The smell of stale beer and expensive cologne was a special kind of torture—one Kael had learned to endure the way other people endured heartbreak or bad decisions.
At twenty-one, his life ran on exhaustion and cheap coffee.
There was the 6:00 a.m. bakery run, where he stacked bread while half-asleep.
Then the afternoon delivery shifts, biking across the city like a background character no one noticed.
And now—his personal hell—the midnight cleaning crew at Club Obsidian, the most exclusive club in the city, where rich people spilled drinks worth more than his monthly rent and called it "fun."
Kael scrubbed the sticky black floor like it had personally offended him.
His oversized, faded hoodie clung to his thin frame, sleeves pushed up, sweat sliding down his temple. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made blinking feel optional.
"Kael!" Sam hissed from behind him. "Stop scrubbing like the floor owes you money and get to the manager's office!"
Kael didn't look up. "I'm not done with the lounge," he muttered. "Just give me one minute."
Sam grabbed his arm.
Kael finally glanced up—and froze.
Sam was pale. Like ghost who forgot how to haunt pale.
"Stop whatever you're doing," Sam said quietly. "Your brother is here."
Kael's heart dropped.
"And?" he asked, already standing.
"And he's in deep trouble."
Kael didn't bother replying. He bolted.
The manager barely looked at him.
"VIP section," the man said flatly. "Go. Now."
Kael nodded once and ran.
The VIP door loomed ahead—thick, black, and very much bulletproof. Employees weren't allowed past it unless they enjoyed unemployment or death. Probably both.
Kael pushed it open anyway.
Cold air rushed over him.
The music softened. The lighting darkened. Everything smelled different—top-shelf whiskey, leather, and sin wrapped in money.
This wasn't a club.
This was a throne room.
And seated at the center, relaxed like he owned the universe, was Jaxen Valtieri.
Kael recognized him instantly. Everyone did.
The heir to the Valtieri tech empire.
The genius with a mind like a machine.
The man whose face lived permanently on tabloids, headlines, and whispered warnings.
He was devastatingly handsome in a way that felt illegal.
Sharp jawline.
Storm-colored eyes.
A lazy smirk that said he'd never lost anything he wanted.
At his feet—
"Leo."
Kael's breath hitched.
Leo was on his knees, shaking, held down by two massive security guards. A shattered bottle of vintage wine lay spilled across a white rug—red soaking in like blood.
Kael knew without asking.
That bottle cost more than his life.
"Please," Leo sobbed. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to—"
"Accidents are expensive, little one," Jaxen said lazily.
He didn't even look at Leo.
He was busy lighting a cigarette, movements slow, deliberate, cruelly unbothered.
That was when Kael snapped.
"Let him go!"
The words echoed.
Silence slammed down hard.
The guards turned instantly.
Kael stepped fully into the light before fear could catch him.
Jaxen lifted one finger.
The guards froze.
For the first time, Jaxen looked up.
His gaze slid over Kael from head to toe—cheap sneakers, worn jeans, oversized hoodie—before settling on his face.
And lingering.
Just a little too long.
Jaxen leaned forward, exhaling smoke straight into Kael's face.
"And who," he asked calmly, "are you?"
"I'm his brother," Kael said, fists clenched. "I'll pay for the bottle. Just let him go."
Jaxen laughed.
It was soft. Dry. Mocking.
"That bottle costs fifty thousand dollars," he said. "Do you even have fifty dollars in that pocket?"
Kael swallowed the familiar burn of humiliation.
"I'll work for it," he said. "Double shifts. Triple. Whatever it takes."
Jaxen stood.
He was tall—too tall—casting a shadow over Kael like something out of a nightmare with money.
He stepped closer.
The scent of tobacco and expensive wine hit Kael all at once.
Jaxen reached out, thumb brushing along Kael's jawline.
Kael flinched—but didn't step back.
That seemed to amuse him.
"I have enough cleaners," Jaxen murmured. "But you…"
His eyes darkened, sharp with interest.
"You look like you'd bite my hand off instead of kissing it."
Kael glared. "I'm not for sale."
Jaxen smiled wider.
"Oh, I know."
He leaned closer, voice dropping.
"My father wants me to bring my partner to dinner," he said. "And you fit the description."
Kael felt sick.
"You live with me," Jaxen continued smoothly. "You go where I go. You play the bad boy's lover for six months. Your brother's debt disappears."
Kael shook his head. "I'm not a toy."
Jaxen stepped back, expression turning cold.
"Decide now, Kael," he said calmly. "Walk out with your pride… and your brother goes to jail."
Leo whimpered.
"Or stay," Jaxen finished, eyes locking onto Kael's, "and you belong to me."
Kael stared at his brother's terrified face.
Then at the monster in the designer suit.
"Six months," Kael whispered.
Jaxen's smile turned sharp.
"Good," he said. "Guards—prepare a suit for him."
He glanced at Kael like he'd already won.
"He's moving into the penthouse tonight."