House Rules

Chapter 2: House Rules

Fifty thousand fans screaming at once wasn’t just loud. It was a weight, pressing against the walls, shaking the floor. Kael watched from the wings, half-hidden by the scaffolding, and felt none of it.

On stage, Julian was a different person. The spoiled brat from the dressing room was gone. In his place stood a performer who owned the whole stadium — moving under purple and red light, gripping the mic stand like it owed him something, hitting notes that sent the crowd into fresh screaming.

Kael didn’t care about the music. He told himself that. Still, his eyes kept catching on the way Julian’s shirt clung to his chest with sweat, the sharp cut of his waist under the stage lights, the flash of a smile aimed at the front row that made people scream louder. Kael forced his attention back to the crowd. Sudden movement. Heavy jackets in the heat. Hands reaching past the barricades.

The last chord hit. Confetti dropped. Julian took his bow.

“Go,” Kael said into his wrist mic.

The lights cut to black before Julian had even straightened up. Kael moved fast. He caught Julian’s arm at the bottom of the stairs and pulled him toward the tunnel. The younger man’s skin was hot under his grip, slick with sweat.

“Hey — watch the leather!” Julian snapped, out of breath.

Kael didn’t answer. He walked Julian past the crew, past the fans screaming behind the barricades, past the reporters shouting questions, and out through the loading dock into a waiting SUV. He pushed Julian into the backseat, climbed in after him, and slammed the door. The confined space filled with the scent of Julian’s cologne mixed with sweat and stage smoke.

“Drive,” he told the driver.

The SUV pulled away fast, tires screeching on the wet pavement.

Julian sank into the seat, chest rising and falling hard. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. He grabbed a water bottle from the mini-fridge and drank half of it in one go, then tossed it aside. A thin line of water ran down his throat. Kael looked away.

Across from them, Marcus — Julian’s manager — was typing on two phones at once.

“Great show, Jules.” He didn’t look up. “Numbers are through the roof. I already sent the guest list for the afterparty. Couple models, that DJ from Berlin, and—”

“Cancel it,” Kael said.

The SUV went quiet. Even the engine seemed to hush. Julian and Marcus both stared at him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Julian’s voice was low. Dangerous.

Kael kept his eyes on the window, checking the headlights behind them. “Cancel the party. No unvetted guests near you until the threat level drops. Your suite stays locked down tonight.”

“You cannot be serious.” Julian leaned forward, all the exhaustion burning off into anger. The movement brought him closer. Kael could feel the heat of him. “It’s opening night. I always throw a party. Marcus, tell him he doesn’t run my life.”

Marcus pushed his glasses up, glancing between them. “Well — maybe he has a point, Julian. With the letters—”

“The letters are from some loser with a keyboard!” Julian slammed his palm on the seat. “I’m not spending opening night locked in a hotel room with a man who hasn’t smiled since 2015.”

“2014,” Kael said, turning to look at him. “And yes, you are. This person knows your private schedule. Thirty drunk strangers who haven’t been searched is a security risk I’m not taking. Party’s canceled. Raid the minibar if you want to celebrate.”

Julian glared, jaw tight, eyes bright with fury. He opened his mouth to argue — but the SUV slowed, pulling into the hotel’s underground garage.

“We’ll see about that.” Julian shoved the door open before the car had fully stopped.

Kael was out a second later, matching his angry stride to the private elevator. Julian jabbed the button for the penthouse and refused to look at him. Neither of them spoke. The silence sat heavy the whole ride up, thick with leftover adrenaline and something sharper.

The doors opened. Julian stormed into the suite, kicked off his boots, and threw his jacket onto the white sofa. He crossed straight to the landline on the kitchen island.

“I’m calling the concierge.” He picked up the phone. “I’m sending down names. Try to stop them and I’ll have you fired by morning.”

Before he could dial, Kael’s hand came down over the phone cradle and cut the line dead.

Julian gasped and spun around. Kael was standing right there, too close, blocking the city lights coming through the windows behind him. The space between them shrank to almost nothing.

“Let’s get the house rules straight.” Kael’s voice dropped low. Something about it made the hair on Julian’s arms rise. “One. I control who comes in and out. Two. You don’t make decisions about your schedule without me. Three. Stop acting like a child. My job is keeping you alive. I don’t need you to like me while I do it.”

Julian stared up at him. He could feel the heat coming off Kael’s chest. He noticed a thin scar through his left eyebrow. He caught the clean, sharp smell of his cologne. Up close, Kael’s eyes were darker than they had any right to be, steady and unreadable.

His heart was pounding. He wasn’t going to back down. He was Julian Vance.

He let go of the phone slowly. Then he stepped forward, closing the last bit of space between them, chin lifted, a smirk pulling at his mouth. Their chests nearly brushed.

“You’re very bossy for someone on my payroll, *Shadow*.” He reached up and dragged one finger down the lapel of Kael’s jacket, slow and deliberate. The fabric was warm under his touch. “Are you going to stand outside my door all night? Listen to me sleep? Keep the boogeyman away?”

Kael’s face didn’t move. His breathing stayed even. But something flickered behind his eyes — brief, controlled, gone almost before it appeared. His pulse didn’t jump, no matter how hard Julian was trying to make it.

He caught Julian’s wrist — firm, but not rough — and lifted it off his jacket. His fingers were warm and strong against Julian’s pulse point. He held on a second longer than necessary before letting go.

“I’ll be in the next room.” He stepped back. “Door stays open. Get some sleep. You look terrible.”

Julian’s mouth fell open. Kael turned and walked toward the adjoining suite, boots silent on the carpet.

“I look flawless, you absolute neanderthal!” Julian grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at his back.

Kael caught it without turning around, dropped it on a chair, and disappeared into his room.

Julian stood alone in the kitchen. His chest was still heaving. His skin was still hot. He was furious — genuinely, completely furious.

And still, when he touched the spot on his wrist where Kael’s fingers had been, a small, unwanted smile crept onto his face. The warmth of that grip lingered longer than it should have.

The game was on.