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Chapter 8: The Confession
publish date:
2026-10-03 07:18:25
Lucien took him to a tiny Italian place in the West Village. No name on the door. No press. It was the place Lucien went when he didn't want to be Lucien Beaumont, billionaire CEO. He just wanted to be Lucien. Milo wore a normal hoodie for once. No lipstick. No black nails. He looked 22. He looked scared to ruin another thing. Lucien ordered for both of them. Pasta. Wine. Milo didn't drink his wine. He kept looking at Lucien's hands. "You haven't said anything all day," Milo finally whispered. Lucien put his fork down. "I'm thinking." "About Tokyo?" "About you. In my closet." Milo blushed. "You saw the camera on?" "I saw you on the floor in my suits. Lena told me you didn't leave the penthouse once." "I told you I would be good." Lucien reached across the table and took Milo's hand. His thumb rubbed over Milo's knuckles where there was still a faint red wine stain from last night. "Milo, can I tell you something I've never told anyone?" Milo nodded, heart pounding. "Before you... my life was very quiet. Very clean. Meetings, deals, numbers. No one ever... needed me like that. No one ever checked my phone. No one ever got jealous if I talked to someone too long. Lena has worked for me for twelve years and she never once told me not to wear a shirt." Milo listened. "Last week, when you told me I couldn't wear the tight black shirt because it showed too much? I was annoyed for about five seconds. And then I was hard for an hour. Because you said 'mine' like you meant it." Milo's eyes went wide. "You like it?" he whispered. "I love it," Lucien said, voice low. Only for Milo. "I love that you're crazy about me. I love that you deleted Alex's number. I love that you sat in my chair and told interns they'd go to New Jersey. No one has ever wanted to own me before. Everyone wants something from me — money, deals, my company. You just want me." Milo's breath caught. "I thought you thought I was toxic," Milo said. "You are toxic," Lucien said, smiling. "You're the most toxic, possessive, jealous, clingy boy I've ever met. And I have never been more obsessed with anyone in my life." Milo stood up. Right there in the tiny restaurant, he climbed into Lucien's lap. The two old ladies at the next table stared. "I thought you were going to leave me after the gala," Milo confessed into Lucien's neck. "Never," Lucien whispered into his hair, holding him tight. "You threw wine on your ex for me. You think I'm going to leave you after that? That was the hottest thing anyone's ever done for me." Milo laughed, wet and happy. "Say it," Milo said. "Say you're mine." Lucien didn't care about the restaurant anymore. He tipped Milo's chin up. "I'm yours, Milo Chen. Every suit, every deal, every inch of this body. Yours. You own me. You have owned me since that rainy night you let me pick you up." Milo kissed him. Hard. In front of everyone. Tasting like pasta and wine and relief. "I own you," Milo whispered against his lips, possessive again, back again. His Milo again. "So you have to come home with me. Now. And you have to let me take off that shirt. And you have to let me leave marks so Tokyo knows you're taken." Lucien laughed and paid the bill with Milo still in his lap. "Yes, sir," he said. Milo gasped. "Don't call me sir." "What should I call you?" Milo thought, freckles bright, lip piercing shining under the restaurant light. "Yours. Call me yours." "I will. You're mine. You're all mine." They left the restaurant hand in hand, Milo back in his CEO's blue shirt — because Lucien had taken off his own shirt in the bathroom and given it to him, just so Milo could say "mine" again. Outside, no cameras. No press. Just a cold New York night and two boys who were both owned and both owned completely.
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