Leo jolted awake in the suffocating dark, heart hammering against his ribs. A raw, choked scream ripped through the mansion's silence – not anger, but pure agony. He scrambled out of bed, bare feet silent on cold hardwood. Peering down the grand staircase into the cavernous living room below, the scene froze his blood. Thorne, a silhouette of coiled fury in low lamplight, had a young man pinned face-down on the antique rug. The man's expensive shirt was ripped open, his face contorted in terror as Thorne drove into him with brutal, piston-like thrusts. "Please... Mr. Thorne... stop..." the man whimpered, tears streaking his cheeks. Thorne's hand fisted in his hair, wrenching his head back, his other hand clamping brutally over the man's mouth, silencing the next scream into a muffled sob. It wasn't dominance; it was annihilation.
Leo moved before thought, descending the stairs two at a time, the cold air biting his skin. "Thorne! Stop it!" His voice cracked, echoing in the vast space. Thorne froze mid-thrust, his head snapping towards Leo. Those grey eyes, usually icy, burned with a feral, unfocused rage. The pinned man gasped for air, trembling violently. "Get out," Thorne growled, low and guttural, a sound ripped from an animal cornered. His grip tightened on the man's hair, making him whimper again. Leo saw the raw terror in the stranger's eyes, the way his body went limp with hopeless surrender. This wasn't sex. It was violence wearing lust's mask.