Chapter 63: The Addiction

The house was too quiet after my mother left. It was that hollow, ringing silence that follows a long, exhausting lie. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands resting limp in my lap. I was still wearing the expensive charcoal sweater. It was soft, comforting, and felt like a heavy weight pressing me down into the mattress.

I heard the door click. I didn't even have to look up to know it was them. They moved with a specific kind of confidence—the kind that comes from owning everything within your sight.

"You're still sitting in the dark," Dmitri’s voice drifted from the doorway.

I heard his footsteps on the hardwood, followed by the sound of him shedding his blazer. "The performance is over, Leo. You can breathe now."

"I don't think I know how to," I whispered. I looked up as Ivan appeared on my other side. He reached out and clicked on the bedside lamp. The warm glow hit the walls, making the room feel smaller, more intimate.

"You’re shaking," Ivan noted. He sat beside me, his weight shifting the mattress. He didn't say anything else; he just waited.

I looked at my hands. They were indeed trembling. "I feel... empty. Like I gave her the last piece of myself that was real, and now there’s nothing left but this." I gestured vaguely at the room, at the luxury, at them.

Dmitri walked around to stand in front of me. He reached down, hooking a finger under my chin to force me to look at him. "Is 'this' so bad, Leo? You have everything. You are protected. No one can touch you. No one can hurt you."

I stared into his dark eyes, and a terrifying thought crossed my mind. It was a thought I had been trying to outrun for weeks.

I don't just want the protection, I realized. I need it.

"I hate that you're right," I said, my voice barely audible. "I hate that when the world feels like it’s falling apart, the only place I feel steady is when I’m between the two of you."

Ivan’s hand moved to the back of my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. "That’s not hate, Leo. That’s belonging."

"No," I argued, though my heart wasn't in it. "It’s a sickness. I was an artist. I was independent. Now, I’m just... I’m like a bird that’s forgotten how to fly because the cage is so gold."

Dmitri let out a soft, low chuckle. He sat on the bed on my other side, so I was boxed in. "Then stay in the cage. Why do you fight it? You spent your whole life struggling, Leo. Why is it so hard to accept that you’ve been claimed?"

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back against Ivan’s shoulder. It was a reflex now. I was addicted. It wasn't just the physical side of it—though that was a fire that never seemed to go out—it was the power. When they held me, I felt like the world couldn't reach me. The debt, the lies to my mother, the fear of the future—it all went quiet when they were close.

"It's because I'm scared of what happens if you ever stop," I admitted.

The words felt like a confession. "If I let myself go completely... if I stop fighting you... what happens to me if you get bored? I’ll have nothing left. I won't even know who I am without your hands on me."

Ivan’s grip tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me he was there. "We don't get bored of what belongs to us, Leo. You aren't a toy. You’re the center of this world we’ve built. Do you really think we’d let you go after everything we did to get you here?"

"I feel like I'm disappearing," I monologued, mostly to myself. "Every day, I lose a little more of Leo. I start thinking in 'we' instead of 'I'. I start looking for your shadows before I make a move. It's like I'm breathing your air instead of my own."

"Then breathe us," Dmitri whispered. He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Stop trying to be the old Leo. That version of you was miserable. He was lonely. He was failing. This version... this version is ours. He’s beautiful, he’s cared for, and he’s safe."

I felt his hand slide under the hem of my sweater, his palm hot against my skin. A shiver raced down my spine, and I hated how much I liked it. I hated how my body immediately leaned into the touch, seeking more.

"I'm addicted to you," I said, the truth finally coming out. I turned my face toward Ivan, looking for some kind of mercy in his expression, but I only found that fierce, possessive hunger. "It’s not just the sex. It’s... it’s the way you look at me. Like I’m the only thing that matters in this whole city. I’ve never had that. And now that I have it, I don't know how to live without it."

Ivan leaned forward, his lips brushing against mine. "Then don't. Don't try to live without it. Just take it. All of it."

He kissed me then—a deep, slow kiss that tasted like a promise and a threat all at once. My hands, which had been limp, flew up to grip his shirt, pulling him closer. On my other side, Dmitri was already pulling the sweater over my head, his fingers tracing my ribs.

"You’re ours, Leo," Dmitri murmured against my skin. "Every part of you. The fear, the addiction, the talent... it all belongs to us."

As they pulled me down into the sheets, the crushing guilt of the afternoon started to fade. The memory of my mother’s smile and the weight of the lies became blurry. In this room, with their heat surrounding me and their voices telling me exactly who I was, the world outside didn't exist.

I knew it was a trap. I knew I was losing myself. But as Ivan’s weight pressed me into the bed and Dmitri’s hands claimed my skin, I didn't care. I didn't want to be free if freedom meant being cold. I didn't want to be independent if it meant being alone.

I was theirs. And for now, that was enough to stop the screaming in my head. I let out a long, shaky breath, giving in to the dark c

omfort of my own surrender.