it would be under Sage's terms—safe, wrapped up in him, and enough to make the old man's heart skip in fear.
Sage's mind flicked to his father—the old fox who had sent the video anonymously. Sage just knew it. A sly grin curved his lips. Confrontation was coming. Not a threat, not an outright fight… but a reminder. A teasing, dangerous reminder that Sage didn't take orders from anyone. Not his father. Not Sam's father. No one.
He closed the laptop gently, eyes dropping to Sam again. His fingers traced lazy patterns over the boy's bare skin, memorizing every line, every curve, every sigh even in sleep. Ownership.
Sam was his. And that was just the beginning.
_____
The Brown Mansion was silent, too calm for what was about to happen. Sage didn't knock. Guards stepped in his way, but he didn't pause. Inside the bedroom, Apollo and Eros were still tangled in the sheets, remnants of the night's passion clinging to them. Their hair was messy, their skin flushed—anyone could guess what had just occurred.
Eros scrambled to cover himself, awkward and flustered.
"Why—" he started, but Sage cut him off with a sharp, casual tone.
"Tell your husband to not interfere in my intimate life, and I won't interfere in his."
Apollo's nostrils flared, eyes blazing.
"What? Did… Wright already come after you?"
Sage's lips curved in a smirk, unfazed.
"It doesn't matter. Sam already belongs to me."
Without another word, Sage left, the guards quickly shutting the door behind him. Apollo fumed, chest heaving, jaw tight.
Eros looked on, confusion written across his face.
"What did you do?"
Apollo's glare never softened. "A lesson."
Eros blinked slowly, realization dawning. "Is… this about Sage's lover?"
Apollo's gaze was icy. "Warned the lover's father."
Eros exhaled, a mix of relief and resignation. He wasn't dumb; he knew his husband's obsession for heirs. He'd served as Apollo's bodyguard before marrying him, and he knew better than anyone the lengths Apollo would go to.
"Just leave them be," Eros said, shaking his head. "You're crossing the line, even for you."
Apollo's anger shifted suddenly, grabbing Eros by the neck and closing the distance. "You should've given me another child."
Eros recoiled, fuming now. "What the heck are you talking about?!"
Apollo leaned closer, voice low and dangerous. "I should have researched that… male pregnancy case."
Eros shook his head, walking away. "We're old now. Even if we tried, we can't."
Apollo said nothing, just followed him silently as Eros moved toward the restroom. Another round of tension hung in the air—unspoken, inevitable, and chaotic, the kind that only the Browns could produce.