The dream kept returning.
Each night, the same sterile white hallways. The same clinical voices discussing his body like it was an equation. He couldn't scream in those dreams—not because they stopped him, but because they never cared enough to listen.
And each morning, Rayan woke to Kael watching over him like a shadow that refused to fade.
By now, even the scent of cedarwood made Rayan nauseous.
He waited three days.
Gathered what little he could hide.
The fake ID from his old handler. A data chip of stolen credits. A campus access key copied from a distracted staff Omega in the library.
He waited until Kael was on call at the Alpha regulation council—a three-hour appointment he couldn't reschedule.
That was Rayan's window.
No messages. No goodbye.
He walked past the university gates without a sound, hoodie up, head down.
He made it as far as the shuttle terminal.
One foot on the step.
Almost free.
Then—
"Rayan."
His name.
Soft. Final.
He froze.
Turned.
Kael stood at the edge of the terminal platform, wind tousling his hair, coat still open from his abrupt arrival. Behind him, two men in black suits watched silently—Kael's private guards. The ones no one dared to acknowledge publicly.
Rayan didn't speak.
His hand tightened around the data chip.
Kael took a single step forward.
"I'm not mad."
That broke something.
"You should be," Rayan said, voice shaking. "Because I left. Without telling you. I was going to disappear."
"I would've found you."
"You're insane."
Kael tilted his head, as if truly considering it.
"Maybe," he said. "But I would've still brought you home."
He didn't struggle.
Not when the guards stepped forward. Not when Kael took his wrist.
Because deep down, Rayan already knew—
He had never stood a chance.
Three days later.
He woke in a penthouse.
High ceilings. White marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the silver skyline of the upper Alpha district.
Everything was warm-toned, elegant, expensive.
Wrong.
He sat up on a velvet mattress too soft to be real. The sheets smelled clean.
Not of Kael.
He turned—
And saw the chain.
His ankle was locked to the bedpost.
Not tight. Padded. Almost gentle.
Almost.
The door opened.
Kael walked in, holding a tray.
"I didn't want it to be like this," he said quietly. "But you left me no choice."
Rayan stared. "You drugged me."
"No," Kael replied, setting down the tray. "You were exhausted. You fell asleep."
Rayan wanted to scream. Wanted to tear everything apart.
Instead, he whispered, "This isn't love."
Kael sat beside him.
"I never said it was."
Rayan looked up sharply.
Kael's gaze was steady.
"This is obsession," he said. "And I've made peace with that."
Rayan didn't eat that day.
Or the next.
He tried ripping the sheets, climbing out the window, even picking the lock with a spoon handle.
Every time, Kael returned before he could get far.
Every time, Kael said nothing. Just cleaned up the mess, refastened the ankle cuff, and tucked him in like nothing had happened.
"You're not my prisoner," Kael said one night.
Rayan laughed bitterly. "You chained me."
"So you don't run," Kael whispered. "Because I know you, Rayan. You'd run until you bled. Until you collapsed again in the street. Just like you did the first time I found you."
Rayan's throat closed.
"Do you remember?" Kael asked gently. "That alley near Sector 6. You were sixteen. Cold. Fevered. Burned through all your suppressants. And still, you flinched when I tried to help."
Rayan looked away.
"I've been protecting you since then," Kael said. "And I'm not stopping now."
That night, Rayan sat by the window, too numb to sleep.
The skyline twinkled like a cage of stars.
He didn't cry.
He didn't beg.
He simply whispered, "You'll never let me go, will you?"
Kael's voice came from the doorway:
"Never."
.
.
Days blurred.
Rayan didn't know what time it was anymore. The penthouse had no clocks. No calendars. The curtains shifted with automatic programming, letting in the right amount of sunlight—never too bright, never too dark.
Everything was perfectly timed.
Like he was a part of some controlled environment again.
Like he was back in the facility.
Kael had stopped using the chain.
He didn't need it.
Rayan wasn't running anymore.
He sat at the window, day after day, tracing lines in the condensation. Sometimes he spoke to himself. Sometimes he stared at the glass until the city lights bled into his vision.
Kael still came every morning.
Brought him tea. Sat across from him with soft eyes. Asked if he wanted to talk.
He never forced him to.
And that was the worst part.
He never forced anything.
Even now, Kael kept his distance. He never crossed lines. Never touched without permission. He never approached Rayan during his heats—only slid suppressants beneath the door and left quietly.
He could've taken anything from Rayan.
But he didn't.
He only waited.
Like the perfect captor.
Like the perfect monster.
One morning, Rayan woke from another nightmare—strapped to a table, wires in his veins, heat flooding his body as strangers took notes. He woke gasping, sweat soaking the sheets.
Kael was beside the bed in seconds.
He didn't ask.
He didn't touch.
He just knelt and offered a glass of cold water.
Rayan took it with shaking hands.
"Was it the white walls again?" Kael asked softly.
Rayan looked at him.
"Stop pretending you care."
Kael's voice was steady. "I'm not pretending."
Rayan let out a dry laugh. "You're the reason I can't breathe."
Kael's eyes flickered. "I'm the reason you're still alive."
"That's not love."
Kael didn't respond immediately.
Then, gently: "It's not love yet. But it will be."
That night, Rayan didn't eat again.
But he sat at the table.
That was progress, apparently.
Kael set down his fork after the third bite. "You know I'm not going to touch you unless you want me to."
"I don't want anything from you."
Kael smiled faintly. "You don't have to say that out loud every day."
Rayan stared at his plate.
"I don't know who I am anymore," he admitted.
Kael was quiet for a moment. Then:
"You're the boy who used to hum when he read. Who used to cry only when no one was watching. Who never asked for help, even when they were hurting him."
Rayan looked up sharply.
"You remember that?"
Kael nodded. "I remember everything."
Day 19.
Rayan didn't cry.
But he started talking.
Small things. Observations. Thoughts that didn't feel dangerous.
And Kael listened like each word mattered.
And that terrified him.
One night, as the storm outside shattered across the glass, Rayan whispered:
"If I forgave you… what would you do?"
Kael's answer came without hesitation.
"I'd spend every day proving I deserve it."
Rayan's hands tightened in his lap. "Even if I never love you?"
"I'd still stay," Kael said. "Because I do."
That night, Rayan lay in bed with the blanket pulled tight around him.
He stared at the ceiling and whispered to the dark:
"Why does it hurt more when you're kind to me?"
From the hallway, Kael replied softly—
"Because no one ever was."