Chapter Four: The Boy Who Turned Away
"When a dog stops barking, that's when you should be afraid."
That was the warning Elián once read in a book about silence.
But Kairo Laurent never paid attention to silent things.
Until now.
---
The morning after Lucien was kicked out, the mansion was quieter than it had ever been.
No perfume.
No echo of Lucien's mocking laugh.
Just the gentle hum of a house mourning something it never wanted.
Elián didn't come downstairs.
He didn't text.
He didn't knock on Kairo's door.
And that? That was the beginning of everything.
---
Kairo noticed first at breakfast.
He sat alone at the head of the marble table, one sleeve rolled up, black coffee untouched.
Jean the butler entered.
"Mr. Elián has requested breakfast in his room today."
Kairo blinked.
"He requested it?"
"Yes, sir."
That was odd.
Elián never requested anything.
Kairo's eyes narrowed.
"What did he ask for?"
Jean hesitated.
"Just tea. And fruit. No eggs. No bread. No toast."
He was fasting again.
Restricting himself.
Kairo could hear Lucien's voice in his head—Your little husband's like glass. Cute. Fragile. Breakable.
Kairo stood abruptly, pushing his chair back.
"Send me his schedule. For today."
Jean bowed. "Of course."
---
Meanwhile, Elián was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his black turtleneck.
He'd tied his hair back. Sleek. Clean.
He looked sharp. Sharp enough to cut.
No more soft sweaters.
No more shy glances or flinching.
He was going to the Laurent foundation office today. It was charity day—he'd planned it weeks ago with Lucien, back when the world made less sense.
Now?
Now he just wanted to breathe air that didn't smell like cologne and smoke.
He left the room without announcing it.
---
He didn't expect to find Kairo waiting by the car.
Dressed in a crisp navy suit, sunglasses on, expression unreadable.
"Where are you going?" Kairo asked flatly.
Elián stepped around him. "The foundation."
"Without telling me?"
"I didn't think you'd care."
The words landed like a slap—but Elián didn't even raise his voice.
It was colder than anger.
Kairo watched him get into the car without waiting for permission.
The driver opened the door, and Elián slid in like he owned it.
Kairo stood frozen on the steps.
The boy was slipping.
And for the first time, Kairo felt it.
---
At the foundation building, Elián came alive.
Volunteers greeted him with warmth. People knew his name. They smiled at him. He smiled back.
He spoke to children. Sorted donations. Oversaw logistics.
He looked like a real Laurent.
Maybe for the first time.
He was gentle—but not soft.
He had structure now.
Cold politeness.
Measured tone.
Even the head of communications whispered to a coworker:
> "He's different today. More… composed."
But beneath that perfect shell, Elián's heart was pacing.
He didn't know how long he could hold it in.
---
Back at the mansion, Kairo stood in Elián's room.
He looked around slowly.
Everything was in order.
Too in order.
The shirts were color-coded. Books stacked with precision. The desk was wiped clean.
And there, on the nightstand, was the empty ring box.
Kairo opened it.
Nothing.
His ring was gone.
---
Elián didn't return until after 10 PM.
Kairo waited in the lounge, pretending to read, half a glass of scotch untouched beside him.
When Elián entered, he didn't pause.
He walked past Kairo without greeting.
Kairo's voice stopped him.
"You didn't call."
Elián turned, slow and calm.
"Did I need to?"
Kairo stood.
"You're still my husband."
Elián's eyes narrowed.
"Am I? I thought I was just your property."
Kairo stepped forward, jaw tightening. "Don't twist my words."
Elián met him toe-to-toe.
"Don't pretend to care."
Kairo said nothing.
And then Elián turned again.
Walked to the stairs.
Kairo watched him go, something twisted in his chest.
---
Later that night, Kairo couldn't sleep.
He went to the guest room Lucien used to stay in.
Empty. Cold.
He wandered into the hallway.
He stopped at Elián's door.
Knocked.
No answer.
He opened it anyway.
The room was dark. But Elián wasn't asleep.
He was sitting on the balcony, robe wrapped tight, knees pulled to his chest.
Kairo walked over slowly.
Elián didn't look up.
"I'm not in the mood to be slapped tonight," he whispered.
Kairo flinched.
"I didn't come to hurt you."
"Then leave."
But Kairo didn't.
He stood silently, watching the city lights flicker in Elián's eyes.
Finally, he asked, "What do you want from me?"
Elián turned his head, met his gaze with something unreadable.
"I wanted to be seen. Once. Just once."
Kairo exhaled.
"I see you now."
Elián gave a cold smile.
"You're too late."
---
End of Chapter Four.
Next up: Chapter Five — "A Taste of His Own Silence"
Elián begins to bloom in public, and Kairo starts to lose his grip—on his image, his power, and the boy who once begged for his love.