LOGIN
The grand church was filled with flowers, but for Elian Rossi, it felt like a cage.
He was twenty six years old, and for the last ten years, he had lived in fear. His father, the head of the Rossi family, had made too many enemies. Now, those enemies were at the door. Elian had spent his life trying to be invisible, trying to stay away from the blood and the guns, but today, his luck had run out. He hid in a small, dark dressing room at the back of the church. His heart was beating so hard it hurt his ribs. He could hear the heavy boots of guards in the hallway. They were looking for him. They wanted to kill him to get back at his father. The door creaked open. Elian pulled a silk curtain around himself, holding his breath. "Come out, Elian," a voice said. The voice was deep. It was smooth like dark chocolate but cold like ice. Elian knew that voice. He had heard it in his dreams for ten years. He stepped out from behind the curtain. Standing there was Julian Moretti. Julian was taller now. His shoulders were broad under his expensive black suit. His face was beautiful, but his gray eyes were like stone. Ten years ago, Elian had found Julian bleeding to death in the dirt. He had stayed with him for fourteen hours, hiding him, keeping him warm, and saving his life. "Julian," Elian whispered. Julian didn't look happy to see him. He looked like a hunter who had finally caught his prey. He stepped closer, filling the small room with his power. He put one hand on the wall next to Elian’s head. "You're running, little Rossi," Julian said. He leaned in close. Elian could smell his expensive cologne. "My men are outside. They want to tear you apart because of what your father did to me. Do you remember what your father did, Elian?" Elian trembled. "I had nothing to do with that. I saved you." Julian’s eyes flashed with anger. "You saved me so I could be a prisoner for fourteen hours of torture. But you... you always had those soft eyes. Tell me, Elian. Do you still desire me the way you did when we were kids?" Elian couldn't lie. Even now, even with Julian looking at him with hate, he felt a spark. He had loved the boy in the dirt. "Yes," he breathed. "Good," Julian smiled, but it was a scary smile. "Then I will save you. I will cancel my wedding to Valentina. I will marry you instead. You will be mine. But don't think this is a fairy tale. You are marrying me so I can keep you under my shoe." Elian had no choice. It was marriage or death. "I'll do it," he said. The wedding happened an hour later. It was fast and cold. Julian didn't hold Elian’s hand. He didn't look at him. When it was time for the kiss, Julian grabbed Elian’s neck. His lips were hard. Elian tasted something sweet peach. Elian’s eyes went wide. He was deathly allergic to peaches. Julian knew this. Elian had told him that secret ten years ago when they were hiding. "Julian..." Elian gasped as they pulled apart. Julian watched with a cold face as Elian began to choke. He watched as Elian fell to the floor, his throat closing up. Julian didn't help. He just stood there while the doctors rushed in to save Elian. This was Julian’s first act of revenge. By nightfall, Elian was back in the Moretti mansion. The doctors had given him medicine to stop the allergy, but his throat was still sore. He sat on the edge of the giant bed in the master bedroom, wearing a silk robe. He was terrified. The door opened. Julian walked in. He had taken off his jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the top. He looked at Elian with pure disgust. "Get up," Julian said. Elian stood up, his legs shaking. "Julian, please. Why are you doing this? I saved you. I loved you." "I am not gay, Elian," Julian said, walking toward him. "I love Valentina. I want a woman. I want a real life. But I want to hurt your father more. And having his son in my bed, treating him like a toy... that is the best way to break him." Julian grabbed Elian’s waist and threw him onto the bed. Elian landed hard on the mattress. Before he could move, Julian was on top of him. Julian didn't kiss him. He didn't say sweet words. He grabbed Elian’s wrists and pinned them above his head. "You want me, don't you?" Julian hissed. "Let's see how much you want me when I treat you like the trash you are." Julian was rough. He stripped Elian’s clothes off quickly, not caring if the silk tore. He didn't look at Elian’s face. He looked at Elian like he was an object. When Julian entered him, it wasn't with love. It was a sharp, sudden pain that made Elian scream. Elian’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to move, to find a way to make it hurt less, but Julian held him down with his heavy weight. Julian moved inside him with a violent rhythm. He was fast and strong, his muscles tight. Elian felt like he was being broken into pieces. He wanted to close his eyes, but Julian grabbed his chin and forced him to look. "Look at me," Julian commanded. "Know who is doing this to you. Know that you belong to me now. You are my husband, Elian. My prisoner." The pain started to turn into a dull ache, and then a strange, confusing heat. Elian’s body was betraying him. Even though Julian was being cruel, Elian’s heart was still reaching out for the boy he used to know. He let out a soft moan, his fingers digging into Julian’s shoulders. Julian heard the moan and frowned. He moved even harder, his breath coming in loud gasps. He was angry that Elian was feeling anything other than pain. He wanted Elian to suffer. "Don't make those sounds," Julian growled. "This isn't for you. This is for my revenge." But Julian couldn't stop himself. He pushed deeper, his body shaking. He was a straight man, he told himself. He hated this. But the way Elian felt around him, the way Elian’s skin was so soft, it was making his blood boil. With a loud groan, Julian finished. He slumped onto Elian for a second, his heart racing against Elian’s chest. For a moment, it was quiet. It almost felt like they were those two boys again, hiding in the dark. Then, Julian pushed himself up. He didn't look back. He got off the bed and started putting his clothes back on. "I'm going to Valentina's room," Julian said, his voice cold again. "Clean yourself up. Don't leave this room. You are stay here until I tell you otherwise." He walked out and slammed the door. Elian lay in the dark, his body aching and his heart shattered. He curled into a ball on the cold sheets. He was a husband, but he felt like a ghost. He put his hand on his stomach, not knowing that a tiny life was already starting to form inside him a life that would change everything. He cried until he fell asleep, dreaming of a boy in the dirt who used to smile at him.The rhythmic, sterile beep of the heart monitor was the only sound that broke the oppressive silence of Private Suite 402. Outside the panoramic window, the city skyline was a blur of gray rain and concrete, but inside, the world had shrunk to the stark white bed and the pale, unmoving man resting upon it.Elian looked fragile, almost translucent against the bleached cotton sheets. The bruising from his brutal fall at the manor had bloomed into deep shades of purple and indigo against his ghostly skin, and the harsh hospital lights caught the faint glints of frostbite healing along the tips of his fingers. He was hooked up to a labyrinth of clear plastic tubing, a ventilator rising and falling with a mechanical, rhythmic hiss that artificially kept his lungs expanding.He was in a deep, unresponsive coma.The emergency cesarean section had been a chaotic, terrifying success. The surgeons had managed to deliver a tiny, fragile boy pale but fighting at exactly thirty-two weeks. But the
Eight hours.For eight hours, the temperature had slowly bled the life from Elian’s extremities. In the pitch-black silence of the freezer, time had ceased to exist. He had moved past the stage of shivering; now, his body was eerily still, his heartbeat a sluggish, fading rhythm.He was slumped against the far wall, his skin a translucent, ghostly blue. He had stripped off his own thin jacket to wrap it around his middle, a final, desperate attempt to insulate the small bump that was the only warm thing left in the room.Another contraction rippled through him weak, stalled by the hypothermia, but agonizing. Elian didn't scream this time. He didn't have the breath. He just stared at the sliver of frost on the door, his eyes glazed.“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the dark, his voice nothing more than a puff of white vapor. “I tried to keep you warm.”The heavy iron bolt on the outside of the door didn't just slide; it was thrown back with such violence it sparked against the metal.The
The shadows of the hallway offered no sanctuary. As Elian turned to flee, his foot caught on the edge of a runner, and the heavy thud of his stumble alerted them."Elian?" Marco’s voice was a low, predatory growl.Panic surged through Elian’s veins, providing a brief, flickering burst of adrenaline that ignored his swollen joints. He scrambled toward the stairs, but he was eight months pregnant and exhausted; he didn't stand a chance. Marco’s hand clamped onto his shoulder like a vice, spinning him around."You should really learn to stop eavesdropping," Marco hissed, his fingers digging into Elian’s bruised skin. Valentina caught up, her face twisted in a mask of pure malice. They began to struggle, Marco trying to force Elian back into the dark corner of the library to silence him.Then, the heavy front doors swung open.Julian stepped into the foyer, his coat dusted with the night’s mist, his eyes tired. He froze at the sight of the scuffle.In an instant, Valentina’s face transfor
As the weeks bled into the start of the eighth month, the atmosphere in the manor shifted from cold to predatory. Elian’s body was a heavy, aching burden. His gait was a slow shuffle, his ankles swollen to the point of pain, yet the chores never ceased. He was a walking contradiction: a man carrying the billionaire’s heir, treated like the dirt beneath the billionaire’s boots.Valentina was now "confined to bed rest," a tactical move to keep Julian tethered to her side. She spent her days in the master suite, ringing a silver bell every time she wanted Elian to bring her tea, extra pillows, or the latest fashion magazines."You look terrible, Elian," she remarked one afternoon, watching him struggle to set a heavy tray on her bedside table. "So pale. So strained. It’s almost as if your body knows it’s carrying a lie."Elian didn't look up. He focused on the tea service, his breath coming in shallow hitches. "The baby is strong, Valentina. That’s all that matters.""Strong?" She leaned
The seventh month arrived with a heatwave that made the air in the manor thick and suffocating. For Elian, it felt as though the very walls were closing in, tightening around him like the seams of his worn servant’s clothes. His body was reaching its limit. The sharp kicks from within were more frequent now, a constant, rhythmic drumming against his ribs that served as both a comfort and a terrifying reminder: time was bleeding away.Julian had stopped speaking to him entirely. It wasn't just the coldness of a stranger anymore; it was the erasure of a ghost. When Julian walked through a room Elian was cleaning, he would step around him without a glance, as if Elian were merely a piece of furniture that had been misplaced.The psychological toll was worse than the labor. Elian would spend his nights huddled on the thin mattress in his room, clutching his stomach and whispering to the child Julian refused to acknowledge. "He'll see," Elian would murmur, his voice cracking in the dark. "
The morning after the party, Elian spent the early hours scrubbing the residue of Julian’s celebration off the marble floors, his hands raw from the cold water and his heart heavier than the silver platters he carried.Julian had left for the office at dawn without a single word, the splintered door to Elian’s room standing as a silent, jagged reminder of the night’s violence. The manor returned to a hauntingly normal routine. Valentina spent her days lounging in the garden, playing the part of the fragile mother-to-be, while Elian moved through the house like a shadow, ignored by everyone but the clock.Weeks bled into a month, a slow torture of silence and growing weight.By the time Elian reached his sixth month, the physical toll was undeniable. His bump was prominent now, a firm, round weight that made every flight of stairs a mountain and every floor-scrubbing session a feat of endurance. He had grown thin everywhere else, his face gaunt, making his eyes look hauntingly large.J
For one month the marriage felt like a long, dark dream. Julian had established a cruel routine. During the day, he ignored Elian, spending his hours at his office or with Valentina in the East Wing. But every night, without fail, the heavy click of the door signaled Julian’s arrival.Julian told h
By the start of the second week, Elian felt like he was fading away. The mansion was beautiful, but the air inside was thick with tension. Julian rarely spoke to him unless it was to remind him of his place, and Valentina had become a constant, poisonous presence.It started with a sudden wave of n
The sun was shining brightly through the tall windows of the Moretti mansion, but the light brought no warmth to Elian. He woke up slowly, his body feeling heavy and sore. Every movement reminded him of the night before of Julian’s heavy weight, the coldness in his eyes, and the way he had left Eli
The clinical scent of antiseptic always seemed to linger in the manor’s west wing long after the private physician had departed. For Elian, that scent was the smell of a ticking clock.Dr. Aris had arrived late Tuesday evening, his movements methodical and cold as he drew three vials of Elian’s blo







