Gabriel
’s alarm pierced the silence, and he silenced it with a sharp slap. His hand reached across the bed, seeking his little bird, only to find cold sheets where Ellis should have been. The emptiness jolted him fully awake. He hadn’t given his little bird permission to leave. That he’d slept through the departure was even more disturbing. Either his little bird had been exceptionally quiet, or last night had drained him more thoroughly than he’d realized. The memory of Ellis surrendering so perfectly, breaking so beautifully beneath his hands, suggested the latter.
His jaw clenched as he processed the space beside him where his little bird should still be sleeping. A bitter anger crystallized in his chest. He’d been explicit last night—Ellis belonged to him now. The echo of those possessive words twisted with irritation as he recalled how sweetly his little bird had yielded to each command, how perfectly he’d submitted. That submission hadn’t been pretense; knew the difference between genuine surrender and professional performance.
Grumbling, he moved through his morning routine with mechanical efficiency, mind already mapping out the steps needed to correct this... misunderstanding. The hall clock read half-past seven when he emerged, dressed for the board meeting at nine. A full day of meetings stretched ahead, which meant his wayward bird would have hours to contemplate his error before could retrieve him.
For a moment, he considered sending Alain to collect his wayward bird, but no—this needed a personal touch. Ellis needed to understand exactly what it meant to belong to Rohan. The enforced wait would give him time to set things in motion. He’d need to acquire Ellis’s contract from that waste of space Donovan, among other things.
Settling at the breakfast table, allowed himself a small, dangerous smile as he contemplated how thoroughly he would remind his little bird that he’d found his permanent perch.
Jacob placed a coffee and ’s usual breakfast before him, along with his charged tablet. “Your young master left just after four this morning,” the butler said quietly. ’s hand stilled on the coffee cup—he’d forgotten the device in his car, too focused on getting his little bird inside.
“Ah, the cat hours,” Lucas remarked, dropping into his usual seat and promptly stealing a piece of bacon from ’s plate. The familiar theft did nothing to lighten ’s mood.
Jacob set coffees before Lucas and Alain with well-practiced efficiency, his disapproving tut at their behavior carrying decades of fond exasperation. “Annabelle, perhaps breakfast for Masters Lucas and Alain before they devour Monsieur ’s entire plate?”
Annabelle emerged from the kitchen, silver-streaked dark hair escaping its pins, carrying plates loaded with eggs and meat. Her presence filled the room the way it had since was a child, when she’d stepped into the void left by an absent father and a mother more interested in afternoon cocktails than her sons.
“The fruit platter was meant to share, Monsieur ,” she scolded, snapping her kitchen towel near his hand with the authority of someone who’d raised him from boyhood. shifted the platter closer, earning an eye roll from the woman who’d been more mother than employee. When he’d chosen this quieter residence in Lafayette Square over the principal estate, Annabelle and Jacob’s loyalty had never been in question.
Lucas reached across the small breakfast table and snagged some of the grapes, popping the whole handful into his mouth. “Have fun last night?” he asked around the fruit, earning another eye roll from Annabelle.
“Chew first, Lucas. Je n’ai pas élevé des loups,” Annabelle chided, turning back toward her kitchen.
“You might’ve,” Lucas called after her, grinning.
“Men! All wolves!” Annabelle’s hands flew skyward as she disappeared through the swinging doors, Jacob following with dignified amusement.
“Don’t antagonize her,” Alain warned, refilling his coffee. “She’s still the one who does your laundry. Or did you forget the bleached suit incident?”
Lucas wrinkled his nose at the memory. “I shall behave.”
shook his head, but his amusement felt hollow. The morning’s light mood couldn’t dispel the space where his little bird should be.
“Speaking of behavior,” Lucas’s tone shifted, playfulness giving way to careful inquiry, “how was the cat you picked up?”
“My little bird has temporarily flown away.” ’s voice carried a dangerous edge as he scrolled through his tablet. “I plan to retrieve him this evening.” The loaded silence drew his attention from the screen. He found his friends exchanging glances. “What?”
Alain cleared his throat, choosing his words with the caution of someone who’d known ’s temper for decades. “Were you serious about keeping him? It’s just... he’s an escort, .”
’s fist crashed against the table. Neither man flinched—they’d weathered too many of his storms for that. “He is mine,” he ground out. “And yes. I plan to keep him.”
“For how long?” Lucas asked quietly, pushing the eggs around his plate.
“I don’t know.” ’s voice softened, revealing an unfamiliar uncertainty. “I just know that I need him.”
Alain and Lucas exchanged another look but said nothing. They finished the rest of breakfast in thoughtful silence, broken only by the distant sounds of Annabelle clattering about her kitchen.
The ride to La Sauvegarde’s headquarters passed in similar quiet. Alain navigated PDC’s morning traffic with practiced ease while Lucas reviewed the day’s schedule from the passenger seat, tablet balanced on his knee. Neither mentioned Ellis, though caught their occasional glances in the rearview mirror. He ignored them, watching First Cat’s glass towers rise around them as they approached the financial district.
Brenda was at her desk when they arrived, her usually bright “Good morning” strained. Her eyes darted toward the conference room as she handed the quarterly reports. Through the glass walls, board members had already gathered an hour early. And there, in ’s rightful place at the head of the table, sat Maximilien Rohan.
Three hours later, stalked into his office, tie already constricting as his father’s voice echoed in his head. Each cutting remark had torn through his quarterly presentation as if were some fumbling intern rather than CEO. It should have been his triumph—profits up eighteen percent, three strategic acquisitions seamlessly integrated, international expansion ahead of schedule. Instead, he’d spent three hours defending himself against accusations about Henri’s latest public scandals.
His wayward brother—who should have been at the Lumière Casino last night discussing damage control—had left him waiting like a fool. No doubt Henri was somewhere adding to the list of indiscretions their father had just spent hours holding accountable for.
The only grace of the evening had been the unexpected approach of a beautiful young man. ’s fingers flexed unconsciously, remembering Ellis’ confidence as he slipped into the seat beside him, how he’d yielded perfectly to ’s control. Even now, that memory helped temper his rage at Henri’s defiance of both his CEO authority and brotherly responsibility.
But not even thoughts of Ellis could fully cool his anger. His fingers twisted around his tie, yanking it free and hurling it across the room. The board had sat there, nodding along as Maximilien steamrolled the meeting as if hadn’t spent five years dragging La Sauvegarde into the modern era. As if the Rohan name wasn’t worth more now than it had ever been under his father’s leadership. Yet the moment Henri’s latest scandal hit the society pages, suddenly was “failing to maintain the family image.”
A laugh escaped him, raw and bitter. The family image. Always the fucking family image. Because La Sauvegarde wasn’t just a company—it was the Rohan legacy. Never mind the profits, innovations, or growth. No, must be perfect, above reproach, shouldering blame for every family indiscretion while maintaining an immaculate facade.
His fist crashed into his desk. His morning coffee toppled, the dark liquid seeping across quarterly reports he should have reviewed hours ago. He should have been back by ten, coffee still hot, focused on acquisition proposals. Instead, past noon, and he’d been dressed down like an errant schoolboy.
paced the length of his office, running his hands through his hair, destroying the carefully styled look that was part of that precious image. He could feel his control slipping, rage building beneath years of careful restraint...
Ellis.
The memory of his little bird’s complete submission cut through his spiral like a blade, bringing sudden clarity. Yes. This was what he needed when everything else slipped through his fingers—someone who would yield to his control completely, perfectly, willingly.
Cancel everything,” commanded into his desk’s intercom.
Brenda’s response was immediate. “Sir, the Thomson merger—”
“Can wait.”
The intercom clicked silent. turned to the floor-to-ceiling windows of his corner office, gaze sweeping past Old Town’s pristine cityscape to where the Mississippi carved PDC like a wound. Beyond it, the Fourth Cat sprawled in defiant contrast to the gleaming towers around him. Somewhere in that maze of streets, his little bird waited to be reclaimed.
The office door opened behind him. “.” Lucas’s voice carried warning as he entered. “Your father was out of line, but—”
“My father,” ’s words cut like steel, “seems to have forgotten who runs La Sauvegarde now.” His fingers drummed against his coffee-stained desk. “Henri’s behavior is a problem, yes. One I will handle. But right now...” His eyes found the clock. Past noon. “Right now, I have a wayward bird to collect.”
Lucas sighed but nodded, fingers already moving across his tablet. “I’ll have Alain bring the car.”
“Good.” retrieved his discarded jacket, shrugging it on with fluid grace. The board meeting’s tension still coiled in his muscles, but thoughts of retrieving Ellis curved his lips into something predatory. “It’s time everyone understood exactly who’s in charge.”
His shoes struck a sharp rhythm against La Sauvegarde’s marble lobby, the sound bouncing off Italian stone. Employees scattered from his path with lowered eyes—a deference he usually savored. Today, his mind had already crossed the river.
Alain held the car door open, face impassive. slid into the back seat of the Mercedes, adjusting his cuffs as Lucas settled in beside him.
“Heart Court,” Lucas directed, passing the address forward.
The car pulled away from the curb, merging into First Cat traffic. For twenty minutes, watched Old Town’s gleaming towers give way to the northern portion of the First Cat’s sprawl as they approached the Missouri River bridge.
“Sir.” Lucas’s careful tone drew ’s attention. “The location is... further than expected.”
studied his phone, jaw tightening as he noted Heart Court’s position near the Fourth Cat’s northern edge. Thirty minutes by car—but the transit overlay revealed a maze of connections that would have taken his little bird an hour to navigate. Alone. In the dark.
The thought settled like ice in ’s stomach as they crossed into the Second Cat. Luxury high-rises flashed past, their gleaming facades a stark reminder of the world his little bird had fled to reach this place. They crossed the final bridge into Fourth Cat’s northern reaches, leaving behind the tourist-friendly facades of the entertainment district. Here, run-down bars lined the streets, their neon already burning in the afternoon gloom. Apartment buildings crouched behind chain-link fences, territorial claims spelled out in spray paint.
The Mercedes slowed, drawing hostile looks from the locals. Small strip clubs and non-union brothels dotted the block between pool halls and neighborhood bars. Heart Court loomed ahead, its warehouse facade transformed by electric pink and red neon. A crowd of off-shift workers pressed against the floor-to-ceiling display window, their crude laughter carrying across the humid afternoon air.
Alain brought the car to a stop, the luxury vehicle an alien presence in this cesspool of the Fourth Cat. ’s fingers drummed against his thigh, the only outward sign of his fraying control.
“Well.” His voice carried an edge sharper than his smile. “Shall we?” He stepped from the car, Alain and Lucas falling into position beside him.
Dock workers and locals pressed against the display window, their lunch break entertainment evidently found. Their crude laughter carried across the humid afternoon air, punctuated by the mechanical whir of... something.
Then he heard it. A muffled sob that stopped him cold.
The display window’s lurid pink neon turned his pristine white shirt garish as approached. Then he heard it—a muffled sob from behind the glass that stopped him cold. Ellis—his little bird—knelt strapped to a padded bench, hands cuffed behind his back. A black bit gag stretched those perfect lips, a sodden blindfold covered his eyes, and behind him, a mechanical arm thrust rhythmically, forcing broken sounds from his trembling form.
The last thread of ’s control snapped.
He didn’t register crossing to Heart Court’s entrance, didn’t feel his suit jacket fly open with the force of his movement. The bell above the door chimed discordantly against his thundering pulse. The display case stood separate and sealed, a cruel glass cage where his little bird fluttered in distress.
’s hands slammed against the display room’s door. The thick glass didn’t even shudder under his assault.
“Rohan.” The word snapped from behind the counter as a young man with untamed blonde curls vaulted over it. “Ellis showed me how to break this piece of shit open—Donovan keeps locking people in here when they piss him off. Donovan tossed Ellis in this morning, won’t let anyone go near him.” The boy’s fingers flew to the keypad, contempt thick in his voice even as he jabbed the zero repeatedly. “Come on, come on...”
A pneumatic hiss signaled the door’s release. would have to thank his little bird later for teaching this trick to—
Outside, violence erupted as Lucas and Alain dispersed the crowd. The wet crack of Lucas’ fist meeting flesh carried through the glass, followed by shocked gasps as Alain revealed his sidearm. The crowd scattered like roaches in sunlight.
moved the instant the door opened, channeling his fury into careful movements as he worked the buckle of the bit gag. Ellis whimpered as eased it from between his lips, the sound stoking his rage. Red marks marred the corners of that perfect mouth, each one a death sentence would deliver. But when he spoke, he forced his voice into something gentle, something safe.
“Shhh, little bird. I’m here now. Je suis là.” The words emerged soft, controlled, though they tasted like violence on his tongue. Ellis released a broken sob at the sound of his voice, his whole body shuddering.
The blonde youth darted in beside him, key ring jingling as he worked on the handcuffs while released the straps holding Ellis to the bench. As the restraints fell away, ’s gaze caught on the angry welts crossing Ellis’ back. Crude, amateur strikes that spoke of brutality rather than skill.
Bruises bloomed across that perfect skin, marks hadn’t placed there, hadn’t authorized. Each one felt like a personal affront. Only he had the right to mark his little bird, to paint him with practiced, measured strokes. These savage marks... his vision darkened at the edges as rage threatened to overwhelm him.
yanked the machine’s cord from the wall, silencing its mechanical whir. Ellis whimpered as carefully eased him free, revealing the obscene size of the attached dildo. His vision went white—this brutal violation of what was his, this crude attempt to break his petit oiseau. The sound of Ellis’ pain cut through his already fraying control.
“I have you,” he forced out past clenched teeth, one arm wrapping securely around Ellis’ waist, supporting him as tremors wracked his little bird’s frame.
Only then did reach for the blindfold, carefully peeling the soaked fabric away. Fresh tears spilled down Ellis’ cheeks as he blinked in the harsh light. Another sob escaped him, his entire body trembling as he surrendered his weight to .
slipped one arm beneath Ellis’ knees, the other supporting his back as he lifted him in a careful bridal carry. Ellis curled into his chest immediately, face pressing into ’s neck as carried him to the lobby’s worn couch. The young blonde hovered nearby, his fitted uniform doing little to hide his agitation as settled them both, Ellis cradled in his lap, mindful of the welts and bruises.
“I have you, mon coeur,” he whispered into Ellis’ hair, uncaring of the witnesses to this moment of tenderness. “I have you now.”
The desk clerk hovered anxiously nearby as Ellis curled deeper into ’s chest. The lobby door burst open as Lucas and Alain entered, both men freezing at the threshold. barely registered their presence, his attention fixed on each of Ellis’s shuddering breaths.
“Jean Saint-Clair?” Lucas’s voice cut through ’s focus, equal parts surprise and certainty.
The blonde youth stiffened. “You’re mistaken. It’s Devereaux.”
“Your mother’s maiden name?” Lucas arched an eyebrow, his usual playfulness edged with steel. “Not much of a cover, kid. Your father’s been telling everyone you’re at some prestigious boarding school in Sweden.”
The boy’s defiant posture faltered at the mention of his father, though his chin remained lifted. “Yeah, well, Sweden’s overrated.”
“Was Heart Court the first brothel you tried after running away?”
A flush crept up the youth’s neck. “...fourth. First one that didn’t look like it’d give me an STD just walking in.”
Jean Saint-Clair. The name finally penetrated ’s consciousness—Henri’s friend Marc’s younger brother. That explained the earlier contempt, the flash of recognition. Another complication, but one that could wait.
“I can’t imagine what Olivier Saint-Clair would say if he knew you were here,” Lucas mused, stepping closer.
“My father doesn’t need to know!” Jean’s shout echoed off the lobby walls as he settled protectively beside Ellis. Before Lucas could provoke the boy further, heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway.
“What the hell is going on down here?” Kevin Donovan’s voice boomed through the lobby.
The sound of the man responsible for his little bird’s suffering ignited every spark of rage had suppressed since the board meeting. He carefully lowered Ellis onto the couch, shrugging out of his suit jacket to wrap around Ellis’s trembling form. “Keep him safe,” he murmured to Jean, then stood.
His first punch connected with Donovan’s jaw, the satisfying crack of bone a symphony to his ears. The second punch split his lip, blood spraying across ’s knuckles. Each subsequent impact fed the fury that had built since morning—his father’s contempt, Henri’s betrayal, Ellis’s pain—until everything narrowed to the wet sound of flesh meeting flesh, to the primal need to destroy the man who had dared touch what was his.
He barely registered Donovan going limp, his fists continuing their assault until strong arms yanked him back. Lucas and Alain’s voices cut through his haze of violence, but the damage was done. Donovan lay unconscious, his face a ruined masterpiece on the lobby floor.
The sight cleared ’s mind like ice water. He shrugged off his friends’ restraining hands, already turning back to Ellis. “Everyone in the car. Now.” His voice emerged with deadly calm as he gathered Ellis into his arms, ensuring his suit jacket covered as much of his trembling form as possible.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jean announced, defiant even as Lucas grabbed his arm.
“Enough.” ’s patience had evaporated with the last of his rage. “Lucas, bring Saint-Clair. We’ll deal with his father’s Swedish boarding school fantasy later.” His focus returned to Ellis, to the precious weight cradled against his chest. “Alain, drive.”
They exited Heart Court, Jean fighting Lucas’s grip every step of the way. Lucas tossed the boy unceremoniously into the backseat alongside and Ellis. Jean’s shriek of indignation at the engaging child locks barely registered over the sound of Ellis’s shuddering breaths against ’s neck.
paid no attention to Jean’s outrage or Lucas’s amusement. His world had narrowed to the precious weight in his arms, to each hitched breath against his neck, to the way his little bird instinctively curled closer with each subtle shift. This—this was what control meant. Not the illusion of power he wielded in board rooms, not the facade of authority his father had stripped away, but this: his little bird, trembling but safe, finally back where he belonged.
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