CHAPTER 4

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 himself it was just about dominance. He told himself that he was punishing the Rossi name by using Elian’s body. But as the days passed, the excuses became harder to believe.

It was a rainy Thursday night. Elian was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a thin, white silk shirt. He felt dizzy again, a soft ache in his lower back making it hard to get comfortable. The room was dark, lit only by a few candles that cast long shadows on the walls.

The door opened. Julian walked in, his tie already pulled loose. He looked tired, his eyes dark with a hunger he refused to name.

"You're still awake," Julian said, his voice a low growl.

"I can't sleep," Elian whispered. "It's too quiet in here."

Julian walked over to him, standing between Elian’s knees. He reached down, his large hands gripping Elian’s waist. Through the thin silk, Julian could feel how soft Elian was, how much he trembled at just a touch.

"You look like a victim, Elian," Julian murmured, his thumb tracing the line of Elian’s hip. "Do you enjoy it? Does it make you feel special to be the one I come to every night?"

"You said you love Valentina," Elian said, looking up with watery eyes. "You said you aren't gay. So why are you here? Why do you keep touching me?"

Julian’s jaw tightened. "Because you are mine. Because your father thought he could destroy me, but instead, I am destroying his son. This isn't about love, Elian. This is about possession."

Julian didn't wait for another word. He pushed Elian back onto the pillows, his body following instantly. He was heavy and warm, a stark contrast to the cold room. He didn't waste time with clothes. He stripped Elian quickly, his eyes roaming over the pale skin of Elian’s chest and the slight, soft curve of his stomach.

Julian leaned down, his lips brushing against Elian’s neck. He didn't kiss him with sweetness; he bit, leaving a small mark that would turn purple by morning. Elian let out a sharp gasp, his hands coming up to grab Julian’s thick hair.

"Please, Julian... be gentle," Elian pleaded.

Julian ignored the plea. He parted Elian’s legs, moving between them with a focused intensity. Every night for a month, he had done this. He knew exactly how Elian felt, how his skin grew hot under Julian’s touch, and how Elian’s breath hitched when Julian pushed deeper.

As Julian entered him, Elian’s back arched, a soft cry escaping his lips. The pain was still there, but it was mixed with a desperate need for the only human contact he was allowed. Julian’s movements were powerful and rhythmic, his muscles rippling under Elian’s hands.

"Look at me," Julian hissed, his voice thick with a desire he hated.

Elian opened his eyes, looking into the storm-gray depths of Julian’s gaze. In the dark, Julian’s face looked tortured. He moved faster, his hands gripping Elian’s thighs so hard they left white marks. Julian was a straight man; he repeated the lie in his head over and over but the way Elian’s body tightened around him, the way Elian looked at him with that lingering, tragic love... It was a drug Julian couldn't quit.

The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing and the rain hitting the glass. Julian pushed Elian’s legs up over his shoulders, driving deeper, his heart slamming against Elian’s chest. He wanted to break Elian. He wanted to erase the memory of the boy in the dirt by replacing it with this this raw, violent reality.

Elian let out a long, broken moan, his head tossing back against the pillows. His body felt like it was on fire, a strange, pulsing heat radiating from deep within his belly. He didn't know that his body was already working to protect the tiny life inside him, making him more sensitive, more reactive to the man who claimed to despise him.

With a final, jagged groan, Julian buried his face in the crook of Elian’s neck and finished. He held Elian tight for a long minute, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For those few seconds, the hate was gone. There was only the heat of two bodies and the silence of the night.

But as soon as his breath returned to normal, the wall went back up. Julian pulled away, his face turning back into marble. He stood up and began to dress in the shadows, not saying a word.

"Will you stay? Just for an hour?" Elian asked, his voice small and hopeful.

Julian buckled his belt, his eyes cold. "I have a life, Elian. A real life. I’m going to the East Wing. Valentina is waiting for me."

He walked to the door, stopping only for a second with his hand on the handle. He didn't look back. He just walked out, leaving Elian alone in the mess of the sheets.

Elian lay there, his body aching and his soul feeling empty. Every night was the same. A month of Julian’s body, but never his heart. He placed his hand on his stomach, feeling the strange warmth there. He didn't know that in a few days, he would be snatched away from this room, and the secret he was carrying would become the only thing that mattered in the war between the Moretti and the Rossi names.