Romans de cindyy

The walk back to campus felt like stepping out of a dream and into a cold, harsh reality. The morning sun was bright, students were laughing on their way to class, and everything was normal. But Leonard felt like an alien. He carried the secret of the past night inside him—the warmth of the guest bed, the smell of coffee in Paul’s kitchen, the profound peace of a dreamless sleep. It was a treasure he had to hide, and it made the ordinary world seem dull and fake.He used his key card to enter the dorm, his heart thudding nervously. He hoped Emily had already left for her morning class.No such luck. She was in the kitchenette, pouring cereal into a bowl. She looked up as he entered, and her expression immediately shifted from casual to concerned.“Hey,” she said, her voice careful. “You weren’t here when I woke up. I checked your room.” Her gaze swept over him, taking in his slightly rumpled clothes from the day before. “Everything okay?”Leonard’s mouth went dry. This was it. He had

Paul’s apartment was nothing like Leonard had imagined. It wasn’t a cold, sterile bachelor pad. It was warm, lived-in, and surprisingly cozy. Soft light came from a lamp in the living room, illuminating comfortable-looking furniture and more bookshelves. The air smelled like coffee and that faint, familiar sandalwood.“You can take the guest room,” Paul said, his voice still low and calm. He led Leonard down a short hallway and opened a door. The room was simple but inviting: a bed with a dark blue comforter, a nightstand, a small desk. It was clean and quiet. “The bathroom is just across the hall. There are clean towels in the cabinet.”Leonard stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Thank you,” he mumbled, feeling like an intruder. “I’m so sorry for… all of this.”“Don’t be,” Paul said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “This is what I’m here for. To help. Try to get some sleep. I’ll be right out here if you need anything.” He gestured towards the living room.Leonard just nodded, his

The nightmare was worse than usual. It wasn't just fragments this time; it was a full, suffocating reel. The dusty carpet smell, the crushing weight, the paralyzing fear—it was so vivid he woke up choking on a scream, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The digital clock on his bedside table glowed a merciless 2:17 AM.The silence in the dorm was absolute and heavy. Emily was asleep in the next room. He was alone. The panic attack that followed the nightmare was immediate and overwhelming. His breath came in short, ragged gasps. He felt the walls closing in. The breathing exercises were a distant, useless memory. His usual coping mechanism felt repulsive, a reminder of the very shame he was drowning in.He was spiraling. The fragile calm from the sessions with Paul shattered completely, leaving him raw and exposed. In that moment of absolute terror and isolation, logic deserted him. There was only one anchor in the storm, one person who had made the darkness rece

Back in the silence of his dorm room, Leonard tried to recreate the calm. He sat on the edge of his bed, closed his eyes, and placed a hand on his stomach, just like Paul had shown him. He took a slow, deep breath, pushing his stomach out.It felt hollow. The breath was just air moving in and out. The silence of the room was oppressive, not peaceful. The memory of the nightmare from the night before lingered at the edges of his mind, a dark stain the breathing couldn't wash away. He tried again, focusing harder. But without Paul's low, guiding voice, without the firm, warm pressure on his wrist, the exercise felt empty. It was just a mechanical action. The knot of anxiety in his chest remained, tight and stubborn.Frustration bubbled up inside him. Why isn't it working? He was doing everything right. But the magic was gone. The profound sense of safety and calm he had felt in Paul's office was nowhere to be found. It was like trying to start a fire with wet wood; the components were t

The week between the appointments passed in a strange, suspended state. Leonard went through the motions of his classes, but his mind was elsewhere. He found himself looking forward to Wednesdays with an intensity that scared him a little. It was the only fixed point in his week, the only time he felt like he was actively moving towards something, instead of just surviving.When he walked into Paul’s office for the second time, the room felt familiar, almost welcoming. Paul greeted him with the same warm, professional smile.“How have you been this week, Leonard?” he asked, gesturing to the same armchair.“Okay,” Leonard said, sitting down. It was mostly true. The nightmares were still there, but the crushing weight of hopelessness had lessened. “A bit better, I think. Just… knowing there’s a reason for it all. It helps.”“Good. Understanding is the first step toward control,” Paul said, leaning back in his chair. He looked thoughtful. “Today, I’d like to try something practical. A si

The walk back to his dorm felt different. The evening air wasn’t just cold; it felt clean. The streetlights weren’t just bright; they cast warm, hopeful pools on the pavement. For the first time in years, the heavy blanket of despair had lifted slightly, allowing a sliver of light to touch him. He felt… lighter. The crushing weight on his chest had eased, just a little.He replayed the session in his head. Paul’s calm voice. The understanding in his eyes. “It’s a treatable condition.” The words were a mantra, a shield against the familiar voice of shame that usually hissed in his ear. He didn’t think I was disgusting. He thought I was hurt.Emily was in their shared living space, working on her laptop. She looked up as he entered. “Hey. You look… better.” Her tone was cautious, observational.Leonard managed a small, genuine smile. “I feel better. Just… went for a walk. Cleared my head.” The lie came easier this time, coated in the afterglow of his session. He wasn’t ready to share th

The unsettling revelation about Verdant Holdings lingered in Lynn's mind like a persistent ghost. The clear, cold hatred he had nurtured for Caius was now muddied with confusing questions. He tried to push them aside, to focus on the tangible facts: he was a prisoner, a replacement. But the memory of Caius's fear, the awkward care, the silent retribution—they were cracks in the foundation of his certainty.It was in this vulnerable, confused state that Marcus found him again. Not at a social event, but with a brazenness that spoke of careful planning. Lynn had been granted his weekly "supervised" outing to a small, private gallery exhibiting a new artist. James's usual shadow was a few paces behind, giving a semblance of space. As Lynn stood before a particularly vibrant abstract painting, trying to lose himself in the colors, a familiar, smooth voice spoke beside him."Lynn. A pleasant surprise." Marcus Evans was there, impeccably dressed, holding a glass of champagne as if he owned

They returned to the New York penthouse. The tropical sun and the turquoise sea felt like a distant dream, replaced once more by the steel-and-glass reality of Lynn's gilded cage. The awkward intimacy of the sickroom on the island had not traveled back with them. Caius retreated behind his impenetrable CEO facade, colder and more distant than before, as if trying to erase the memory of his own brief moment of vulnerability. Lynn, for his part, clung to his silence and his art, the shame of his unconscious nuzzle still a fresh wound. The dark, chaotic paintings continued to pile up in his studio.Life settled back into the oppressive routine, but a subtle shift had occurred. Lynn found himself watching Caius more closely, not just with hatred, but with a nagging, unwelcome curiosity. The image of Caius's trembling hands and fear-stricken face on the dock was seared into his memory, a stark contradiction to the man who had called him "Lucas."A few weeks after their return, Lynn was in

The shock of the cold water and the adrenaline crash left Lynn vulnerable. By nightfall, a fever had taken hold. He lay shivering in the massive bed of the guest room, despite the pile of blankets, his body aching and his mind fuzzy. The world narrowed to the chills racking his frame and the throbbing in his head. The dramatic events on the dock felt like a distant, surreal dream.He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, a cool presence was on his forehead. He flinched away instinctively, his eyes fluttering open. The room was dimly lit by a single bedside lamp. Caius was sitting in a chair pulled up to the bed, his hand retreating after having felt Lynn's temperature. His expression was unreadable in the shadows."You're burning up," Caius stated, his voice low. There was no anger, no command, just a simple observation that held a hint of something else... concern?Lynn was too weak to respond with anything more than a weak moan, turning his face into the pillow. He ex

The cold war in the penthouse stretched on for days, a silent battle fought with looks and withheld words. The air was so thick with tension it was hard to breathe. Lynn continued to paint his dark, angry canvases, stacking them against the studio wall like a silent protest. Caius watched him with a simmering frustration he couldn't articulate. He felt the boy slipping further away, and his attempts to pull him back—through control, through demands—only seemed to push him deeper into his shell.Then, abruptly, Caius announced they were leaving. "We're going to the island," he said one morning, his tone brooking no argument. "You need a change of scenery. This... mood... ends now." It was framed as a command, a solution imposed from above. A "vacation" in a newer, more remote cage.Lynn didn't protest. What was the point? Resistance was futile. He packed a small bag with a sense of numb detachment. The "island" turned out to be a private, stunningly beautiful speck of land in a turquoi

The silence that settled over the penthouse after the "Lucas" incident was different. It wasn't the tense quiet of before; it was absolute, frozen, like the air after a blizzard. Lynn moved through the rooms like a ghost, his face a blank mask. He didn't look at Caius. He didn't speak unless directly addressed, and even then, his answers were monosyllabic, devoid of any emotion. The small, confusing cracks of humanity he thought he might have seen in Caius were now sealed over with a layer of impenetrable ice. He knew exactly what he was: a replacement, a consolation prize for a lost brother. The knowledge was a constant, cold ache in his chest.Caius, for his part, seemed to retreat into himself. The raw vulnerability he'd shown that night was gone, locked away behind walls thicker than before. But Lynn's complete emotional withdrawal did not go unnoticed. Caius watched him, his gray eyes narrowed, a familiar frustration brewing beneath the surface. He was a man used to control, and

The car ride back from the townhouse was thick with a silence more suffocating than any that had come before. Caius sat rigidly in the seat opposite Lynn, his face a mask of cold fury. The evening had clearly taken a toll on him; the tension with Marcus was a live wire, and Lynn’s presence had been a pawn in their silent battle. Lynn kept his gaze fixed on the passing city lights, but he didn’t see them. His mind was a whirlwind of Marcus’s smiling face and the ominous words about his father. The hatred in his heart was a solid, cold weight.They arrived at the penthouse. Caius stalked inside, throwing his coat over a chair with a violence that was unusual for his controlled movements. He went straight to the bar and poured a large glass of amber liquid, downing half of it in one go. Lynn hovered near the doorway, unsure what to do. He wanted to retreat to his room, to process the chaos in his mind alone, but something in Caius’s posture—the tightness in his shoulders, the way he grip