The night had ended with Jeremy's vile confessions echoing in Marco's ears. He had listened, shaken, his heart torn between pity and horror. The moment he heard footsteps approaching the corridor, Marco quickly slipped back to his room, shutting the door with trembling hands. He leaned against it, breath shallow, as if the walls themselves were listening.
Morning arrived with a pale glow. Marco stirred, his eyes catching the faint shimmer of new curtains draped across the window. At first glance, they looked identical to the ones from yesterday, but as he studied them closer, he noticed the lavender hue was brighter, almost deliberate. Confused, he asked the maid who was adjusting them.
"They will change each week," she explained softly, her voice carrying a rehearsed tone. "From darkest to lightest. It is our way of welcoming a new member into the family."
Marco froze at her words. A new member. Him. The thought twisted in his chest like a blade. Nothing in this palace had made sense, and this ritual was no different. He turned away, unwilling to question further, and began to dress.
As he reached for his clothes, his eyes fell upon the garments lying carelessly on the couch — the very clothes he had worn on the day of his kidnapping. His breath caught. The memory surged back, raw and uninvited.
He saw himself dragged across the front door by faceless men, his cries piercing the air as he wept, unable to see his mother. The cardigan he had worn that day — knitted by her hands, each thread woven with care — had been chosen for a reason. It was meant to be special, a reminder of home, of love. And yet, that day had ended in chains.
Now, in the present, Marco picked up the cardigan. It was torn, frayed at the edges, its warmth stolen by time and cruelty. He stared at it, realizing with a hollow ache that if he ever rejoiced with Colden again, fate would not spare him. His love was a target, his existence a curse in this place.
He forced himself back into reality and walked to the breakfast hall. Jeremy was already there, seated quietly, his eyes heavy with secrets. Across the room, Marco noticed the ginger-haired man — the one from the cuffing scene — standing with a smug air. Marco hesitated, standing silently until the rest of the family arrived.
The mother entered, her presence commanding, her gaze sharp. She noticed the way Marco and Jeremy exchanged glances, her curiosity piqued. "Why do you two keep looking at each other?" she asked, her tone laced with suspicion. Neither answered. Silence hung over the table like a veil.
Breakfast was served — another greasy meal, heavy with fat and oil. Marco picked at it reluctantly, his appetite drowned by unease. As he glanced at the maids serving them, his eyes caught the bruises on their wrists. He remembered the curtains, the explanation of strain from changing them. But now, the truth was clear. The marks were not from labor. They were from cuffing. The realization unsettled him deeply, twisting his stomach more than the food ever could.
The meal ended, and everyone dispersed to their daily routines. Marco lingered, his thoughts clouded, when suddenly the ginger-haired man approached. His grip was iron as he seized Marco's wrist, leaning close with a voice that dripped menace.
"It's none of your business what I do," he hissed. "And don't you dare tell anyone. Otherwise… you know what will happen."
He released Marco abruptly and walked away, leaving behind the sting of his grip and the weight of his threat. Marco stood frozen, his pulse racing. The danger was no longer hidden — it was pressing against him, suffocating.
As he caught his breath, his eyes drifted back to Jeremy. In that moment, Jeremy's presence felt different — not just another broken soul, but perhaps a fragile thread of hope. Marco realized with clarity: he needed to escape. And Jeremy might be the key.
TO BE CONTINUED…
NEXT CHAPTER ON 6th FEBRUARY 2026