The unfamiliar sun was barely above the horizon, casting long, pale shadows across the ornate chamber, when a soft rap echoed at Marc's door. Before he could fully process the sound, a stern-faced servant, impeccably dressed in the livery of the noble household, entered without waiting for an invitation.
"Young Master Marc," the servant intoned, his voice devoid of warmth, "His Grace, Duke Theron, requests your presence in the solar immediately. And make haste; His Grace does not abide tardiness."
Marc's stomach clenched. His Grace, Duke Theron. That was it, then. He wasn't just in some random nobleman's house; he was the son of a Duke. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. A duke! This was a far cry from his life as a university student. His new body, which still felt disconcertingly frail, certainly didn't feel like that of a powerful noble.
He quickly dressed in the elaborate, yet strangely uncomfortable, garments laid out for him. The silk was soft, but the layers and cinching made him feel constricted. He followed the servant through a labyrinth of richly decorated corridors, each turn revealing tapestries depicting battles and hunting scenes, and portraits of stern-faced ancestors. The sheer opulence was overwhelming, a stark contrast to his own humble apartment, and even to the 'Luxurious' club Alex had found himself in.
They arrived at a large, sunlit room. His "father," Duke Theron, a man with a formidable presence, sat at a heavy oak table, parchment spread before him. Beside him stood a woman of striking beauty but severe expression – his "mother," the Duchess Elinor. Both looked at him with an intensity that made him want to squirm.
"Marc," the Duke began, his voice deep and resonant, "we have important matters to discuss." He gestured to a chair opposite him.
Marc sat, his palms sweating. He had no idea what to expect. A scolding for his perceived weakness? Questions about his strange behavior since he'd supposedly recovered from an illness? He braced himself for anything but what came next.
The Duchess leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "The preparations are almost complete. Lord Kusama's family has sent word. The final arrangements are being made."
Marc frowned, confused. "Preparations? Arrangements for what, Mother?" The words felt alien on his tongue.
A flicker of impatience crossed the Duke's face. "Do not play coy, Marc. The marriage alliance, of course. It was settled years ago, when you and Lord Damien were but children. A union between our house and the House of Kusama. It strengthens our borders, secures our trade routes, and solidifies our position with the Northern territories."
Marc's mind reeled. Marriage alliance? He was supposed to be married? And to a man named Damien? His stomach churned. He had just died because his secret relationship with Julian had been exposed, and now, in this new, bewildering life, he was being forced into a marriage he clearly had no say in. The thought of being bound to a stranger, even a man, for political gain was horrifying.
"But… but I… I don't even know this Lord Damien," Marc stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The Duchess gave a short, humorless laugh. "Details, Marc. Details. You will get to know him. You are a Duke's son. You will do your duty. The wedding is set for next month. There is no turning back."
Next month. His world, already turned upside down, began to spin even faster. He was dead, he was reborn, and now, in less than a month, he was to be irrevocably tied to a stranger for political gain. It was a hell he hadn't even imagined.
Back at the brothel, Alex found himself settling into a small, sparsely furnished room he now shared with another employee. The room was clean enough, if a bit cramped, and offered a modicum of privacy from the bustling common areas. His roommate, a lean man with a shock of bright red hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, introduced himself as Boo.
They spent their first evening mostly in silence, the air thick with the unspoken understanding of their shared profession. But as the lamps were extinguished and the sounds of the night grew quieter, Boo's voice cut through the darkness.
"So," Boo began, a casual lilt to his tone, "now that you're one of us, gotta ask. What kind of clientele do you prefer? Men? Women? Or do you swing both ways, like some of our more… versatile colleagues?"
Alex, who had been staring at the rough ceiling, blinked. "Honestly?" he replied, a wry smile touching his lips. "Both, as long as the money's right."
Boo chuckled softly. "Is that it then? Just the coin?"
Alex paused. The question brought back a vivid, unsettling memory. He remembered a night at Luxurious, when he was still a VIP stripper. He'd been servicing a woman, an older client, who was known for her generous tips. As things escalated, she started gasping, her breathing growing ragged. An asthma attack. Her inhaler was in her purse, out in the main club. Panic had surged through him, but he'd moved fast, grabbing it just in time. The terror of that moment, the thought of someone dying in his arms, had been a cold splash of reality. He'd never slept with women again after that.
"No, not just the coin," Alex confessed, his voice dropping slightly. "There's a second, very important criteria."
Boo shifted on his makeshift bed. "Oh? Do tell."
"Healthiness," Alex stated, dead serious. "I don't want anyone dying while I'm… servicing them, due to bad health. It's bad for business, and frankly, it's a nightmare to deal with."
A moment of silence, and then Boo burst into a fit of uncontrolled laughter, the sound echoing loudly in the small room. He laughed so hard he had to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle it, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
"Oh, that's… that's a new one!" Boo gasped between laughs. "Healthiness! You're certainly one of a kind, Alex. Welcome to the family."