Leonhart didn't sleep.
Elian heard him moving around the apartment long after midnight. Footsteps pacing, a cabinet opening, the low clink of ice in a glass. Restless. Agitated.
Good, Elian thought.
Let him be the one losing sleep.
By morning, the air had changed.
Leonhart didn't go to the office.
Instead, he sat in the leather chair in the study, shirt open, staring at the window like it might shatter if he blinked too hard.
Elian stepped into the room with silent grace.
"You're avoiding me," he said simply.
Leonhart looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. "What gave it away?"
"You only drink in this room when you're thinking about your father."
The glass in his hand stilled. "You looked in the drawer."
"I tidy everything," Elian said, soft but pointed. "That's what you pay me for."
A pause. Then Leonhart stood and crossed the room in two strides.
His hand gripped Elian's jaw—not harsh, but firm. "I pay you to obey."
Elian's voice didn't waver. "And I do. But you didn't say not to look."
Leonhart's breath hitched. Something dark passed through his eyes.
Then he pushed Elian against the bookshelf and kissed him.
This time was different.
No calculated control. No testing.
Just hunger. Need.
Elian let it happen. Opened his mouth. Let Leonhart's hands roam freely—under the hem of his shirt, over the curve of his waist, into the soft space where skin was warm and untouched by wealth.
Leonhart pressed against him, lifting Elian easily by the thighs and carrying him across the room to the leather sofa, kissing him as if trying to drink the lies from his mouth.
Elian played his part.
He moaned softly, arching his back, wrapping his legs around Leonhart's waist. Not too eager. Just enough to suggest submission laced with hidden sweetness.
But his heart never raced.
His thoughts never blurred.
When Leonhart moved inside him, rough but aching like a man clawing for something he couldn't name, Elian whispered Leonhart's name into his ear. Over and over. Like a prayer.
And watched as Leonhart fell a little deeper.
Not in love.
But into need.
---
Afterward, Leonhart collapsed onto the couch, breathing ragged, one arm slung across his face. "You're not real," he muttered. "You're too perfect."
Elian smoothed the edge of his shirt and replied, quiet and smooth, "That's because I was made to fit someone like you."
He watched Leonhart freeze.
And then—
Something cracked in Leonhart's voice. "If you ever lie to me, I'll know."
Elian smiled faintly.
"I'm already lying. But you only see what you want to."
---
Chapter 8 Preview:
Elian begins to withdraw slightly—just enough to make Leonhart chase him.
Leonhart offers Elian a "gift" with strings attached: a bank account in Elian's name.
The illusion of control starts to crumble—for both of them.