Zion stared at the collar.
Thin, gold, delicate—but it felt heavier than chains.
He left it on the bed.
Rayven might've bought his time, his body—but he'd never own his pride.
Downstairs, the dining room was dimly lit, set for two. Rayven sat at the head of the table, sipping red wine like it was blood.
His eyes found Zion instantly.
"You didn't wear it."
Zion slid into the chair without looking at him. "I'm not a dog."
"No," Rayven said slowly, "dogs are loyal."
Zion flinched.
A waiter brought their plates in silence—medium rare steak, wine, expensive side dishes Zion didn't recognize.
"This isn't a date," Zion snapped.
"Good," Rayven replied, eyes sharp. "Because I don't date things I already own."
"F**k you."
Rayven leaned forward, voice low. "That mouth will get you punished."
Zion slammed his fork down. "Is that what this is to you? A punishment?"
Rayven's gaze turned colder. "No. This is me… reclaiming what was always mine."
The room fell silent.
Until Rayven stood. Walked behind Zion.
His fingers trailed lightly down Zion's neck.
"You were always meant to be beside me," he whispered. "And now… you will be."
Zion's breath caught. He hated this—hated that his body reacted to the same hands that hurt him.
He turned, shoving Rayven back.
"You don't scare me."
Rayven smirked. "Not yet."