Eun-jae let out the longest, most exaggerated sigh, the kind that could empty an entire room of air.
He set the glass down on the nearest table with a solid clink, not bothering to look back. His tone was sharp, flat, and utterly done. "I'm going to bed. I've hit my daily quota of bullshit, and your voice is starting to feel like psychological warfare."
He turned on his heel, bare feet thudding softly on the cold marble floor as he stomped toward the stairs, muttering under his breath, "Kidnapped and emotionally abused? What is this, a premium trauma package?"
Caesar didn't stop him. Not with words, anyway. His gaze lingered like a ghost following every angry step up the staircase. He tilted his head, watching that sassy little back disappear up the stairs with the patience of a hunter who knew the prey would always come back to him—either out of hate, or habit, or heartbreak. Sometimes all three.
Eun-jae pushed open the bedroom door with unnecessary force, letting it creak on its hinges like it was supposed to protest his suffering too.
He peeled his shirt off with one hand, slinging it across the room with an eye roll. "Stupid psycho bastard," he muttered. "Acts like he's some misunderstood antihero when he's really just a manipulative man-child with control issues and a God complex."
He unzipped his pants with a frustrated tug, kicking them off, walking into the ensuite bathroom wearing nothing but irritation and a thin pair of briefs. He flicked the lights on—too bright—and squinted at the mirror.
A face stared back that he barely recognized anymore.
His cheeks were a little flushed from the alcohol. His lips still had the faintest tint from the whisky. His eyes… they looked tired. But more than that—they looked trapped.
He turned the water on, hot enough to sting, and stepped under it like he wanted the water to wash everything away—Caesar's voice, his presence, the way he somehow took up space in Eun-jae's head like a squatter with charm and a knife.
As the steam filled the glass walls, Eun-jae pressed both palms against the cold tiles, head hanging forward, water running down his back.
He needed a plan.
Something—anything—to get out.
"Okay, brain," he whispered to himself, steam curling around his lips. "Let's get creative."
He started listing things off in his head.
Option one: Run. Just bolt for the door when Caesar's not looking. But the mansion was a literal labyrinth, cameras in every damn corner, and Caesar probably had guards disguised as decor.
Option two: Manipulate him back. Pretend to fall for his charm, get close enough to stab him in the chest with his own letter opener. Very drama noir. But he couldn't fake feelings for Caesar without barfing a little—and worse, some twisted part of him worried he wasn't faking everything. And that thought? It scared him more than being locked in here.
Option three: Hide in the laundry basket and wait until someone carries it outside. He snorted. "Okay, that one's dumb. Maybe if I was in a Disney movie."
He closed his eyes, letting the water hit his face, but the intrusive thoughts wouldn't stop.
He imagined sprinting barefoot across the snowy courtyard, alarms blaring, Caesar's voice echoing in his ear like a cruel lullaby: "You can run, pretty thing… but you'll always belong to me."
Gross. He hated how accurate that felt.
The steam was thick now, curling in warm tendrils around Eun-jae's shoulders as he tilted his face up into the cascading water. His lashes fluttered shut, letting the heat rinse down over him like he could scrub Caesar's voice off his skin. He tried to focus—on the water, on the silence—but his thoughts were already crawling back to that one slip of information from earlier.
Caesar's twin brother… the coronation.
A month from now.
Eun-jae clenched his jaw. That was a window. Maybe a small one, but it was better than nothing. If Caesar was planning on going, and if he was taking him along like some decorative pet or emotional hostage, that might be the only chance he'd have to disappear. The event would be crowded. Public. Chaotic. Full of noise and witnesses. He could vanish into it all.
But he'd have to ask Caesar carefully. Couldn't make it too obvious. If Caesar smelled even a whiff of rebellion, he'd probably slap a GPS tracker in Eun-jae's thigh and call it love.
He let out a frustrated groan, dragging his hands down his face. "Great," he muttered. "Now I've gotta flirt with Satan for an escape ticket."
But then—he felt it.
That weird prickly sensation on the back of his neck. Like a camera lens zooming in. Like a predator watching its prey. His eyes snapped open, and he turned his head slowly, heart skipping a beat.
And there he was.
Caesar.
Leaning casually against the bathroom wall, arms crossed, completely unbothered—like he hadn't just materialized out of nowhere like a horror movie jump scare.
"JESUS CHRIST!" Eun-jae shouted, flinching so hard he almost slipped on the slick tiles. "What the—are you insane?!"
He barely caught himself, but Caesar moved lightning fast, stepping forward and catching him by the waist with both hands, strong and steady. Their bodies collided for a moment—bare chest to wet towel, warm palms on trembling skin—and time froze.
They were breathing the same air. Steam twisted around them like smoke in a war zone.
And Caesar? He just stared.
Like Eun-jae was the most exquisite disaster he'd ever laid eyes on.
"You are very beautiful," Caesar murmured, his voice thick and low, like he'd just unwrapped something precious.
Eun-jae's expression immediately twisted into one of pure disgust, eyes wide like someone had just offered him a raw shrimp cocktail at a funeral.
"Wow," he said, placing both hands on Caesar's chest and shoving—hard. "You are so creepy. Do you practice this in the mirror, or does it just come naturally?"
Caesar laughed, like he was actually enjoying himself. His hand lingered on Eun-jae's hip for a moment longer than necessary before he finally stepped back. "Has anyone ever told you you're very sarcastic?"
"Yeah," Eun-jae replied, turning his back and stepping under the water again, scrubbing his scalp as if trying to erase the contact. "And I'm only mean and sarcastic to people I hate."
There was a beat of silence.
Then Caesar's voice again, unbothered, almost teasing. "Hate is such a strong word."
"So is 'kidnap,' and yet—here we are," Eun-jae snapped.
"You act like I've chained you to a radiator," Caesar said, leaning lazily against the sink now. "But look at you. Using my water. My soap. Wearing my towel. You're practically domestic."
Eun-jae turned, shampoo still foaming in his hair, eyes narrowed like lasers. "If you don't leave in the next three seconds, I will throw this shampoo bottle at your head and pretend it was a reflex."
Caesar just grinned. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
One.
Two.
Three.
Caesar raised his hands in surrender and sauntered out of the bathroom, his laugh echoing like a slow-moving curse.
But just before he disappeared into the room, he called out, "Let me know if you need help scrubbing your back."
"LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED A RESTRAINING ORDER!"
The door slammed.
Eun-jae turned back to the shower, steam still thick around him, and sighed—this time less frustrated, more… tired.
"…Bastard," he whispered.
But the idea still lingered in his head like a spark refusing to die.
The coronation.
He was going to get out.
Even if it meant pretending to like the psychopath.
Even if it meant flirting with the devil.
Even if it meant smiling while hiding a knife behind his back.
After the shower, Eun-jae towel-dried his hair with aggressive force, like maybe if he scrubbed hard enough, he could knock Caesar's face out of his head. Spoiler: it didn't work.
He padded barefoot into the dressing room, the rich scent of Caesar's stupidly expensive cologne lingering in the air like an unwanted perfume ad. The wardrobe here was insane—he wasn't even going to lie. Silk shirts, velvet robes, cashmere pants, all probably tailored for Caesar's ex-lovers-slash-captives. Real harem-core aesthetic. But Eun-jae wasn't in the mood for fashion tonight.
He grabbed a pair of soft, loose pajamas—navy, cotton, very "I'm emotionally done for the day." The pants sat low on his hips, and the shirt was oversized, slipping off one shoulder as he sat down at the edge of the massive bed.
His fingers idly combed through his damp hair as his mind drifted again. And that's when it hit him.
Like an annoying lightbulb flickering to life mid-drama scene.
"Wait a damn minute…" he thought, eyes narrowing as he stared blankly at the wall.
"Ever since Caesar moved me here… he hasn't tried anything. No sex. No touching. No creepy bedside breathing. Nothing."
A pause.
His eyes squinted suspiciously. "That's weird."
Because let's be real—Caesar wasn't exactly subtle. He was the type to make eye contact and undress your soul. That first week had been hell. Between the manipulation, the force, the threats, and Caesar trying to rewrite his biology like some twisted Sims cheat code—it had been a blur of trauma and violation.
But ever since he got moved into this fancy-ass place?
Nothing.
No bed visits. No chains. No locked doors (yet). Just… freedom-ish. Caesar would sit with him. Talk to him. Tease him. Show up at odd hours to be creepy and dramatic. But he hadn't laid a finger on him that way in a while.
Eun-jae hugged his knees to his chest, eyes scanning the room. "Is he waiting for something? Planning some next-level emotional sabotage? Or—god forbid—is he catching feelings?"
The thought made him gag a little.
He rolled onto his side with a sigh, muttering to himself. "Or maybe I'm just ugly now. Maybe he got bored. Maybe my constant sarcasm has dried him up like an overcooked noodle."
Another pause.
"…Or maybe he's plotting to implant a tracker in my spine the second I fall asleep."
He stared at the ceiling, brows furrowed, and then muttered, "This is what happens when you spend too much time around a manipulative psycho. You start trying to decode them like a damn Rubik's cube with a knife in it."
Still… the silence was unsettling. Caesar wasn't the kind to do anything without a reason. If he was holding back, it meant something.
And Eun-jae didn't know whether that made him feel relieved—or terrified.
Probably both.
He grabbed one of the ridiculously fluffy pillows and screamed into it.
Then tossed it across the room dramatically and flopped backward, groaning.
"I hate it here," he said aloud. "I hate that the sheets are Egyptian cotton. I hate that the mattress is cloud-level soft. I hate that the water pressure is perfect. And I really hate that I'm starting to get used to this weird luxury-kidnapper lifestyle."
There was no knock. No warning. Just the door flying open like Caesar was the main character in some Victorian drama and the world owed him a spotlight.
"…Speak of the devil," Eun-jae muttered under his breath, flopping back dramatically onto the bed like a teenage drama queen.
"Oh my gwad, what now?" he groaned out loud, throwing an arm over his eyes. "It's literally past bedtime. What are you even doing here? If you're here to breathe creepily next to me or give one of your unhinged TED Talks about fate and manipulation, I swear I will drown myself in your ridiculously fancy bathtub."
Caesar didn't even bat an eye. He was already halfway into the room, unbothered and shirtless, because of course he was. "I'm going to shower."
"That wasn't an invitation," Eun-jae said dryly, watching him with narrowed eyes as Caesar walked past the bed with the audacity of someone who owned the building—which, technically, he did. "You know people usually knock before barging in like they pay rent. Oh wait—you kidnapped me. Right."
Caesar ignored him.
Typical.
But Eun-jae wasn't done. Oh no. His brain was half-feral from trauma, boredom, and maybe the residual whisky still swimming in his veins. He sat up on the bed, legs crossed, arms resting over his knees like a little goblin plotting chaos.
"Hey. Quick question."
Caesar, now digging through drawers for God knows what, didn't even look back. "Hm?"
And then—God help him—Eun-jae said it.
"Why is your dick so big?"
Caesar froze.
Like, legit froze. Mid-movement. Spine straight. Hands paused on the drawer like time stopped.
Eun-jae kept going, because at this point, he had already jumped off the cliff of shame and there was no parachute. "I mean… it's kind of unnatural, don't you think? Like, what even is that? Did you inject something? Is there a black market for… that? Or is it like, some twisted alpha gene experiment gone wrong?"
Silence.
Then Caesar slowly turned around, eyebrows raised so high they were practically in another tax bracket.
"What," Caesar said, voice caught between amusement and disbelief, "the hell are you talking about?"
Eun-jae immediately felt the heat crawl up his neck. Why did I say that? Why did he open his mouth? This was Caesar. Caesar, the master of manipulation, who would twist anything into an opportunity. Now his stupid brain had served him up on a silver platter.
But he couldn't back down now. No. He had pride.
So instead, he gave Caesar a dismissive flick of his fingers and leaned back on his hands like it was just casual small talk. "I'm just saying. It's… aggressively large. Like, unprovoked. You could've come with a warning label."
That was when Caesar lost it.
He laughed.
And not his usual snarky chuckle. This was full-body, lean-on-the-wall, shoulders-shaking laughter. His head tilted back like someone had just told him the funniest joke in the universe.
Eun-jae blinked, offended. "Okay wow. You're laughing? That's real mature. Very alpha-core. Ten points for the ego boost."
Caesar wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. "You are… I swear, Eun-jae, you're a walking menace. Who the hell blurts that out?"
Eun-jae, now thoroughly embarrassed and pretending he wasn't, scoffed. "I don't know, maybe people who've been trapped in a marble prison by a rich psycho with questionable morals and a clinically large—"
"Don't finish that sentence," Caesar warned, walking toward the bathroom, still grinning.
Eun-jae smirked and flopped onto the bed again. "Whatever. Just don't clog the drain with your narcissism."
Caesar paused at the door, glancing back with a smirk that was way too smug. "You talk a lot about something you supposedly hate."
Eun-jae pulled a pillow over his face and screamed into it.
Loudly.
Caesar chuckled again and disappeared into the bathroom with a soft click of the door.