The storm broke sometime past midnight.
Rain slashed against the windows of the mansion, the sound sharp and relentless — like the world itself was trying to claw its way in. Vinny sat by the window, knees drawn to his chest, watching the dark sky through the faint reflection of his own face.
The lamp by the bed cast a weak, golden glow across the room. His fingers traced the condensation on the glass absently, mind far away — replaying every word from earlier.
You're the only compatible donor I've ever found.
Love? Or ownership?
Both.
The words had looped in his head for hours, refusing to fade.
He wasn't sure which hurt more — the lie that Matthew had been saving him out of love, or the truth that he'd been saving him out of necessity.
Vinny had always thought he could handle being used. He'd done it before. He'd done worse, even. But this — this felt like betrayal on a molecular level. Like it had rewritten his body without his permission.
He turned from the window. The air smelled faintly of rain and Matthew's cologne — expensive, old money, and suffocatingly familiar.
A knock echoed at the door. Once. Then twice.
Vinny's heart lurched. He didn't answer.
The lock turned.
Matthew stepped inside.
He wasn't in his usual immaculate suit — just a black shirt rolled to the elbows, dark slacks, and tired eyes. His hair was damp from the rain, a few curls sticking to his forehead. There was something quieter about him tonight — not cold, not commanding. Almost human again.
Vinny didn't speak.
Matthew shut the door behind him and leaned against it, his gaze sweeping over the room before landing on Vinny. "You haven't eaten," he said softly.
Vinny scoffed. "You notice everything."
Matthew crossed the room, unhurried, like approaching a wounded animal that might bolt. "I always notice you."
Vinny's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Right. Because I'm a project."
"Because you're mine," Matthew corrected.
Vinny laughed quietly. "You don't even hear yourself, do you?"
Matthew stopped beside the bed, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then — in a tone almost too soft to be real — "I never meant for it to be like this."
Vinny looked up, disbelief flashing in his eyes. "You kept me here. You lied to me."
"I protected you," Matthew said. "You don't know what she—what they—would've done if they knew what you were."
Vinny's stomach twisted. "What I was? You make it sound like I'm some… specimen."
Matthew didn't respond. His silence was worse than denial.
"Say something," Vinny snapped, standing now. "Look at me, Matthew. Say it. Tell me what the hell you've turned me into."
Matthew's jaw tightened. He met Vinny's eyes — no walls this time, no pretense. Just raw truth. "I turned you into someone who could survive."
Vinny stared at him, stunned. "That's not survival. That's possession."
"Maybe," Matthew said quietly. "But you're still here."
Vinny's throat closed. He hated that a part of him wanted to believe that — that part of him still wanted to stay.
He looked away. "You can't keep doing this. You can't—"
Matthew took a step forward. "Can't what?"
"Make me love you and then lock me up."
Matthew's gaze softened — not with pity, but with something dangerously close to tenderness. "You already do," he murmured.
Vinny's chest tightened. "Stop."
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Vinny opened his mouth — but the words didn't come. His heartbeat was too loud, too uneven.
Matthew reached for him then, slowly, like testing permission. His fingers brushed Vinny's wrist — warm, careful, deliberate. Vinny didn't pull away, but his whole body went rigid.
"Why are you doing this?" Vinny whispered. "After everything you said—after what you've done—why come back like this?"
"Because I can't stand you hating me," Matthew said simply. "And because I'd rather have you angry and here… than gone."
The honesty in his tone undid something in Vinny.
It was infuriating — how Matthew could weaponize vulnerability, how he could turn confession into control.
Vinny's voice dropped, almost trembling. "You think you can fix this with a few soft words?"
Matthew's thumb brushed against the inside of his wrist. "No. But I can try."
Vinny's pulse raced under his touch. "You're a monster."
"I know."
"Then why do I still—" Vinny stopped himself. His throat burned.
Matthew's hand came up to his cheek, thumb catching the faint tremor there. "Because we're the same kind of broken."
Vinny's breath caught.
The silence that followed was dangerous — the kind that pulled them together despite every rational reason to stay apart.
When Matthew kissed him, it wasn't rough or desperate. It was slow. Careful. Almost reverent.
And that — somehow — was worse.
Vinny's body responded before his mind did, his hands fisting in Matthew's shirt. The taste of rain lingered on his lips, and the faint tremor in Matthew's breath betrayed more emotion than he'd ever admit.
For a fleeting second, it almost felt real again.
But when Matthew deepened the kiss — when his hand slid to the back of Vinny's neck — the memory of the locked door flashed through Vinny's mind like lightning.
He broke away suddenly, breath uneven. "Stop."
Matthew froze, chest rising and falling.
Vinny took a step back, shaking. "You don't get to touch me like that after what you did."
Matthew's voice was hoarse. "You think I don't hate myself for it?"
"Then let me go."
The silence that followed was long and sharp. Rain hammered against the windows like an echo of the words neither wanted to say.
Matthew's eyes lowered. "I can't."
Vinny exhaled a shaky laugh. "Of course not."
Matthew's voice softened again — a tone that made it impossible to tell if it was comfort or manipulation. "You think this is about control. But it's not. It's about fear."
Vinny frowned. "Fear of what?"
Matthew looked up, and for the first time, the perfect composure cracked. "Losing you."
Something in his voice — low, broken, unguarded — made Vinny hesitate. He hated that it did.
He wanted to stay angry, to stay strong. But that voice, that confession, slid beneath his defenses like a knife wrapped in silk.
He turned away before Matthew could see his face. "You always say the right thing."
"Because it's true."
Vinny's laugh came out bitter. "No. Because you've learned how to make people believe it."
Matthew's expression hardened. "You think I'm lying now?"
"I think you don't know what love is."
Matthew closed the distance again — so close Vinny could feel the heat radiating off him. "Then teach me."
Vinny's breath hitched. "That's not how this works."
Matthew's gaze dropped to his lips, then back to his eyes. "It's the only way I know how."
And before Vinny could answer, Matthew kissed him again — harder this time, desperate, like he was trying to erase every word between them.
Vinny pushed against him, torn between fury and longing. "You're impossible," he whispered against his mouth.
Matthew's lips ghosted over his jaw. "And you're addicted."
Vinny shoved him back, breath trembling. "You think you've got me figured out."
Matthew's smirk was faint, but his voice was deadly soft. "I know I do."
Vinny stared at him for a long moment — then smiled, slow and dangerous. "Then you've already lost."
Matthew's brows furrowed slightly — just enough to betray confusion.
Vinny stepped closer, close enough that their foreheads almost touched. "Because you've never noticed," he whispered, "that the more you try to control me… the more I learn how to play you."
For once, Matthew didn't have an answer.
Vinny turned, walked to the window, and let the stormlight wash over his face.
Behind him, Matthew stood still — and though his expression was unreadable, his voice when it came was low and full of warning. "Be careful what games you start, Vincent."
Vinny didn't look back. "You taught me."
Outside, the thunder cracked again — louder this time, shaking the glass.
And somewhere beneath the sound, something in their fragile, toxic bond shifted — a line crossed, a power exchanged.
Vinny smiled faintly at his own reflection. He wasn't free yet. Not even close. But for the first time, Matthew didn't look like the only one pulling the strings.
The cage was still there.
But now, he knew where the lock was.