Chapter 55
Relief disguised as discipline, salvation wrapped in medicine…
Kieran
The bed felt too large without Vale’s weight pressing down the other side of the mattress. Kieran’s hand reached across the sheets, finding only the ghost of warmth where Vale’s body should have been. The note on the nightstand was written in Vale’s handwriting, black ink on cream stationery:
Kieran pressed the paper against his chest for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of cologne that clung to everything Vale touched. The house was too quiet, too empty, the silence pressing against his eardrums in ways that made his anxiety spike.
He’ll be back in twelve hours. You can handle twelve hours.
The kitchen felt strange without Vale moving through it, making too much coffee while Kieran hovered nearby. Today he had to make his own breakfast, pour his own coffee, decide for himself what “enough food” looked like.
He was reaching for his morning medication when the lyrics hit him—sudden and perfect, the missing piece for the end the song he had been working on in secret that he nicknamed ‘The Argument’:
Love isn’t meant to set you free—love claims you as its own.
Kieran grabbed his notebook and scribbled the lines down before they could dissolve. The words felt right, powerful, exactly the kind of finality the song needed to end with a bang.
I need to see if it works.
The basement studio welcomed him like a second home now—it was no longer just the terrifying space where Vale had first taught him about endurance and surrender, but a sanctuary where music happened.
His guitar was exactly where he’d left it, with the pages of his secret song stuffed inside the body.
Time dissolved the way it always did when Kieran was working.
His fingers found chords while his voice tested melodic approaches, recording snippets on his phone.
The song was taking shape exactly how he’d imagined—a proposal disguised as an argument, a love letter wrapped in a tense back and forth.
When the landline in the studio rang, showing Vale’s name, Kieran was so deep in the creative zone that reality felt like an intrusion.
“Hey,” he answered, slightly breathless. “How’s the m-meeting?”
“Boring.” Vale’s voice was warm even through the phone’s tinny speaker. “Have you eaten?”
Kieran’s eyes went to the clock—12:47 PM. He’d been in the basement for over four hours.
Shit. Breakfast. Medication. I forgot everything.
“Yes, m-mom,” he lied, the word slipping out before he could think better of it. The pill bottle was still upstairs on the kitchen counter where he’d abandoned it that morning. “I made myself a s-sandwich. Took my meds at noon. I’m working on the th-thing.”
“Good boy. How’s it coming?”
“Almost d-done. I think—I think it’s good, Vale. I think you’ll l-like it.”
They talked for a few more minutes, Vale’s voice grounding him in ways that made the empty house feel less overwhelming. But after hanging up, Kieran sat with the guitar across his lap, staring at nothing.
What would happen if he found out?
The thought arrived unbidden and dangerous. Vale always knew when Kieran lied—he could read every micro-expression and every vocal inflection. He’d find out about the skipped medication, about the lie. And then—
His disappointment would harden into a coldness that meant a lesson was coming. His hands would grip Kieran’s face too hard, forcing eye contact while he explained why honesty mattered. The punishment that would follow—maybe restraints, maybe the kind of correction that left marks, maybe both.
“You lied to me, sweetheart. We need to address that.”
Heat flooded Kieran’s body, arousal so sudden and unexpected it made him gasp.
His face burned with shame even as his body responded to the fantasy of Vale’s hands on him, Vale’s voice dropping into that basement register, Vale teaching him through carefully calibrated pain about the consequences of dishonesty.
What’s wrong with me? Why does that make me—
He forced himself to his feet, his guitar clattering against its stand.
“F-Fuck,” Kieran muttered, heading upstairs on shaky legs. “Eat. Take your meds. Stop th-thinking about—just stop.”
The kitchen was exactly as he’d left it that morning, his pill bottle sitting in accusation on the counter. Kieran forced himself to make an actual sandwich, eating without tasting while his mind circled back to the song.
The doorbell rang.
Kieran froze mid-bite, his sandwich halfway to his mouth, every muscle locking with instant panic.
Vale’s voice was in his head, clear as if he were standing right there: “This is the code to unlock the door, to be used only if the house is burning down. Never answer the door when I’m not home. Ever.”
He set the sandwich down with trembling hands, moving toward the living room to peek through the window without being seen. Maybe it was a delivery person. Maybe it was nothing.
The knocking came again, more insistent.
“Thorn?” A female voice, muffled but familiar. “It’s Jericho. I know you’re in there. Please, I need to talk to you.”
No. She can’t be here. She needs to leave before—
Kieran backed away from the door, his heart hammering against his ribs. If he just stayed quiet, she’d think he wasn’t home. She’d leave. Everything would be fine.
But the knocking continued, and Jericho’s voice carried through the door with increasing urgency. “Please, Thorn. I know something’s wrong. I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks—the messages about my pet situation. You never responded, but I know you got them. Just five minutes. Please.”
Go away.
“I brought someone who understands what you’re going through,” Jericho continued. “Someone who was hurt by Vale too. We just want to help you, I swear. If you’re really okay, prove it. Open the door and tell us to leave, and we’ll go.”
If I don’t answer, she’ll think I can’t. She’ll think I’m trapped. She might call someone—police, social services, someone who’d ask questions Vale can’t answer.
Breathe. Slow. Calm.
She wants proof I’m not in danger. Okay.
He’d open the door long enough to say he was fine, that she needed to leave, that her help wasn’t wanted or needed. Thirty seconds of conversation and she’d understand.
Kieran moved to the door on autopilot, unlocking it before his anxiety could override the decision. He cracked it open just enough to see Jericho’s worried face.
“You n-need to leave,” he said, keeping his voice firm despite the tremor running through his hands. “I’m f-fine. I don’t need—”
His eyes caught movement behind her—a man in his late twenties, handsome despite the haunted pallor of his skin, watching Kieran with an intensity that made his stomach clench.
“Who is th-that?” Kieran’s voice pitched higher with panic. “You need to g-go. Both of you. Right now.”
“This is Alex,” Jericho said quickly, her foot wedging into the gap before Kieran could slam the door. “He found me after the networking event—we’ve been comparing notes for months. Everything he told me about Vale’s methods—”
“We’re here to help you,” Alex said, and his voice carried a desperate sincerity that made Kieran’s panic spike into terror. “I know you think you’re okay. I thought I was okay too.”
“I d-don’t need help!” The words came out too loud, too sharp. Kieran tried to close the door but Jericho’s foot was blocking it, and then she was pushing, and suddenly they were inside.
Inside his home. Inside the space that was supposed to be safe.
“Please,” Jericho said, her hands raised in a placating gesture. “Just listen to us for five minutes. That’s all we’re asking.”
But Kieran was already backing away, stumbling over his own feet in his haste to put distance between himself and these intruders. His eyes darted toward the basement—the studio, his safe space, where Vale’s presence lived in every piece of equipment.
“Vale will be h-home soon,” he managed, though his voice shook. “You need to go b-before—”
“That’s exactly why we’re here now,” Alex interrupted, and something in his tone—bitter, jealous, knowing—made Kieran’s breath catch. “While he can’t stop us.”
They planned this. They waited until I was alone. They knew he’d be gone.
“I’m so sorry,” Jericho said, following as Kieran continued his retreat toward the basement stairs.
“I should have done something sooner. Back at the studio, when I confronted you in the green room—I told you I’d been talking to someone willing to go public.
That was Alex. I should have pushed harder then, but I thought.
..” She shook her head. “I lost a friend to someone like Vale. Someone who made her think the abuse was love. I promised myself I’d never leave anyone behind again. ”
“There’s n-nothing to help with!” Kieran’s back hit the basement doorframe. “You don’t understand. This is—we’re—”
“Alex told me about the lessons,” Jericho continued, her eyes tracking the faded marks on Kieran’s wrists before settling on the collar around his throat. “The basement. The systematic breaking down. The way Vale makes you think you need the pain to create.”
“St-Stop!” The word tore from Kieran’s throat. He bolted down the basement stairs, needing the familiar space, needing to be somewhere that felt like home instead of this nightmare of intrusion and unwanted salvation.
But Jericho followed, her footsteps quick on the wooden stairs, and when Kieran reached the bottom he heard her sharp intake of breath as she took in the space.
The soundproofing that turned the basement into perfect isolation.
The recording equipment positioned to capture every angle.
The chair with restraints still attached to it from the last time Kieran squirmed too much during a reminder lesson, soft leather that didn’t leave marks but held firmly when tightened.
“Thorn.” Her voice was as gentle as it was horrified. “This isn’t normal. This isn’t love. Look at this place.”