Chapter 6 : You said it

Alex woke to the taste of the words still in his mouth.

"I’m yours."

The room was empty. Pale light cut across the bed. He sat up and the sheet slid down his bare chest. The bruise on his neck had darkened overnight, a deep purple that sat just above the collarbone. He pressed two fingers to it and felt the dull ache answer.

He showered until the water ran cold. In the mirror he buttoned a white shirt all the way to the top, then checked the collar twice before leaving the room.

Downstairs the air smelled of coffee and buttered toast. Silas sat at the head of the table, already dressed for the office, tablet propped against a glass of orange juice. Bridget moved between the counter and the table in her robe, pouring tea. Troy occupied the chair across from Alex’s place, black shirt open at the throat, hair still damp. He watched Alex walk in without smiling.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Bridget said.

“Morning.” Alex’s voice came out even. He sat. The wood of the chair felt too hard against his spine.

Silas glanced up. “First official day. Daniel expects you at nine. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Troy reached for the sugar bowl. His fingers brushed the back of Alex’s hand on the way past—light, almost nothing—yet the contact lingered on Alex’s skin like heat. Alex kept his eyes on the toast he wasn’t eating.

“Sleep well?” Troy asked.

“Fine.”

“Good.” Troy stirred his coffee once. The spoon clicked against the ceramic. “Wouldn’t want you tired today.”

Silas made a satisfied sound. “He’s ready. Clean record, top marks, discipline. Exactly what the board needs to see.”

Troy’s gaze stayed on Alex. “Discipline.”

Bridget set a plate of eggs between them. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Alex forced half a slice of toast down. The dry edges scratched his throat. Troy ate nothing. He simply watched the way Alex’s throat moved when he swallowed.

When Silas stood and kissed Bridget’s cheek, the front door closed behind them a minute later. The house settled into quiet. Troy pushed his chair back, walked around the table, and stopped behind Alex. One hand settled on the back of Alex’s neck. His thumb found the hidden bruise and pressed, slow and deliberate.

Alex’s breath caught. The pressure sent a low pulse down his spine.

“You said it,” Troy murmured near his ear.

Alex stared at the half-eaten toast. “I know.”

“Then act like it.” The thumb moved in a small circle. “No looking at anyone the way you looked at me last night. No letting Harrison get close. No pretending this is temporary.”

Alex’s pulse hammered under Troy’s fingers. “We’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care.” Troy’s voice dropped lower. “Say it again.”

The kitchen clock ticked once. Twice.

“I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours.”

Troy’s hand squeezed once, then released. He stepped back. “Car’s outside. You’re not taking the train.”

The executive elevator at Morrison Global smelled of polished metal and cold air. Alex stood straight, briefcase handle slick against his palm. Troy rode beside him in silence, shoulder close enough that the fabric of their shirts almost touched. Every time the elevator slowed, Alex felt the shift of Troy’s weight next to him.

Daniel from risk waited on the fortieth floor with a polite smile that tightened when he noticed Troy.

“Mr. Morrison. Didn’t expect you today.”

“Looking out for my brother,” Troy said. “I’ll stay out of the way.”

He didn’t.

Alex spent the first hours inside a glass conference room reviewing exposure reports. Numbers lined up the way they always did—clean, predictable, safe. He could lose himself in the columns and almost forget the bruise under his collar. Almost. Every time Troy walked past the glass wall, Alex’s shoulders tensed before he could stop them.

At eleven-thirty the door opened without a knock.

Stolas Harrison stood in a dark suit and thin glasses, a slim folder under one arm. He looked as if he had always belonged on this floor. Daniel rose halfway out of his chair.

“Mr. Harrison. We weren’t—”

“Short courtesy visit,” Stolas said. “Board-level introduction. Silas approved it last week.” His eyes found Alex and stayed. “Bennet. You look different.”

Alex kept his hands flat on the table. “I’m fine.”

“Are you.” Stolas stepped closer. His gaze flicked once to the high collar, then back to Alex’s face. “You missed the morning seminar. Unusual for you.”

Troy appeared in the doorway behind him. He didn’t raise his voice.

“Harrison. You’re on the wrong side of the building.”

Stolas turned slowly. “Morrison. Still playing the protective older brother?”

“Looking out for family,” Troy answered. The words came out smooth, almost bored. “He’s got a full schedule.”

Stolas set the folder down near Alex’s hand. The edge of the paper brushed Alex’s fingers. “If you ever need cleaner data on sector four, my team has it. You’re welcome to look.”

Troy’s jaw tightened once. “He doesn’t.”

“I think he can decide that himself.”

Alex lifted his eyes. Stolas watched him with the same quiet intensity from the library—patient, measuring. Alex felt the weight of Troy’s stare from the doorway at the same time.

“I’m good,” Alex said. “Thank you.”

Stolas held the look a second longer, then collected the folder and walked out, brushing past Troy without another word.

The door clicked shut. Daniel muttered something about a phone call and left them alone.

Troy crossed the room in three strides. He braced both hands on the table on either side of Alex’s chair and leaned down until their faces were inches apart. The scent of his cologne—woodsmoke and something sharper—filled the small space between them.

“You looked at him.”

Alex’s fingers curled against the keyboard. “I answered him.”

“You looked at him like you were thinking about it.” Troy’s voice stayed low. “Like maybe the rules only apply when I’m in the room.”

Heat crawled up Alex’s neck. He could feel the bruise throbbing under the collar. “I said no.”

“You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

Troy’s eyes dropped to Alex’s mouth, then back up. “We’re leaving early.”

“I still have—”

“I said we’re leaving.”

Rain had started by the time they reached the car. Light drops tapped the windshield. Alex stared out the window while Troy drove with one hand on the wheel. The other rested on the gearshift, fingers loose, waiting.

At a red light Troy spoke without looking over.

“He wants you.”

Alex said nothing. The wipers swept once.

“I know the look.” Troy’s fingers tapped the leather. “He’s going to keep coming. Offering help. Offering whatever soft version of this he thinks you’ll take.”

“I told him no.”

“And next time?” Troy turned his head. The light from the dashboard cut across his jaw. “When I’m not standing there? When he catches you after a long day and you start thinking someone gentler might hurt less?”

Alex’s throat worked. The seatbelt suddenly felt too tight across his chest. “I said I’m yours.”

“Words are easy.” Troy’s hand left the gearshift and settled on Alex’s thigh, high enough that the heat of his palm sank straight through the fabric. His thumb moved once, slow. “I need more than words.”

The light turned green. Troy didn’t move his hand for the rest of the drive.

They pulled into the private garage beneath the mansion. The house above them sat dark. Bridget had a charity dinner. Silas had a late call. Empty rooms waited.

Troy killed the engine but didn’t open his door. “Upstairs.”

Alex got out. His legs felt unsteady on the concrete. Troy followed close enough that Alex could feel the warmth of him at his back the entire walk through the quiet halls and up the stairs.

Inside Alex’s room Troy closed the door and turned the lock. He left the light off. City glow through the window painted the bed in gray stripes.

He took his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and turned the screen toward Alex.

The photo was sharp. Taken earlier that day inside the elevator at Morrison Global. Alex’s back faced the camera. Troy’s hand rested clearly on the back of his neck, fingers spread in a way that looked casual to anyone who didn’t know better. The timestamp was recent. The angle was deliberate.

Alex’s stomach dropped. Cold spread under his ribs. “When did you—”

“Cameras are everywhere if you know where to look.” Troy’s voice stayed quiet. He locked the phone and slid it back into his pocket. “Stolas isn’t the only one watching you.”

He stepped in until Alex’s shoulders met the wall. The heat of his body filled the small space. One hand rose and settled against the side of Alex’s throat, thumb resting exactly over the hidden bruise.

“Next time he gets that close to you,” Troy said, “I’ll make sure everyone sees exactly who you belong to. The board. Your professors. Your mother. I don’t care. You said the words. Now you live with them.”

Alex swallowed. The pressure of Troy’s thumb made the bruise ache in time with his pulse. The word came out rough.

“Yes.”

Troy held his gaze for a long second. Then he dropped his hand, stepped back, unlocked the door, and walked out.

The latch clicked shut.

Alex stayed against the wall. His heart slammed against his ribs. The new photo burned behind his eyes, and the quiet certainty settled over him that Troy had just moved the game somewhere neither of them could take back.