Chapter 21
JAMES
James grips the edges of the sink, breath ragged.
The porcelain is cool beneath his palms, grounding him in the way nothing else can. His reflection stares back from the mirror—sweat-slick skin, pupils still wide, jaw locked tight.
He doesn’t look ashamed.
He looks alive.
He turns on the tap, splashes cold water over his face, watching it stream down, drip onto the counter. The bathroom smells faintly of cedarwood and expensive soap, like every room in this house.
Sam pushes him. Sam loves to push. That’s what tonight was — hot skin, sharp noises, Sam’s mouth running until James shut it. He enjoyed the way Sam’s body strained, the way he gasped for breath, the way power tilted the world back into place.
Control — he hates losing it.
The house felt unsettled tonight. Too much laughter downstairs. Pete’s voice brighter than usual. And that man — Tom — sitting on his sofa like he belonged there.
No idea what he’s getting himself into, the fucking idiot.
It’s a reminder of how fragile balance can be. One wrong piece on the board and the whole game tips.
James wipes his face with the back of his hand, stands straighter. He has made mistakes before. He has trusted the wrong people, let them get too close, let them think they had a say. It cost him then. It will not cost him again.
He won’t be made a fool of. Not by Sam. Not by Pete. Not by anyone.
Lately, Pete has been testing the limits, letting new faces through the door, laughing too easily. To James, this only means that he’s contemplating a world without him. It’s a dangerous habit. Pete forgets who keeps the lights on, who gave him the life he now takes for granted.
James presses his hands against the counter, feels the veins in his forearms tighten. Pete needs reminding. Not with words — words can be twisted, ignored.
But reminders that settle deep, that reset the balance.
When James steps back into the bedroom, Sam is still on the floor, pulling himself together, a bitter twist to his mouth. James doesn’t raise his voice — he doesn’t need to.
“Out,” he says.
Sam hesitates for half a second, then smiles. “Of course, darling.” He slowly picks up his clothes and slinks out without another word.
James strips back the duvet, lowers himself into the bed with a sigh. The room is silent now, just the hum of the house around him. His sanctuary.
He will keep it that way — whatever it takes.