CHAPTER 12

Jamie awoke slowly stretching his sore limbs.

The room was unfamiliar in the way luxury often was—too large, too quiet, too perfect. Pale moonlight crept through tall curtains, washing the walls in silver. For a moment, he stayed still, staring at the ceiling, his body heavy, mind fogged with fragments of the night before.

Warm hands. Powerful thrusts. The heat. Breath at his ear.

Matteo. His stomach filled with butterflies. He body felt pleasantly sore and ached in all the right places.

Surprisingly it was still dark the sun hasn't risen yet.

Jamie turned onto his side.

The bed beside him was empty.

The sheets were still warm though. That meant Matteo had just gotten up. But this was his room, were could he have gone?

A flicker of unease settled in his chest.

“Matteo?” His voice sounded small in the vast room.

No answer.

Jamie pushed himself upright, the blanket slipping down his bare shoulders. His heart began to beat faster—not in panic, not yet, he just didn't know what yet. He pulled on one of Matteo’s discarded shirts, the fabric hanging loosely on his frame, carrying the faint scent of cologne and his natural musk. Jamies legs trembled as he stood from the bed reminding his what had just happened a few hours ago. He blushed.

This side of the mansion was silent.

Too silent.

He stepped into the hallway, barefoot against cold marble. The air felt different at this hour—heavy, still, as though the house itself was holding its breath. As if it hasn't woken up yet. Jamie moved carefully, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the space around him.

“Matteo?” he tried again, quieter now.

Still nothing.

He passed closed doors, grand staircases, shadowed corridors. Places he hasn't explored yet. The further he walked, the colder it became. The warmth of the bedroom faded behind him, replaced by stone and echoes. His skin prickled. He wrapped Matteo’s shirt tighter around him as if would provide the same warmth that Matteo had given him.

Then he heard it.

A sound—low, muffled. A voice.

Not words. Just noise.

Jamie froze.

His breath caught, heart hammering against his ribs. He told himself it was nothing. Pipes. Probably the staff getting ready for the day break. The mansion settling. Anything but what his instincts screamed at him.

But the sound came again.

Closer.

Jamie swallowed and followed it.

At the end of the corridor was a door he hadn’t noticed before—thick, old, reinforced. It didn’t belong with the rest of the mansion’s elegance. This was something older. Something hidden.

His hand trembled as he reached for the door. It was slightly ajar as if someone came down in a rush and forgot to lock it. Or wanted it to be found.

He didn't want it to be the latter.

Don’t, a voice in his head warned.

He opened it anyway. Surprisingly it didnt creak. Well oiled.

The stairs beyond descended into darkness, lit only by dim lights set into the stone walls. The air was colder down here, damp, heavy with a weight Jamie couldn’t name. Each step echoed softly beneath his feet.

The sounds were clearer now.

Voices.

Men.

And one other sound—ragged breathing.

Jamie’s stomach twisted.

At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped.

He didn’t step into the room fully. He didn’t need to.

He saw enough.

He was in a dungeon and in the middle of it all was Matteo. Who stood there.

Not the Matteo who smirked and teased while trying to rile him up. Not the Matteo who touched him gently the night before and fucked him so roughly that he left bruises. This Matteo was still, controlled, terrifyingly calm. His posture was relaxed in the way predators were relaxed—because they knew they were in control.

Other men stood nearby. Silent. Obedient. Waiting for his command.

Matteo clenched a gun in his hand, playing with the trigger. His smile was so different from what he had ever seen. It was cruel.

" I have not need for you." his voice carried in a cold echo.

A gunshot ran out. The whimpering man tied to a chair stopped whimpering. A hole in the middle of his head. Blood splattered on his shirt. He tsked in disgust.

Jamie couldn’t see everything. He didn’t want to. He didn’t need details to understand what was happening. The only thing stopping him from screaming out loud was his hands that he so wisely clasped against his lips.

This wasn’t a misunderstanding.

This wasn’t a mistake.

This was who Matteo was.

Jamie’s heart pounded so loudly he was sure it would give him away. His chest felt tight, breath shallow, fear crawling up his spine like ice water. He took a slow step back.

Then another.

The floorboard creaked.

Someone looked up.

Jamie didn’t wait.

He turned and ran.

He didn’t know how fast he moved—only that his bare feet slapped against stone, that the mansion blurred around him, that his lungs burned as he tore through hallways he barely recognized. Panic flooded him, sharp and overwhelming.

I shouldn’t have seen that. I shouldn’t be here.

He rounded a corner, nearly slipping, and then—

A hand closed around his waist.

Firm. Unyielding.

Jamie gasped, twisting instinctively, but it was useless. Matteo stood before him, dark eyes locked onto his face, expression unreadable.

The hallway felt impossibly small.

“You’re awake,” Matteo said calmly.

Jamie’s heart slammed against his ribs. His throat tightened, fear clawing its way up. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away.

“ s-s-so a-are you. You weren't th-there when I w-woke up.” Jamie stammered his eyes meeting the blood stain on his shirt. His throat seized.

Matteo looked pointedly at the splashes of blood on his shirt, as if he didn't notice.

“ It's just paint.” he said as if they both couldn't smell the blood.

Matteo’s gaze dropped briefly—to the shirt Jamie wore. His shirt. He stared at his slightly exposed chest, a swollen nipple that he spent majority of the night feasting on peaked out. Jamie tightened the shirt to his neck. Then he looked back to Jamie’s face.

“Why are you wandering around by this time,” Matteo continued, voice low, even. “This house is… massive. You could get lost...or wander into unknown places”

Jamie swallowed hard. “I— I was just—” His voice broke. He stopped, breath shaking.

Matteo studied him for a long moment.

Jamie felt exposed, seen in a way that stripped him bare. It felt like Matteo already knew. Like he had known the moment Jamie stepped into that corridor.

“Did you get lost?” Matteo asked softly. His thumb swiping against his bottom lip.

Jamie nodded. It was the only thing he could do.

“Of course,” Matteo said, as if satisfied. His thumb moved to lightly press into Jamie’s wrist—not painful, but grounding. Possessive. “I thought so.”

Jamie’s stomach dropped.

Matteo leaned down and pressed a soft kiss by the side of Jamies lips causing him to freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

“Come,” Matteo said, turning them gently but decisively back toward the bedroom wing. “It’s cold down here.” He paused staring out Jamie's bare feet and lifted him into his arms.

Jamie gasped clinging his arms around his neck at the suddeness.

Jamie closed his eyes as he was being guided, because his body knew resisting would be pointless, because fear had turned his legs to water. Every step felt unreal, like he was walking through a dream he desperately wanted to wake from.

They stopped outside the bedroom.

Matteo lowered him to the ground.

Jamie stood frozen, heart racing, skin buzzing with terror and something else—confusion, betrayal, disbelief. His voice trembled as he finally spoke.

“What… what do you do?” he whispered.

Matteo looked at him then. Really looked at him.

There was no anger in his eyes.

Only certainty.

“I protect what’s mine,” Matteo said quietly. “And I eliminate threats.”

Jamie felt his breath hitch.

“What will you do to me?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Matteo stepped closer, lifting Jamie’s chin with two fingers—not rough, not gentle. Intentional.

“You,” Matteo said, dark gaze steady, “are not a threat.”

Jamie’s pulse thundered.

“But,” Matteo added softly, “you are mine.”

Jamie stared, fear tightening his chest.

What did he mean?

“I dont know what I saw” he said quickly surprised he could still speak. “I swear.”

Matteo’s lips curved—not into a smile, but something close.

“I know,” he said. “Because you just woke up and you were just seeing things. Like a bad dream. Right?” looking at Jamie to responed. And there was one correct answer.

So he nodded.

Matteo opened the bedroom door and gestured inside.

“Rest,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

Jamie stepped inside, legs shaking.

As the door closed behind him, he leaned against it, breath coming fast and shallow. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror across the room—freckles pale, green eyes wide with fear.

Jamie knew, with chilling clarity, that Matteo knew he had seen everything.

This wasn't a bad dream.

It was a nightmare.