Secrets

Elias’s heart hammered in his chest as Vane’s eyes bore into him, the study suddenly feeling too small, too confined. The winter sun filtered through the frost-laced windows, casting long shadows across the oak-paneled walls, but it did nothing to warm the chill that had settled in Elias’s bones. Vane’s hand still rested on his arm, firm and reassuring, but the questions in his gaze were like knives, twisting deeper with every silent second.

“Elias,” Vane said again, his voice low and steady, laced with that commanding edge that always made Elias’s knees weak. “Talk to me. Whatever it is, we can handle it. But I need to know what’s going on.”

Elias swallowed hard, his throat tight. He couldn’t tell him—not yet. If Vane knew about Cyrus, about the blackmail, the photos, the twisted games under the table… it would explode everything. Vane would go nuclear, confront Cyrus, and then what? The family shattered, scandals in the tabloids, Rowena’s carefully curated world crumbling. And Elias? He’d be the epicenter, the “ruined” one everyone whispered about. No, he needed time. Time to figure out how to dismantle Cyrus’s hold without dragging Vane down with him.

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Elias whispered, forcing his eyes to meet Vane’s. “Really. Just some stupid drama. I’ll handle it.”

Vane’s brow furrowed, his thumb absently stroking Elias’s wrist, a habit that sent sparks through his skin. “Nothing? You were shaking at breakfast. Pale as a ghost. And Cyrus kept looking at you like…” He trailed off, jaw clenching. “Like he owned you. If he’s involved—”

“He’s not,” Elias cut in too quickly, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue. “Please, Vane. Drop it. For now.”

Vane searched his face, those dark eyes piercing, as if he could peel back the layers of Elias’s secrets with sheer will. Seconds stretched into an eternity. Elias held his breath, praying Vane wouldn’t push harder. Finally, Vane exhaled, a slow, controlled breath that spoke volumes about the restraint he was exercising.

“Alright,” Vane said softly, though the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “But I’m not letting this go forever. You know that, right?”

Elias nodded, relief flooding him like a wave. “I know.”

Vane’s hand slid up to cup Elias’s cheek, his touch gentle now, almost reverent. The air between them thickened, charged with the unspoken heat from last night. Elias’s pulse quickened as Vane leaned in, his breath warm against Elias’s lips. “You’re not alone in this,” Vane murmured. “Whatever it is, I’m here. Always.”

The kiss was soft at first, a brush of lips that ignited every nerve in Elias’s body. But it deepened quickly, Vane’s arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer until their bodies pressed together on the leather sofa. Elias melted into it, his hands fisting in Vane’s shirt, chasing the taste of coffee and mint on his tongue. It was a promise, a claim, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just them, the faint scent of Vane’s cologne, the way his fingers tangled in Elias’s hair.

When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, Vane rested his forehead against Elias’s. “Your mother’s got that committee meeting all afternoon,” he said, voice rough. “She won’t be back until dinner. And Cyrus… well, let’s hope he stays out causing trouble elsewhere. Means we have the house to ourselves. Time to… spend together.”

Elias’s cheeks flushed at the implication, a shiver running down his spine. “Yeah,” he whispered, his mind already spinning with possibilities, stolen hours in Vane’s arms, no interruptions, no prying eyes.

Vane smiled, a rare, genuine curve of his lips that made him look younger, less burdened by the weight of the family empire. “Good. Because I don’t think I can keep my hands off you much longer.”

Elias laughed softly, the sound shaky but real. But before he could respond, the door to the study creaked open.

Rowena swept in like a winter storm, her designer coat still draped over her shoulders, heels clicking sharply on the polished floor. She froze for a split second, her sharp eyes taking in the scene Elias and Vane close on the sofa, faces flushed, Vane’s hand still lingering on Elias’s arm.

“What on earth are you two doing in here?” she asked, her tone clipped, suspicion flickering in her gaze. She shrugged off her coat, tossing it over the back of a chair with practiced elegance.

Vane didn’t miss a beat. He straightened smoothly, his arm dropping casually to the sofa’s armrest as if nothing had happened. “Just giving my son some words of advice,” he said, his voice the epitome of paternal authority. “On how he should behave, especially with the gala coming up. You know how important appearances are.”

Rowena arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow, glancing between them. Elias forced a neutral expression, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it. “Well, do it fast,” she said briskly, waving a hand. “I’ve got a million things to handle before tonight. Elias, I need you for fittings later, don’t disappear on me.”

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out, the door clicking shut behind her. The room fell silent again, the tension easing like air from a balloon.

Vane chuckled low in his throat, pulling Elias back against him. “Close call.”

Elias let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Too close.”

But the interruption had ruined the moment, and Elias’s mind raced back to the shadows lurking just beyond their bubble. Cyrus was still out there, a ticking bomb. And Vane’s questions… they wouldn’t stay buried forever.

The afternoon unfolded, Rowena dragged Elias to the tailor’s in town, a stuffy boutique where he stood on a pedestal like a mannequin while pins pricked his skin and measurements were barked out. “Stand straight, Elias,” Rowena snapped, her phone glued to her ear as she coordinated gala details. “Isabella’s family expects perfection. You can’t show up looking like a slob.”

Elias nodded absently, his thoughts miles away. Isabella—the fiancée he barely knew, a match arranged for alliances and optics. The thought of her made his stomach churn, especially now, with Vane’s kiss still burning on his lips. How was he supposed to pretend, to play the part, when every fiber of him screamed for something real?

By the time they returned home, the sun was dipping low, painting the estate in golden hues. Cyrus’s car was still absent from the driveway—thank God. Vane met them in the foyer, his expression neutral, but his eyes lingered on Elias a fraction too long.

“Dinner at seven,” Rowena announced, heading upstairs. “Family only. No excuses.”

Vane nodded, then caught Elias’s elbow as she disappeared. “Meet me in the library after,” he whispered. “We need to talk more.”

Elias’s pulse spiked. Talk? Or something else? He managed a nod before slipping away to his room, where he paced like a caged animal. His phone buzzed once—a text from an unknown number. His blood ran cold as he opened it.

Miss me yet? Don’t get too cozy with Dad. I’ve got eyes everywhere.

Attached was a photo: Elias and Vane in the study that morning, captured through the window. Cyrus. Always watching.

Elias deleted it quickly, his hands shaking. He couldn’t let this ruin everything. Not when he was so close to something good.

Dinner was a tense affair. Rowena dominated the conversation, rattling off guest lists and menu tweaks for the New Year’s gala. Vane responded in his usual measured tones, but Elias felt his gaze like a touch, warm and secret. Cyrus sauntered in late, smirking as he slid into his seat.

“Sorry I’m tardy,” he drawled, eyes locking on Elias. “Traffic in town was a bitch.”

Rowena tutted but let it slide. Under the table, Elias tensed, waiting for the inevitable. But Cyrus’s hands stayed visible, folding napkin with mock politeness. Still, the threat hung in the air, thick as fog.

“Elias, you look flushed,” Cyrus said casually, spearing a piece of steak. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” Elias muttered, forcing a bite.

Vane’s foot nudged his under the table, a subtle reassurance. Elias clung to it like a lifeline.

After dinner, Rowena retired early, citing a headache. Cyrus vanished to his room with a bottle of scotch, leaving Elias free to slip into the library. The room was dim, lit only by the glow of the fireplace and a single lamp. Vane was there, pouring two glasses of whiskey.

“You came,” Vane said, handing him one.

Elias took it, their fingers brushing. “You asked me to.”

Vane set his glass down and closed the distance, his hands framing Elias’s face. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About last night. But there’s something you’re not telling me, and it’s eating at you.”

Elias’s resolve wavered. “Vane, please…”

“Just tell me,” Vane pressed, his voice gentle but insistent. “Let me help.”

“It’s fine,” Elias insisted, the words tumbling out. “Really. I can handle it.”

Vane studied him, then sighed. “Okay. For now.” He pulled Elias into a kiss, this one fiercer, hungrier. Elias responded eagerly, the whiskey forgotten as they sank onto the plush rug, bodies entwining.

“You’re mine,” Vane whispered against his neck. “And I’m always here for you.”

They lost themselves in each other, the world fading. But in the back of Elias’s mind, Cyrus’s shadow loomed, a promise of chaos to come.

As the night deepened, Elias lay in Vane’s arms, listening to the house settle. Rowena was asleep upstairs, Cyrus hopefully passed out, But secrets have a way of unraveling, and Elias knew his time was running out.

The next morning dawned crisp and cold. Elias woke alone in his bed, the sheets tangled from restless dreams. Downstairs, the house buzzed with activity staff preparing for the gala, Rowena barking orders. Vane was in his office, buried in work, but he shot Elias a secretive smile across the breakfast table.

Cyrus, however, was a storm cloud. He cornered Elias in the hallway after, his grip bruising on Elias’s arm. “Think you’re clever, huh? Dodging me? I’ve got more where that came from.”

“Leave me alone,” Elias hissed, yanking free.

Cyrus laughed, low and menacing. “Oh, this is just starting, little brother.”

Elias fled to the gardens, the snow crunching under his boots. He needed air, space to think. But Vane found him there, coatless despite the chill, concern etched on his face.

“You okay?” Vane asked, pulling him behind a hedgerow out of sight.

Elias nodded, but tears pricked his eyes. “Just… overwhelmed.”

Vane wrapped him in his arms. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

Again, the plea. Elias shook his head. “It’s fine.”

Vane kissed him then, slow and deep, melting the cold away. “I’m here,” he murmured. “Always.”

They lingered there, hidden, as snow began to fall softly. Rowena’s voice called from the house something about schedules—but for that moment, it was just them.

Back inside, Rowena caught them emerging together, her eyes narrowing. “What were you two doing out there?”

Vane smiled easily. “Just advising Elias on proper behavior for the gala. You know, family matters.”

She huffed. “Well, do it fast. We have a timeline.”

As she walked away, Elias met Vane’s eyes, a spark of hope igniting. Maybe they could make this work. But Cyrus’s threats echoed, a dark undercurrent threatening to pull them under.

The day blurred into preparations—suits fitted, speeches rehearsed. Elias played his part, but his mind was on Vane, on the promises whispered in shadows. That evening, with Rowena out at a pre-gala event and Cyrus mysteriously absent, they seized the opportunity.

In Vane’s bedroom, the door locked, they explored each other with urgent hands and breathless whispers. “No one’s here,” Vane said, stripping Elias slowly. “Just us.”

Elias arched into his touch, forgetting everything but the heat between them. Hours passed in a tangle of limbs and sighs, the outside world forgotten.

But as midnight approached, Elias’s phone lit up. Another message from Cyrus: Enjoying your alone time? Wait till Mom sees the footage.

Panic surged. He couldn’t hide forever. Vane stirred beside him, sensing the shift. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Elias lied, curling closer. But the clock was ticking, and the truth was closing in.

The gala loomed like a guillotine, two days away. Rowena was a whirlwind, micromanaging every detail. “Elias, practice your dance with Isabella tomorrow,” she commanded over lunch. “And Vane, make sure Cyrus doesn’t embarrass us.”

Vane nodded, but his foot found Elias’s under the table again, a secret anchor.

Cyrus, smirking, added, “Oh, I’ll behave. Promise.”

Elias’s skin crawled. That afternoon, while Rowena napped, Vane pulled him into the study again. “We need to talk.”

Elias tensed. “Vane—”

“No more dodging.” Vane’s hands were on his shoulders, firm. “What’s going on? Why do you flinch every time Cyrus looks back at you?.

Tears welled. “It’s fine. Please, just… kiss me instead.”

Vane hesitated, then obliged, the kiss fierce and distracting. When they parted, he held Elias close. “I’m always here. But you have to trust me.”

“I do,” Elias whispered. “More than anyone.”

As they sat together, planning stolen moments amid the chaos, Rowena burst in again. “What now?”

Vane recovered smoothly. “Advice on behavior. Elias needs guidance.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do it fast, we’re behind schedule.”

Alone again, Vane chuckled. “She’s relentless.”

Elias smiled, but the weight pressed on. How long could he keep this up?

Cyrus slipped a note under Elias’s door: Tell him or I will. With visuals.

Elias confronted him in the garage, away from ears. “Stop this. What do you want?”

Cyrus grinned. “You. Broken. Begging.”

Elias shoved him away, fleeing to Vane’s arms in the library. Vane asked again, probing gently.

“It’s fine,” Elias insisted, pulling him into a kiss.