Chapter 7

The sun blazed gracefully inside the room; that was the only thing Ren enjoyed about the room—it has a nice view outside and great sunlight.

Ren’s body jerked awake before the light even touched the curtains; he sat up fast, his chest heaving as sweat dripped down his neck.

He had a nightmare; this was the first time he was having nightmares in ages. He adjusted his sitting posture with his shocked expression.

For a second, he didn’t know where he was, then the room reminded him: the high ceiling, the cold floor, the queen-sized bed, the silk sheets, and the large equipped room.

It was Ciro's mansion, of course; Liam and his rented apartment can be closer to just this one room.

Ren’s fingers curled in the sheets as he remembered what Ciro said last night.

“You should know that no one denies me.”

“Tsk, if no one did, then I will,” he murmured sassily.

He climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, refusing to look in the mirror; looking at the mirror reminded him of what happened with his body and he couldn't bear to see the reminder of what had been done to him.

It always left him humiliated.

He pulled off his night robe, the tattoo on his wrist catching his attention.

He smiled, thinking about Liam. He hadn't called him in days; they haven't spoken, and that wasn't normal.

He pushed the thought aside before he would cry; he always had a soft spot for Liam, making him a crybaby.

---

Downstairs, the maid greeted him with a bow. “Good morning, Mr. Ren.”

“Where is he?” Ren asked, voice flat.

“... Mr. Don? He left for a meeting an hour ago.”

Ren nodded and walked straight past her.

He didn't ask for breakfast, and he didn't fake politeness; all he needed was just air.

He walked past the garden again; it was too neat and bright. It made him feel protected and calmer; it reminded him of his best friend Liam, the one who was always making him feel both things.

He wanted to cry, but instead, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialled Liam.

The call rang once, his heart pounding; it rang again till it went into voicemail.

He didn’t leave a message; he just gritted his teeth and cursed himself for being stupid enough to leave Liam behind.

Liam had stopped him from signing the contract, but he did, and he even agreed to the rules without reading them. What a dumb way to sign a contract, he hissed.

But he hadn’t agreed to being kissed like property or a plaything.

If Ciro wanted a “plaything,” he’d picked the wrong boy.

---

It was close to noon when the butler approached him in the hall.

“Mr. Don sent this,” he said, handing over a black envelope.

Ren opened it, frowning. Inside it was a schedule, a printed one. Ren could tell this was what Ciro wanted him to do as his schedule.

Wake up by 6:00 a.m.

Breakfast by 7:00 a.m.

Appearance sometimes at Don's meetings will be scheduled anytime.

Lunch with Me – 12:30

Dance class by 2:00 p.m.

Private evening—Await instructions.

Ren blinked.

“Dance class?” He said aloud, muffling his laughter, “Tell me he's joking.” He laughed, placing his hand on his mouth to stifle his laugh.

“He isn't.” The butler just bowed. “Mr. Don insists his boyfriend must carry himself with elegance, and some gatherings require dancing.”

Ren ripped the paper in half, throwing them on the floor. “I’m not going.” He stood akimbo.

“Mr. Ren, I fear you have to tell it to Master; he won't have a problem with you if you tell him yourself, but I'm just a worker here, so I'm afraid I can't tell him.” He's still bowing.

“Don't worry about that.”

---

Two hours later, Ren was standing in a mirrored ballroom, hands trembling as a stern dance instructor adjusted his posture.

“Your back straight, your eyes up. Repeat that again.”

Ren bit down every insult he wanted to scream, but he focused on the floor, not because of Ciro but because of the dance instructor; he looked so scary, like hell, so he remained silent.

  

He slipped again earning him a scary glare from the instructor.

When he finally got to his room again, he collapsed face-first onto the mattress.

He screamed out his lungs, he thought about going back to Liam enjoying his freedom and looking for a better job but his bank account was empty and, his apartment and Liam… were silent, most especially it was hard to get a job at this city.

He turned, lying on his back staring at the ceiling; he placed both hands above his head, and then the tears flowed down.

He didn't want to cry, but it was hard; it was so hard for him.

---

That night, Ciro didn't even knock; Ren heard the click of the lock turning, and he shot upright in bed, and then Ciro walked in in his work attire.

He sighed whispering, “Not again.”

He looked so good; his sleeves were rolled up, his tie was loosened, and his suit was hanging on his left arm.

Ren backed up instinctively, even though Ciro hadn’t said a word yet.

Ciro stood by the edge of the bed.

“You tore the schedule.”

Ren crossed his arms. “Because I’m not in support of that.”

“No,” Ciro agreed. “You’re under my command; you do whatever I say, and you don't get to say anything else.”

Ren shoved the covers aside and stood.

“You think this is some kind of game you win? Fine, but I don't do what I don't support, and you won't be in control of my life; you only pay me for dating you, not for some shitty dance practice.”

Ciro smiled faintly. “We’ll see.” He smiled mischievously and turned to leave but paused in the doorway.

“Pack a bag. We’re travelling tomorrow. You’ll represent me in public. Dress like you are the boss of me and also make people realise you belong to me.”

“Well, let my dressing determine tomorrow,” Ren smirked.