Five days. For Liam, it had been a week defined by a restless, simmering friction. He found himself checking his phone with a frequency that felt like a fever, his eyes darting to the screen at every phantom vibration. He tried to convince himself he was waiting for a status update on a shipment or a petulant text from Tasha, but the truth was far more jagged: he felt as though he were suffocating in the silence Jeff had left behind.
Jeff, meanwhile, had been fighting a war of attrition against his own impulses. He had dared himself to stay silent for a full week—a desperate test to see if this magnetic pull was a genuine connection or merely a byproduct of the adrenaline. He lost that battle on day five. He sat staring at the number on his screen, his thumb hovering with a mind of its own until the tension snapped.
He hit dial.
The phone rang—once, twice. Jeff's heart hammered against his ribs, and he was a split second away from hanging up when a voice—sharp, cool, and devastatingly familiar—answered.
"Liam speaking. Who is this?"
Jeff took a slow, steadying breath. "Hey."
The line fell into a heavy silence. Liam didn't need a name; he recognized that low, melodic rumble instantly.
"Oh," Liam said, his voice dropping an octave. "I told you not to call me, didn't I?"
"You know me better than that," Jeff countered, a smirk forming despite the distance.
"Whatever. Why are you calling?"
"Can we go out?"
"No. And absolutely not. Don't even think about it."
"Calm down, baby," Jeff teased, his tone honeyed. "I'm just asking."
"The hell, Jeff! Who is 'baby'?! Are you actually insane?"
"You make me crazy, Liam."
"I'm hanging up right now."
"No, no—please don't," Jeff said quickly, his voice losing its playful edge and becoming earnest.
"Then say why you called. I'm busy."
"I just wanted to check on you. I'm sorry it took so long to call... I've been trying to, but I kept getting distracted."
"By what? Tell me so I can give it an award for keeping you away from me."
"You hate me that much?"
"Worse."
Jeff let out a genuine, booming laugh that echoed in Liam's ear. "We'll find out soon enough."
Liam leaned back against his headboard, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips despite his best efforts to remain cold. "You're a psychopath. Tasha is my girlfriend."
"She's my rival," Jeff corrected.
"She's not. And just so you know, we're getting married soon. Don't think for a second you have a chance."
"Then I guess I'll have to kidnap you and lock you in my room," Jeff said.
"You can try." Liam stood up, moving toward the decanter to pour a glass of wine. His movements felt lighter, more fluid than they had in days.
"What are you up to now?" Jeff asked.
"None of your business."
"Sure. Just wanted to know what my future boyfriend was doing."
"Dreams, Jeff. Pure dreams."
"Exactly what I was thinking," Jeff laughed. "Anyway, I have to get ready for the set. I'll talk to you tonight, baby."
"Fuck off, loser! I said don't—"
"Goodbye, my love," Jeff whispered and disconnected the call.
Liam stood by his desk, sipping the wine as a deep, burning heat climbed his neck. He was blushing—a physical reaction he hadn't experienced in all his twenty-four years. No one had ever called him 'baby' before; it was a word that felt like an anchor and a spark all at once.
Jeff, for his part, was grinning like a madman as he finished dressing. He didn't regret the call for a second. He finally understood the gravity of the situation: he was falling for a man who had once been his captor.
The Don and the Shadow
In his private study, Arthur was wrapping up a tense business call when his bodyguard informed him that Liam's assistant had arrived. Arthur straightened his collar, ignoring the strange, rhythmic flutter in his chest. "Bring him in."
Ben entered, his long hair catching the morning light, looking as poised and ethereal as ever. He had been sent to excuse Liam from the evening's meeting, citing his "illness."
"Good day, sir," Ben said, offering a small, polite smile.
"Hey... hi," Arthur stammered, momentarily mesmerized by the way Ben moved. "Why are you here, Mr. Ben?"
"My master asked me to deliver a message. He won't be at the meeting tonight; he's been feeling quite low lately."
"Liam... is such a weak—"
"He isn't, sir," Ben interrupted gently, his voice soft but firm. "He's just a kid."
Normally, Arthur would have roared at the insolence of a subordinate correcting him. But looking at Ben, he felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to simply... listen. "A kid... well, yes. But he is meant to be a man."
"He is, sir. And I can tell you, when I was his age, I wouldn't have been able to handle half the burden he carries."
Arthur found himself stuttering. "I... well... he..."
"Are you alright, sir?" Ben asked, stepping a fraction closer.
"I'm fine! I just need rest," Arthur said quickly, his voice rough. "Thank you for the message. Do you... want to stay for a drink?"
Ben's smile widened, lighting up his features. "No, sir. I'd rather not."
"Why not? I wouldn't poison you."
"Exactly my point, sir," Ben teased.
"Arthur."
"Sir?"
"My name," Arthur clarified, his heart racing. "It's Arthur. Not 'sir'."
Ben let out a soft, musical laugh that seemed to vibrate in Arthur's very bones. "I'll leave now, sir."
He left Arthur standing there, rooted to the spot. Once the door closed, Arthur shooed his guards away and sat in a heavy, contemplative silence. What was happening to him? He wanted Ben to stay—not as an employee, but as a presence.
Later, as Arthur stood in the shower, the hot water drumming against his shoulders, he caught his reflection in the steamed mirror. He imagined a pair of arms wrapping around him from behind. In his mind, it wasn't a woman's face he saw. It was Ben—Ben whispering in his ear, Ben's hands against his skin.
"Hell, no!" Arthur barked at the empty room. "No. What am I thinking? Ben? No. I don't like him. He's annoying. He's just my son's shadow."
He tried to block the thoughts, to remind himself of his status and his history. But as he leaned against the cool tile, a small, involuntary smile tugged at his lips. He was falling, and for the first time in his rigid, violent life, the feeling was terrifyingly beautiful.