unmasked desire のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

The night air is cool against Elias’s skin.He doesn’t remember deciding to leave the house only the suffocating pressure of walls, expectations, and words that couldn’t be taken back. He wanders the grounds of the mansion on instinct, drawn toward the far edge of the property where the lights thin and the stars reclaim the sky.Here, the world feels quieter. Less performative.Elias rests his hands on the iron railing overlooking the darkened gardens, breathing in slowly, trying to calm the residual tremor in his chest. Defending Alexander hadn’t been planned. It had risen out of him like a reflex raw, unfiltered.Terrifying.Footsteps approach behind him.He knows who it is before Alexander speaks.“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Alexander says softly.Elias doesn’t turn. “I needed air.”A pause. Then Alexander moves to stand beside him, close enough that Elias can feel his presence without touching. The silence between them is different from before less brittle, more exposed.Th

The house is unusually quiet. Not the heavy, suffocating silence that follows an argument, but something more deliberate as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. Elias notices it the moment he steps into the sitting room at the back of the mansion, the one that overlooks the garden but is rarely used. The curtains are open. Late afternoon light spills across the polished floor, catching dust in the air. Alexander is already there. He isn’t sitting. He stands near the window, hands clasped behind his back, posture rigid in a way Elias has never seen before. No effortless confidence. No charm. Just tension held too tightly in a body that’s used to control. For a moment, Elias considers turning around. Not because he’s afraid of Alexander but because he’s afraid of what speaking might cost him. Because clarity has a way of burning bridges just as easily as it builds them. But he stays. “I don’t want this to be emotional,” Elias says, breaking the silence. His

The club feels different when Elias walks into it by choice.Not as a client. Not as someone searching for himself in the dark. Just a person standing in the threshold of a place that once held all his confusion and fear and, unexpectedly, his awakening.The lights are lower than during peak hours, the air quieter. No music pulses through the walls, only a soft ambient hum that makes the space feel almost reverent. Without the press of anticipation, Elias notices details he never allowed himself to see before: the clean lines, the intentional separation of spaces, the way the atmosphere feels held rather than overwhelming.Vincent greets him near the entrance.“You don’t have to be here,” Vincent says gently. “I mean that in the best way.”Elias nods. “I know. I want to be.”Vincent studies him for a moment, then gestures deeper into the club. “Come on. I’ll show you something.”They move slowly through the corridors. Vincent doesn’t rush, doesn’t narrate like a salesman. He explains

It happens in a way that almost feels mundane. That’s what makes it worse. Elias finds out by accident standing in the kitchen of the Vale mansion, half-awake, scrolling through his phone while the coffee brews. A message from Marcus sits unread, followed by another from Vincent, polite but unmistakably evasive. Everything’s been handled. No need for Elias to worry. Handled. The word tightens something in his chest. When Alexander walks in moments later, already dressed for the day, Elias watches him with a new kind of awareness. Not suspicion, something more precise. A measuring. “Did you talk to Vincent this morning?” Elias asks. Alexander pauses for a fraction of a second. Too brief for anyone else to notice. “Yes,” he says carefully. “About what?” Alexander sets his phone down. “There was a minor issue. Nothing serious.” Elias waits. Alexander doesn’t elaborate. “Alexander,” Elias says quietly, “what did you handle?” Alexander exhales, already defensive. “Someone f

Alexander has always believed words were tools useful, sharp, easily controlled. Tonight, they terrify him. The club is closed, lights dimmed to a low amber glow that softens the edges of everything. The main floor lies empty below the observation room, stripped of its usual pulse and humanity. Without music, without bodies, the space feels almost sacred in its stillness. Honest. Alexander stands with his hands braced against the glass, his reflection faint and fractured in the darkness. He looks composed, as always. Perfect posture. Immaculate suit. The illusion intact. Inside, everything is shaking. He hears Vincent before he sees him, measured footsteps, familiar and unhurried. Vincent never rushes. He learned long ago that urgency invites mistakes. “You’re still here,” Vincent says, stepping into the room. “I was beginning to think you’d started sleeping under the observation desk.” Alexander doesn’t turn. “I needed quiet.” Vincent hums softly, reading the room, re