For once, there was no schedule. Noah had spent the whole day holed up in his room, refusing to come out. He would've stayed there all night if not for the gnawing hunger that finally forced him to the kitchen in the late afternoon.
He was halfway through a simple meal when Asher appeared. The man slid into the seat beside him with casual ease, as if that spot had always been his.
Noah didn't look up. He didn't speak. He just kept chewing, eyes fixed on his plate.
The silence stretched, broken only when Asher spoke.
"There's a private party tonight. You're coming with me."
Noah froze mid-bite. His brow furrowed instantly.
"A party? …Why me?" His voice carried clear resistance, tinged with anger he couldn't quite hide.
"Because I decided so," Asher replied flatly.
A bitter laugh slipped from Noah's throat. His tone was icy.
"You've got plenty of people, don't you? Why not bring them? Why drag me along?"
The air turned sharp.
Asher narrowed his eyes, lips curling into something dangerous.
"Are you jealous?"
Noah faltered for a fraction of a second, but his expression only hardened. He forced the words out, low and cold.
"I just… don't want to go."
"You don't have a choice." Asher's tone was final, his authority cutting like a blade. "Ten minutes. Change."
Noah's fingers trembled where they rested on the table. Disgust and unease churned in his chest, but under Asher's gaze, he knew resistance was meaningless. After a long pause, he turned and went back to his room, changing with stiff, mechanical movements.
Ten minutes later, the car rolled out of the garage, night swallowing the road ahead. The silence in the vehicle pressed heavy, broken only by the engine's low hum.
The city glowed in restless neon. At its heart, a discreet club hid behind unmarked walls. From the outside it was understated; inside, it was decadence incarnate. Smoke, alcohol, and heat clung to the air like perfume. Dim lighting painted the space in shadows, every corner humming with suggestion.
"In," Asher ordered, voice low, brooking no refusal.
Noah nodded mutely and followed.
The elevator rose to the top floor, its hush muffled by plush carpeting. When the doors slid open, Asher led him down a quiet corridor and into a spacious suite.
The room was opulent, sofas arranged in a circle around a table loaded with top-shelf liquor. A handful of men lounged there, dressed sharply, confidence etched in every line of their faces. Noah recognized some—investors who had worked with Asher before.
"Asher, you made it," one of them greeted, raising his glass before letting his gaze slide toward Noah. A smirk tugged at his lips. "And you've brought… a little friend?"
Noah's stomach twisted. The way those eyes swept over him felt less like looking at a person and more like appraising merchandise.
Asher smiled faintly, slipping an arm around Noah's waist and pulling him close, presenting him like a prize.
"Mm. Mine."
The party roared to life quickly—money, scandals, power games tossed back and forth with laughter. Noah stayed silent, hands clenched in his lap, making himself as small as possible.
But silence only drew attention.
A man in an immaculate suit sauntered over, drink in hand, his smile dripping with innuendo.
"Pretty face," he murmured.
Without waiting for an invitation, he sat down beside Noah, hand settling on his back, fingers idly stroking.
Noah went rigid. Every muscle in his body locked as his gaze flicked instinctively toward Asher.
His eyes pleaded—desperate, fragile, begging.
Asher didn't move.
He only leaned back, sipping his drink with lazy amusement, watching like it was nothing more than harmless fun.
Ice slid down Noah's spine.
"Looks tasty," the man said, voice low, taunting. "Lend him to me for a few days?"
The room hushed, then burst into laughter and jeers.
Noah's throat closed tight. All he wanted was one word—just one rejection to shield him. Instead, Asher's response was cool and almost bored:
"When I'm done with him. Then he's yours."
The words landed like a blade splitting him open. Noah's chest constricted, vision darkening at the edges. He wanted to run—anywhere, as far from this room, this man, as far from Asher as possible.
The man laughed heartily, fingers sliding lower, brushing toward Noah's waist.
Suddenly, Asher's hand shot out, shoving him back with casual force.
"Don't touch," Asher said, voice sharp with warning. "He's still mine."
His arm tightened possessively around Noah's waist, gaze cold and unyielding.
The man pulled back with an awkward chuckle. "Alright, alright. Protective, aren't we?"
To everyone else, it looked like Asher was staking his claim. But Noah knew better. Asher wasn't protecting him. He was protecting his property. As if someone had reached for his glass of whiskey—nothing more.
Noah wasn't worth more than that.
The night wore on, laughter and liquor thickening the air. Noah barely moved, shrinking deeper into the sofa, head bowed, willing himself invisible. He understood now—this was a show. Asher had brought him here to display, to flaunt the obedient little toy at his side.
By the time the gathering ended, Asher was clearly drunk, his steps unsteady. Noah's lips tightened, but he still slipped an arm around him, keeping him from stumbling in front of the others.
Together, they left the club, night air cutting through the haze of alcohol but doing nothing to wash the stench clinging to Asher.
He half-collapsed against Noah, leaning heavily as they reached the car. With effort, Noah maneuvered him into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel.
The city blurred past in streaks of light.
Barely minutes into the drive, Asher stirred. His hand drifted, fumbling, skimming down Noah's arm before sliding onto his thigh. His touch was warm, insistent, drunk.
Noah stiffened. He shoved the hand away sharply, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
Asher only laughed, the sound husky with alcohol.
"Noah…" he murmured, voice soft, almost coaxing.
Noah didn't answer. His grip on the wheel tightened, jaw clenched.
For a moment, the car was silent but for the hum of the engine. Then Asher spoke again, tone thick and stubborn, almost petulant.
"Don't take me home."
Noah's brows drew tight, his voice flat with ice.
"Then where?"