The sterile silence of the penthouse was shattered by the sharp buzz of the intercom. Leo jolted awake on the vast, unfamiliar bed, tangled in sheets that smelled of cedar and cold luxury. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting harsh geometric shapes on the polished concrete floor. His head throbbed, the echo of the slap against Thorne's cheekbone still vibrating in his palm. Panic seized him – had Thorne returned? To retaliate? To throw him out?
He padded barefoot across the cold floor, the borrowed sweatpants hanging loose. Hesitantly, he pressed the intercom button. "Yes?" His voice rasped, rough with sleep and dread.
"Package delivery, Mr. Thorne." An unfamiliar voice, clipped and professional. Not Thorne.
Leo released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "He's... not here. Leave it with the concierge." He leaned his forehead against the cool glass panel beside the intercom, the sterile silence pressing in again. The stolen photo flashed behind his eyelids – his own vulnerable sleep captured like prey. He needed to leave. Now. Before Thorne returned.
He was hastily pulling on his ripped hoodie over the borrowed grey shirt when the penthouse door clicked open. Leo froze mid-motion, heart hammering against his ribs. Thorne stood framed in the doorway, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit, his expression unreadable. In his hand, he held a sleek, matte-black garment bag. He didn't enter immediately, his pale grey eyes scanning Leo's disheveled state, the half-packed backpack, the tension radiating off him like heat waves.
"Leaving?" Thorne's voice was low, devoid of its usual command. It sounded almost... weary. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. The silence stretched, thick with the memory of the slap, the kiss, the stolen photo. Leo braced himself for the cold fury, the inevitable expulsion.
Instead, Thorne placed the garment bag carefully on a nearby bench. He didn't advance. "The clothes," he stated, his gaze fixed on Leo's ripped hoodie. "For Azure. Laurent expects... standards." There was no accusation, only a flat statement of fact. It was jarring.
Leo's nerves snapped like over-tightened wires. "Standards?" The word exploded from him, sharp and brittle. He gestured wildly at the penthouse, the city lights beyond the window, the garment bag. "Like your standards? Watching me sleep? Taking pictures like some fucking creep?" His voice cracked, raw with betrayal. "Was that part of the 'standards' too? Or just your private collection?" He shoved his arms violently into the sleeves of his hoodie, the fabric catching on his borrowed shirt. "Keep your damn suit. Keep your job. I'd rather scrub Darren's fryers naked than owe you another second!"
Thorne didn't react to the outburst. He stood utterly still, absorbing Leo's fury like stone absorbs rain. Only his eyes shifted, the glacial grey softening infinitesimally, a fracture in the ice. The silence that followed Leo's tirade was profound, heavy with the weight of Leo's ragged breathing and the unspoken horror of the stolen photo.
Then, Thorne did the impossible. He lowered his gaze. Not in defeat, but in… acknowledgment. "The photograph," he began, his voice rougher than usual, stripped of its usual command. "Was a violation." The words hung in the air, stark and simple. He didn't justify, didn't explain the obsession that drove him to surveil Leo's dingy room. He simply named the sin. "It was wrong." He lifted his eyes, meeting Leo's blazing stare. The predatory stillness was gone, replaced by a weary, unsettling vulnerability. "I saw you. Before Azure. On the street. After the alley." He paused, searching for words that clearly didn't come easily. "You moved… like light cutting through shadow. I needed to understand it. To possess it. That need… twisted me." He gestured faintly, a dismissal of his own motives. "It's no excuse."
Leo stood frozen, the fury in his chest momentarily stunned. Thorne admitting fault? Thorne sounding… human? It was more disorienting than the slap, the kiss, the photo. The raw honesty scraped against Leo's own fear and anger. He saw the exhaustion etched deeper into Thorne's face now, the faint tremor in the hand holding the garment bag. This wasn't the untouchable predator. This was a man laid bare by his own darkness.