"I don't want to eat your damn food; just let me go from here!" The man's voice shattered the silence of the room, a desperate yell directed at the maid who had just brought his meal. His eyes were teary, shimmering with a world of hidden feelings, like a beautiful soul trapped within cold stone walls, unable to find a way to escape.
He sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, his posture so tense it looked as if he might snap. He turned his face away, looking out the grand window where a gardener was sweeping the path with a long-handled broom. Nearby, the gardener's young son was playing in the dirt with fallen plumeria branches. The sight of the child's pure, untouched innocence made the man's heart ache with a bitter, sharp envy.
The maid remained polite, her voice a soft murmur. "Sir, please have a bite of any of these. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. I beg you to have a bite of anything from the plate."
He didn't turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the world outside, his voice trembling with a heavy mix of exhaustion and terror. "You all have kidnapped me, kept me in this room, and now you want me to eat? Can't you just tell me why I am here?"
The maid kept bowing, her eyes fixed on the floor in a gesture of absolute subservience.
"We just want you to meet our master."
"What if I won't agree to meet him?"
The maid remained silent. The quietness of the room suddenly felt like a physical weight pressing against his chest.
"If you don't have anything to say, then just get out!" he shouted. His anger was a shield, hiding the fact that inside, he was shaking. He didn't want them to see how close he was to breaking completely.
The maid left, bowing her head one last time, slowly closing the heavy door. The man gulped, the silence of the palace rushing back in. He was about to cry, the tears burning his eyelids, but he forced them back, biting his lip so hard he tasted the metallic tang of copper. He walked over to the bed and leaned against the headboard, staring at the ceiling with wide, empty eyes.
Why is my life so miserable? Should I just die? But deep down, a small, foolish part of his heart was still waiting. I am still waiting for him to come... or perhaps he just won't come.
He looked around the room. It was vast, like a chamber in a royal palace. Everything was perfect, designed with a level of luxury he had never imagined. Most of all, the plumeria paintings hanging on the walls gave him a strange, haunting comfort he couldn't explain. He noticed the maid hadn't taken the food. The tray was full of a variety of dishes, the steam still rising in thin curls. He realized then that although it had been two days, these people hadn't treated him badly. They were polite, almost reverent, and never even dared to raise their heads in his presence.
Frustration gnawed at him. Gathering the courage to finally face his captor, he went to the door and pulled it open. A maid was standing right there. She bowed her head toward him instantly.
..
"Do you guys want me to eat?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.
"Yes, sir. Do you want me to cook something special for you?" her voice was full of genuine concern.
"No... but I want to meet your boss."
The maid looked up at him, and for a second, he felt a flash of confusion. He couldn't decipher her expression-was she surprised, or was that excitement? She nodded quickly, as if she had been waiting for this very moment. "Of course."
The man closed the door slowly. He expected answers, but his mind raced with dark, jagged possibilities. What if they kill me? What if this is just another, smaller cage?
..
..
The maid didn't walk with the usual, measured mansion etiquette; she ran. Her footsteps echoed loudly through the long, marble hallway. She sprinted past vases where white plumerias were dazzling, and under portraits where the same flower seemed to follow her every move. Everything looked incredibly expensive-a kingdom built of stone and petals. She skipped steps as she ran up the massive staircase until she reached the heavy double doors of the Master's suite. Two bodyguards, their faces like carved stone, blocked her way. She tried to speak, breathless, but they wouldn't allow her a word until a bold, deep voice resonated from inside: "Let her come in."
..
She bowed the moment she entered. The superior maid was already there. The room was vast, dominated by a king-size bed. A man was sitting at the edge of the mattress, one leg on the floor and the other on a foot stool. He was tilted forward, resting his right elbow on his knee and his face on a half-opened fist-a king lost in a deep, lonely thought.
The faint, intoxicating woody fragrance of the room filled the air. Behind the bed, a large, blank frame hung on the wall, waiting for something worthy enough to fill its empty space.
The room was dim, lit only by a few indirect, golden lights. The man was indeed the Master, wearing a black silk robe dusted with shiny golden dots. It hung open, revealing a tanned chest that glowed like a slow drip of rich honey in the shadows. He was striking-a strong jawline, prominent cheekbones, and eyebrows that looked like they could command an army. His beauty was pure and elegant, but there was a profound sadness in the way he held himself.
"Master..." the superior maid said, bowing low. "Master Win hasn't eaten since yesterday, and neither have you."
"Master..." the other maid added, her voice still breathless. "Master Win said he wants to meet you."
Hearing this, the Master's eyes lit up. The darkness in them was replaced by a sudden, brilliant flash of hope. His lips curled slightly. He slowly raised his eyes, and after a few seconds of silence, he asked them to prepare cheesecake.
..
Once they left, the Master opened his giant wardrobe. While two compartments held the sharp, dark suits of a cold businessman, every other section was filled with garments of rich colors and soft, flowing fabrics. He gently touched the silks, his fingers lingering on a shirt.
You will like these, right? he thought, his heart thumping like a teenager's.
He chose a light gray shirt with black pants. Despite all his power, he wasn't confident. He checked himself repeatedly in the mirror, fixing his hair, his eyes shining with an excitement that made him look less like a "Master" and more like a man about to find his lost soul.
..
The memory hit him with the force of a sudden fever—the orphanage, a few weeks ago.
He had been standing in the corridor, waiting for the Mother, when the world seemed to tilt on its axis. Through the frame of a distant doorway, he had seen him—the man. He was perched upon a pedestal like a forgotten saint, his silhouette framed by the dusty light of the afternoon. In his lap, he cradled delicate branchlets of white plumerias, his fingers brushing the petals with a reverence that made Mark's heart stop.
Mark had only caught a side profile, a sharp yet soft line of a face that felt like a melody he had forgotten the lyrics to. The man was weeping. The tears tracking down those pink cheeks didn't look like grief; they looked like shimmering morning dew resting on the velvet of a rose petal, fragile and precious.
In that moment, the "Sovereign" was gone. Mark had felt a primal, aching pull to cross the room—to catch those tears before they hit the floor and to shield that beautiful sorrow from the world. He had taken a phantom step forward, his soul reaching out to claim what it had lost thirteen years ago.
But then, the heavy, clinical voice of the staff had shattered the silence. "Mr. Mark."
The name felt like a shackle, pulling him back into his cold, steel-tempered reality. He had turned away, but the image of the man with the flowers remained etched into his mind—a masterpiece of pain and purity that he knew, even then, he would eventually have to hunt down and keep.
..
..
Now, standing at Win's door, Mark exhaled, searching for courage. He took the tray of food in his own hands, dismissing the servants. He knocked and waited. The maids nearby widened their eyes in shock-their cold, powerful Master was standing and waiting like a servant with a tray of food.
The door opened. Mark was dumbstruck. Up close, the man's beauty was overwhelming. He didn't even blink; he simply gulped. Win looked so tiny, so fragile. A light wind from the window brushed his hair, revealing a white forehead with a purple bruise on the right side. Mark's heart twisted. Win's wet, doe-like eyes avoided his gaze, and his red lips were slightly parted, breathing in fear.
Win raised his face. He was 175cm, but the man in front of him was a giant, at least 190cm. He is so handsome, Win thought, fear mingling with a strange attraction. But dirty people often have beautiful faces.
"Are you the master?" Win asked, his voice small.
"Yes... I am the master," Mark replied, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Win took the tray, his fingers briefly brushing Mark's, and turned to put it on the table. "You shouldn't be holding this."
"May I come in?" Mark asked, flashing a smile that felt like a sunrise.
Win looked at him, then looked away quickly. "Of course you may come in; it's your mansion, anyway."
Mark entered. "I heard you haven't eaten anything since yesterday. Why don't you try some of this cheesecake?"
"Why do you care? I want to meet you because I want to know why I am here," Win asked, his voice trembling but firm.
"I will tell you everything, but before that, I want you to eat something."
"How can I trust that you didn't mess with this food?" Win's voice was full of the ghosts of his past.
"I can't hurt you," Mark assured him, his eyes pleading for trust.
Win chuckled bitterly. "You can't hurt me, but you kidnapped me? Do you think that makes any sense?"
Mark didn't argue. He stepped toward the table and took a spoonful of the cheesecake himself. "Can you trust me now?"
Win finally sat and took a few bites. Mark sat across from him, admiring the way Win's cheeks puffed out when he ate. It was too much; Mark had to look away to keep from smiling too broadly. "I want to show you something. Can you please come with me for a while?"
Win swallowed the cake, his anger returning. He gritted his teeth. "Are you going to rape me? Or are you going to make money out of me?"
Mark stood up instantly, the air in the room turning cold. He looked into Win's teary, innocent eyes and felt a desperate, agonizing need to protect him. "I just want to show you something, nothing more than that. Trust me... I won't hurt you."
"Okay... but before that, let me use the washroom. I want to change my clothes."
Mark looked at his messy hair and felt a wave of affection. "You look nice, though."
Win went toward the washroom but stopped at the door. He turned back to Mark, who was still standing there, staring at him as if he were a miracle. Win smiled faintly. "It's rude of me, but can you please step out of the room for just ten minutes? I won't make you wait longer than that."
"You can make me wait as long as you want," Mark replied. He stepped out and closed the door, waiting in the hallway like a loyal guard.
..
..
After ten minutes, Win emerged. He was wearing a white dress with a deep V-neck, revealing pale skin marked with a few red spots. Mark's eyes darkened-he wondered how many more bruises were hidden. He wanted to wrap Win in silk and never let the world touch him again.
"Let's go," Win said.
As they walked, Win noticed the plumerias everywhere. "Is this your mansion? It's beautiful. But there are only plumerias everywhere. Do you like them?"
"Umm... I do like them, but it's more that plumerias remind me of someone. They make me feel at ease," Mark replied, his heart racing.
"Oh..."
..
They reached the massive staircase. At the center was the large oil painting of plumerias. Win stopped, lost in the detail.
Mark was a few steps ahead but turned back. The warm light fell across Win's face, making him look dreamy and ethereal.
When Win noticed Mark watching, he got nervous. "I am sorry, I was just-"
"It's okay. Do you want to look around more?"
Mark wanted to reach out and fix Win's hair, to feel the silk of it, but he stayed back, not wanting to scare him.
..
They reached the rooftop. It was a sea of white plumerias under an orange sunset. Win was astonished. "I like plumerias very much. Once, someone made a promise to me, and the witness was a plumeria. They always remind me of that promise," Win said softly.
"Wh... what promise?" Mark asked, his voice thick.
"We are not close enough to share secr-"
"Are you still waiting for that promise?"
Mark interrupted.
Win smiled sadly. "I am waiting... but I don't think it's going to happen."
He walked to the railing. "Why did you want me to come here?"
"Because it's my favorite place and I wanted you to see it," Mark said, his voice low and resonant as he stepped closer. His shadow stretched long across the floor, momentarily swallowing Win in darkness. "Since I showed you my favorite place, can't you tell me your secret and about yourself? Please."
Win felt the air grow thin. He looked up, his gaze traveling the long distance from Mark's chest to his steady, intense eyes. A heavy sigh escaped his lips-not of frustration, but of a deep-seated, trembling exhaustion.
He was afraid. Every time Mark moved, the sheer scale of the man's massive frame reminded Win of his own helplessness. To Win, this beautiful mansion was a gilded cage, and Mark was the giant who held the key. Being captured here, held within these high stone walls and under the watchful eye of the Sovereign, made every word feel like a risk.
Win's shoulders slumped as he tried to find his voice in the presence of such overwhelming power. "But you also have to tell me..." he started, his voice barely a whisper as he looked around the grand room that felt more like a fortress every day. "You have to tell me why I am here."
Mark watched him, his expression unreadable, before a soft "Okay" broke the silence.
..
"My life has always been miserable... I was raised in an orphanage until I was 15. The Mother there was cruel. She often liked to beat me. Once, it was so intense that I was hospitalized for eight months." Win looked at the sunset. "I always used to wait for a family to adopt me, but I was never chosen. But once, I went to sit by a lake under a plumeria tree. A boy came by. He was older, and he plucked plumerias for me. He called me 'Kitty.'"
..
Win's voice broke as he described Mark's departure-the study abroad, the fear of the dark room, the promise to return. "He said, 'Kitty, I will find you no matter what.' And then he went..."
..
Win went silent, tears falling onto his cheeks. He couldn't look up. But Mark moved. He knelt in front of Win's chair and wiped the tears away. Win looked down at him, confused by the sadness in Mark's eyes.
Mark reached out, took two plumerias from the vase, and placed them in Win's lap. He looked up with eyes full of a lifetime of searching and said softly, "Kitty..."
Win's breath hitched. His lips parted, trembling. Mark gathered his courage: "I know I am very late... so late that I deserve punishment. But can you please forgive me, umm?"
Win stared at him, the realization crashing over him like a wave. He grabbed the plumerias and threw himself into Mark's arms, hugging him with a strength that spoke of years of loneliness. He cried loudly, the sound of a person who had finally been found.
Mark held him, caressing his back, his own tears falling into Win's hair. Win refused to let go, clutching the plumerias as if they were the only solid thing in the world.
..
Eventually, the exhaustion took over, and Win's eyes closed, his head resting on Mark's shoulder.
Mark waited until Win was deeply asleep. "Kitty... are you there?"
Only silence answered. Mark stood up, his massive frame uncoiling with a predatory grace. He adjusted his grip, cradling the man against his broad chest like a precious, stolen treasure, a sight that was both beautiful and unsettling.
..
As he stepped into the long, marble corridor, the atmosphere shifted instantly from quiet to deathly. Every bodyguard and maid they passed didn't just bow; they recoiled into the shadows of the walls, their bodies rigid with a primal, bone-deep terror. The Master's aura was no longer the chaotic rage they had feared for years; it was now something far more dangerous-a cold, absolute possessiveness that felt like a sharpened blade held to their throats.
The guards, men hardened by violence, kept their eyes glued to the floor, their hands trembling at their sides. They knew that to even accidentally glance at the man in the Master's arms was to invite an immediate end. The Master moved through them like a god walking among ghosts, his boots echoing with a slow, rhythmic thud that sounded like a heartbeat-or a countdown.
The maids pressed their chins to their chests, their breath hitching in their throats. They felt the Master's gaze-shards of lethal ice that could freeze the blood in their veins-sweep over them without a shred of humanity. Yet, when that same gaze dropped to the man he held, it transformed into something terrifyingly tender.
To the world, he was a monster of iron and shadow, a ruler who demanded trembling submission. But in his arms, the man was his only sovereign. The Master held him with a desperate, crushing devotion, his broad arms acting as both a sanctuary and a fortress. He walked with an unnerving stillness, ensuring not a single jolt disturbed the man, even as his mere presence forced the entire mansion to its knees.
The staff watched from the periphery of their vision, paralyzed. They realized then that the Master hadn't just brought home a lover; he had brought home his soul. And for anyone who dared to breathe too loudly in its presence, there would be no mercy.
..
The newly appointed maid turned to her superior, her voice a trembling whisper. "Is it really that big a mistake if we don't bow to them?"
"It is," the superior maid replied, her face a mask of iron. "But it's especially intense when he is not in a good mood. You need to follow the rules of the mansion, and one most important thing is: dare not to touch his man. He is not even allowed to be looked at."
"What about women?" the newly appointed maid asked innocently.
"Women are also not allowed to look at him. The thing is, all the maids here are old for a reason. So remember: whenever you are instructed to give them food, you are not allowed to touch them. If you touch the Master by mistake, he will forgive you, but dare not to touch his man. Okay?"
The superior maid made things clear. The newly appointed maid just nodded and walked away with her hands together, but she returned in seconds, driven by a dark curiosity. "Are there any examples? Like, someone touching his man and then...?"
The superior maid's voice dropped an octave. "Master found his beloved recently. He found out that the boy's father used to beat him, and somehow, the p
olice found the father's body the next day."
The newly appointed maid's eyes widened and her brows raised. She looked at her superior with big eyes and asked, her lips stretching in surprise, "How could you be so calm?"
..
..