Chapter 30
Kronos-complex, eating children for breakfast; Daedalus-dangerous, creative genius turned reckless…
Vale
Alex Thayer.
His failed project stood across the room, staring at Vale with an expression that mixed malcontent, fury, and something deeper—the kind of wounded hurt that came from being found wanting and discarded.
Vale’s hand stilled against Kieran’s wrapped knuckles. Alex’s presence here was a threat. If Alex approached Kieran, if his bitterness and jealousy poisoned the careful trust Vale had built—
Vale stopped the thought before it could complete. Even internally, he struggled to articulate what Kieran actually was to him. Different. Unprecedented. Special in ways that had nothing to do with talent alone.
Vale leaned close to Kieran, voice dropping to a register that commanded immediate obedience: “Eyes forward. Don’t move. Stay here.”
Kieran went rigid, and Vale felt a flicker of satisfaction at how thoroughly his beautiful boy had learned to trust his guidance.
Good. Wait for me exactly where I put you.
Alex’s eyes tracked his approach, his stance shifting from hurt observation to defensive wariness. Vale’s smile remained professional, controlled, giving nothing away to the crowd.
When Vale reached him, his hand found Alex’s wrist, his fingers pressing between the small bones with just enough pressure to cause discomfort without visible aggression.
“Walk with me,” Vale said quietly.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore,” Alex hissed, but he allowed himself to be guided toward a side door, understanding resistance would only draw unwanted attention.
Vale led him into a storage room lined with catering supplies, closing the door behind them. “What are you doing here?” Vale asked without preamble. “Who brought you?”
“Two Suns Studio.” Alex’s chin lifted with defiant pride. “Mr. Nox signed me.”
Of course. Nox always did enjoy collecting my discards.
“How touching. I wasn’t aware Anderson liked being a consolation prize.”
Alex’s face flushed, and Vale caught the telltale signs—dilated pupils, slight tremor in his hands, the way he swayed. He wasn’t just drunk. He was on something harder. Pills, maybe. Coke.
You’re self-medicating. How sad and predictable.
“I kept your secrets, Vale.” Alex’s voice had a manic edge, words coming faster than they should.
“Every single basement session, every technique you used on me—I never told anyone. I never reported it, never warned other artists. I thought that loyalty might earn me something. Thought maybe you’d—” He laughed, sharp and broken. “God, I was so fucking stupid.”
“It did earn you something. Industry connections. Introductions to people who could advance your career beyond that shitty garage band I found you in. I was helping you and you repaid me with things I explicitly told you I couldn’t return.”
“Couldn’t return.” Alex’s voice cracked. “You made me feel like I was broken.”
“I didn’t make you feel any—”
“I believed you!” Alex’s laugh was too loud, too raw. “I thought I was the problem. That I’d misread the intimacy of the work, confused artistic vulnerability with something personal. But it wasn’t me, was it?”
He moved closer, and Vale could smell it now—cheap alcohol underneath the cologne, sweat, and something chemical and sharp. “How long have you been holed up with him, Vale? Two months? Three? When’s the last time you left your house before tonight?”
“I work remotely. I always have.”
“Bullshit. You used to at least show up to showcases, studio sessions. Everyone has noticed. Vale Rose, the reclusive genius producer, has gone full fucking hermit. And here you are at this event—first public appearance in months. With him.”
“This event is a professional obligation—”
“You never would have appeared with me! You couldn’t wait to get rid of me. And you’re wearing contacts.” Alex laughed. “You hate contacts. You told me they made you feel like your eyes were being violated. But you’re wearing them tonight.”
Vale’s jaw tightened. “You’re high.”
“You told me you didn’t feel that way about anyone. That you were incapable of it. What’s different about him? Why does he get the version of you that can want someone?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation—”
“Are you fucking him?”
The question cut through the air like a blade. Alex’s eyes were wild, hurt and fury bleeding together into something unstable.
“That’s enough, Alex,” Vale snapped.
“Did you suddenly discover you could feel things, but only for a twenty-year-old kid you have complete power over?”
“My relationship with Thorn is none of your concern—”
“You’re raping him.” The words came out flat, certain. “You never stopped a beating when I said ‘no.’ How many times has that kid said no? How many times has he begged you to stop and you kept going because you finally get to feel something?”
Vale’s hand shot out, finding Alex’s throat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about!” Alex was shaking now, tears streaming down his face.
“You made me feel like I was sick for wanting you. Like there was something wrong with me for misunderstanding your methods. So tell me, what do you do to him when he says no and you actually have skin in the game?”
Vale’s grip tightened. “Shut your mouth—”
“Does he scream your name when you hurt him? Does he beg? Or have you already trained that out of him?” Alex’s voice dropped to something venomous. “You told me you didn’t stop because stopping would ruin the lesson. What’s your excuse now when you’re three knuckles deep and he’s crying?”
“Enough.”
Vale stood very still, watching Alex unravel. Part of him wanted to respond, to explain why Alex was wrong, why this was different, why Kieran was special. But Alex was too far gone to hear reason. Drugs, alcohol, unresolved attachment—he was a liability now. A threat.
He doesn’t understand. Can’t understand. He never awakened anything in me because there was nothing to awaken, that’s why I never touched him like that. Kieran is different because with him, I finally—
Vale didn’t finish the thought.
“Listen very carefully. You’re going to walk out of this room. You’re going to avoid Thorn for the rest of the night. You’re going to keep every basement session, every technique, every moment of our time together locked away where it belongs.” Vale narrowed his eyes at Alex and squeezed harder.
Alex’s hands came up to claw at Vale’s wrist, but Vale held firm for exactly three seconds before releasing him.
“Enjoy your new arrangement with Nox. Try not to develop another unhealthy attachment. I’d hate to see you fail twice.”
Alex caught his breath, one hand touching his throat, his eyes blazing with fury and hurt and fear.
“You’re going to destroy him. The same way you destroyed me. If you walk out that door, Vale, I swear to God I’ll make you regret it—”
Vale opened the supply room door without responding. Alex didn’t understand what he and Kieran had built together. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the unprecedented nature of what they shared.
He’s jealous. Hurt. Irrational. He never made me feel anything, and he can’t forgive Kieran for being the one who did.
Vale stepped back into the party, immediately scanning for Kieran’s silhouette at the bar.
The crowd had shifted, conversations flowing around the space where—
He’s not there.
Vale couldn’t breathe.
A small figure in white rushed toward him—the alto singer from earlier, Flake, one set of fake eyelashes dangling from her fingers, press-on nails scattered in her other hand like she’d been tearing herself apart backstage. “You’re the one with Thorn, right? You’re Rose?”
“Yes.” Vale’s eyes still searched the crowd. “Where—”
“He’s in the artist green room with Mr. Nox.” Vale’s blood turned to ice water. “You should get there soon.”
Vale grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. “Show me where.”
She slapped his hand away. “Don’t grab me like that.”
“Show me where.”
Without another word, she turned and rushed toward the green room. Vale followed, his mind running scenarios exactly what he’d do to Nox if the creep was trying anything untoward.
If he’s touched you, I’ll kill him. If he’s hurt you, I’ll make him understand exactly what real pain feels like.
Flake kicked off her platform heels mid-stride, picking up speed with her bare feet. They reached the green room door and she began to say, “They’re in there.”
But Vale didn’t wait. He heard something breaking inside, and a muffled cry he knew belonged to Kieran that made his vision go white. Without hesitation, he took one step back and drove his shoulder into the door.
Time crawled to a halt.
Kieran was half off the couch, legs still on the seat while his upper back and shoulders pressed against the floor.
One leg was pulled back, bare foot connecting with Nox’s ribs in desperate, weakening kicks.
Kieran’s face was bright red—tears, sweat, terror all mixing into something that looked like drowning.
The gauze around his neck had been yanked loose, hanging in torn strips.
The careful wrapping on one hand was completely unraveled, trailing like ghostly ribbons as Kieran’s fingers clawed desperately at Nox’s wrist— at the hand covering his mouth and nose.
He can’t breathe. Christ, he can’t breathe.
A broken vodka bottle lay shattered near Kieran’s head, glass scattered across the carpet now stained with drops of blood.
His suit jacket hung open, the button torn off entirely, and the gauze across his torso was twisted and pulled tight.
The fabric had been yanked so hard it cut into his skin, leaving angry red marks where it bit into his ribs.
Nox stood braced over Kieran’s body, one knee on the couch, legs bracketing him completely. He absorbed each weak kick with a casual indifference, like someone tolerating a child’s tantrum. His free hand worked at Kieran’s belt while he maintained the suffocating grip.
Worst of all—Nox looked like he was having the time of his life. His expression was one of pure joy.
Time snapped back into place as Flake whispered, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Vale moved like death itself.
He crossed the space and his fist connected with Nox’s nose with a wet, satisfying crack that sent blood spraying across the wall. Nox staggered backward, releasing his hold on Kieran, who immediately gasped for air in desperate, sobbing breaths.
But Vale wasn’t finished.
He grabbed Nox by the front of his shirt, lifting him partially off the ground before driving him backward over the couch’s arm. Nox hit the floor hard, his head bouncing off the carpeted surface.
“You touched him.” Vale’s voice dropped to something subterranean and deadly. “You put your hands on what belongs to me.”
Nox struggled to sit up, blood streaming from his nose, but Vale was already over him, knee pressed against his chest with crushing weight.
“I should kill you. I should break every bone in both your hands so you never touch another artist again.”
“All right, all right,” Nox wheezed, trying to laugh through the blood. “Fine. Poaching is off the table. Message received.”
Vale’s knee pressed harder, cutting off Nox’s ability to expand his lungs before he released the pressure. “This isn’t about poaching anymore. This is about you learning what happens when you touch something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Vale.” Kieran’s voice came small and broken from the floor, saying his name like a prayer.
Vale looked down at Nox one more time. “If I ever see you near him again—if you so much as look in his direction—I will end you. Not your career. You. Do we understand each other?”
Nox nodded quickly, still gasping.
“Good.” Vale stood, stepping back as Nox scrambled to his feet. “Now get out before I change my mind about letting you leave on two working feet.”
Nox stumbled toward the door, pausing only to wipe blood from his face. “You didn’t have to be so fucking rude about it, Valerian.”
After Nox disappeared, the rage finally began to ebb. Kieran was still on the floor, gasping. Flake kneeled beside him, her voice gentle but urgent.
“Hey, sweetie, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?” Her hands hovered over him, like she was afraid to touch him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t help sooner. I’m five-foot-four and couldn’t do much against him, especially in those platforms. I went to find your manager as fast as I could.”
“It’s okay,” Kieran repeated automatically, the words slurred and mechanical. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
But his eyes—his eyes were fixed on Vale with an expression that made Vale’s chest tighten.
Worship. Absolute, desperate worship mixed with relief so profound it looked like religious revelation.
That look. I want to see that exact look until the end of time.
Vale dropped to his knees on Kieran’s other side, hands hovering the same way Flake’s were—desperate to comfort but afraid of causing more damage.
“You came,” Kieran whimpered. “You came for me.”
“Always,” Vale said, reaching out to cup Kieran’s face with infinite gentleness. “Always, sweetheart. I’m here now.”