Len hummed to himself, unbothered by the silence that filled the private dressing room. The usual crowd—stylists, assistants, and overbearing managers—had been banned from entering while he changed. It was the only sliver of privacy he still owned in a life run by handlers and contracts.
He shrugged off his shirt, revealing a canvas of flawless, porcelain-white skin touched by the softest flush. The light above flickered once more, casting golden shadows across his toned yet delicate torso. His pink-tipped chest rose and fell with a rhythm that didn't know it was being watched. Completely unaware.
As Len moved to change, the camera hidden behind the mirror kept its gaze fixed—unblinking. Calculating.
---
Miles away, Leo sat in the back of his armored black car, screens in front of him, dimly lit in the dark interior. But it wasn't the security footage of his warehouses or the financial charts of their drug operations that held his attention.
It was him.
The boy his father once took in, now grown into something dangerously beautiful.
Len.
Leo's fingers tapped once on the screen, pausing the video at the exact frame where Len turned, his back exposed, white skin glowing beneath the warm dressing room light. He stared silently, not blinking, not breathing. The sight did something to him. Something unnameable. Something sharp.
How dare he look like that… move like that… not even know who owns him?
He spoke at last, voice low and cutting like the coldest steel. "You don't even realize, do you? That every time you breathe… it's because I let you."
His jaw tightened as he reached for his phone.
"Bring him to me."