CHAPTER 4
Noi woke with a whimper still caught in his throat, a small, scared sound he couldn't hold back.
The plush velvet blanket clung to his legs, twisted from a restless sleep.
Light from the tall windows crept in gently, soft as a sigh, but not even the golden warmth of morning could calm the deep tremble in his chest. His beloved bunny plushie was nestled tightly in his arms, threadbare and soft, its mended ear touching the center of his heartbeat like it, too, had stayed up all night listening to the horrors echoing in his memory.
But it wasn't a dream.
Last night had truly happened. He had watched.
He had heard-the gasps, the sharp slaps, the rhythmic thrusting.
The way Inthorn moved over another body like a monster made of smoke and sin, consuming.
He had watched it all, forced to watch, unable to tear his eyes away.
Because Inthorn wanted him to see. Wanted his shame to rise.
Wanted his innocence to blister and peel away under the harsh weight of that terrifying performance.
And Inthorn had smiled through it all, a cold, satisfied grin. Not because the act itself held meaning, but because it meant everything to take a fragile boy and peel back the layers of his innocence, to expose him to the true darkness of this world.
Noi sat up slowly, the silk pajamas rustling softly with his movements.
His legs still felt like jelly, weak and unstable, and his stomach was twisted into a hard, cold knot of dread.
The scent of expensive soap clung to his skin, a reminder of the forced cleanliness, but no amount of bathing could scrub off the way those dark eyes had pinned him down, making him a helpless witness.
A gentle knock at the door snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the harsh reality of his situation.
The door opened and Saowalak, the head maid, stepped inside.
Her uniform was crisp as always, perfectly ironed, and her expression remained unreadable-though her voice, this morning, was a touch softer, a faint hint of something like pity.
"Master Inthorn expects you at breakfast, Noi," she said, folding her hands neatly in front of her, her gaze steady. "You should get ready now."
Noi hesitated for a moment, wishing he could disappear. Then he nodded without a word, because what else could he do? There was no escape, no choice.
The dining room was a long stretch of dark-polished wood and cold, gleaming silver. Chandeliers hung high above like skeletal ghosts, their many glass crystals catching the morning light in cold, sharp prisms that scattered across the room. The long black-marble table was set simply for three.
Dae Kittisak was already seated at the far end-his dark eyes buried in some quiet report, his presence as unmoving and silent as a shadow.
Inthorn sat near the middle, relaxed and powerful, dressed in an open black silk shirt and slacks, his sleeves rolled casually to the elbows, revealing the gold-dark tattoos that coiled like serpents up his muscular arms. A heavy ring of obsidian glinted on his finger, catching the light.
His lips curled upward, a slow, deliberate movement, when he saw Noi enter the room.
It wasn't a welcoming smile. It was a smile of possession. Of absolute control. Of dark anticipation.
Noi walked carefully, his steps light and hesitant, his arms still curled tight around his bunny plushie as if it were a shield. He barely managed to sit down in the velvet-padded chair beside Inthorn without tripping over the sheer weight of his own dread, which felt like a physical burden.
Inthorn gestured lazily toward him with two fingers, a small, subtle command. "Come closer."
Noi hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. Then he obeyed, slowly shifting his seat closer until his knee was nearly touching Inthorn's thigh, the proximity sending shivers down his spine.
"Eyes up," Inthorn said smoothly, his voice low and commanding, taking a slow sip of black coffee. "I said look at me."
Noi forced himself to raise his head, his gaze meeting Inthorn's. Their eyes locked across the short distance.
A long, heavy beat passed in the silence. Inthorn's gaze was endless-liquid onyx, all hunger and mystery and something far darker than mere malice. "You ran from me last night."
"I-I..." Noi's voice was barely a whisper, thin and shaky. "I was scared."
"Good," Inthorn replied, not missing a beat, his tone strangely approving. "Fear is honest. Shame is honest. They make your skin sweeter. You were hard, weren't you?"
Noi flushed a furious, deep shade of pink, his face burning with embarrassment and humiliation.
He gripped the bunny tighter, burying his face slightly in its soft fur.
His gaze dropped to the perfectly arranged plate in front of him-a neat arrangement of toast, fruit, and yogurt-his appetite completely gone.
His stomach twisted harder, tying itself into a painful, cold knot.
Inthorn leaned in closer, his voice brushing against Noi's ear like a chilling mix of silk and steel. "Did you dream of it?"
Noi froze, every muscle in his body stiffening.
"Did you dream of me? Of what you saw? Of how I moved?" The man's hand brushed lightly over Noi's knee under the table, a fleeting, almost casual touch. It wasn't aggressive, but it was absolutely there, a constant, unnerving presence.
"I... I didn't sleep much," Noi admitted, trembling, the words barely audible.
"You'll get used to it. And I'll fuck you so hard, you won't be able to stand anymore.
You'll beg for it." Inthorn pulled back then, as though that conversation hadn't just brutally burned through Noi's last bit of composure, leaving him raw.
Then he smiled and began eating, casual as ever, as if discussing the weather.
His fork moved through the food like it was a weapon, precise and deliberate.
Every bite he took was calculated. Every glance he stole at Noi was surgical, dissecting him, peeling him apart with his gaze.
Dae, silent as ever, continued to simply observe, his presence unwavering.
Halfway through the meal, Noi dared to whisper, the question burning in his mind, "Why did you make me watch?"
Inthorn wiped his mouth with a black cloth napkin, his movements elegant. "Because dolls don't get to close their eyes. Not in my house."
A heavy, suffocating silence bloomed between them.
Then, just as quickly as he had sat, Inthorn stood up. "You may roam today. This is your cage now. Get comfortable in it."
He turned to the staff without looking back at Noi, his voice clear and sharp. "He doesn't leave the estate. If he vanishes, you all vanish."
The maids froze, their faces paling. Guards bowed their heads in immediate submission.
And then Inthorn left the dining hall-Dae following a step behind him, like a shadow dressed in flesh, perfectly synchronized.
In the office, the rich scent of tobacco lingered from the night before, a heavy, masculine aroma.
Inthorn stood before the large, ornate window, looking out at the sprawling estate as Dae handed over a fresh, thick file.
"Dante Moretti," Dae said simply, stating the name. "He's arrived in Bangkok."
Inthorn's brow arched, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes. "The Italian devil, here? Does he come bearing sin or salvation?"
"Business," Dae replied, his voice flat. "He wants to discuss route control. A silent alliance. Western ports. Drugs. Arms. People."
Inthorn smirked, a cruel twist of his lips. "We don't sell people. We keep them."
"Semantics," Dae muttered, a rare, quiet disagreement. "He's requesting a discreet meeting. Hotel suite. Two hours."
Inthorn rolled his shoulders, a subtle stretch of power, and walked to the mirror, fixing his collar with a smooth motion. "Then let the devils dine."
The hotel was one of the finest in the city-a towering skyscraper of black glass and gold-veined marble, glittering under the Bangkok sun. They entered through the back, a discreet entrance, escorted by private guards who bowed but never spoke, moving like silent sentinels.
At the top floor, velvet-lined double doors opened to reveal Dante Moretti. He was sleek, controlled, and beautiful in that sharp, European way-a perfectly tailored suit, silver cufflinks gleaming, and eyes that held ice beneath a deceptive flame.
"Mr. Thanawanich," Dante said, offering a smile that was more threat than greeting, a subtle warning in his tone. "You're taller than I imagined."
"You're quieter," Inthorn replied, shaking his hand firmly, their gazes locking in a silent assessment.
Dae and Enzo Salvi, Dante's own quiet, formidable shadow, stood behind them like matching reflections, one Thai, one Italian, both equally unreadable and watchful.
They moved to the long, polished table near the balcony.
Bangkok shimmered below them, a vibrant, sprawling crown of neon and urban chaos.
"I've heard stories about you," Dante said, his voice low and musing. "The butcher of Bang Kachao. The cannibal prince."
"Mm," Inthorn murmured, unfazed, sipping the wine already poured for him, a dark, rich red. "I've heard about you too. The devil who kills with pen and smile. How romantic."
The tension between them wasn't outright hostility-it was something far more intricate: calculation.
It was two mirrors sizing up their reflections.
Two monsters sniffing out the strongest scent of blood, acknowledging each other's power.
"We're both devils," Dante said, a knowing look in his eyes. "Let's not pretend we're saints."
Inthorn's grin stretched wider, a true smile of dark amusement. "Agreed."
The negotiations began-discussions of logistics, ship routes, safehouses, secure encryption, and personnel.
Routes were laid out on maps. Secrets were exchanged, each one a dangerous key.
Blood oaths were promised in whispers. At one point, Inthorn pricked his finger with a small, sharp blade and offered it to Dante, a grim invitation.
Dante hesitated for a fraction of a second-then smiled, a chilling twist of his lips, and cut his own finger, pressing it to the paper, mingling their blood. A literal blood pact.
A silent, ancient agreement that this alliance would not break. Not without terrible consequence for both.
When it was done, Dante stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "This has been... enlightening."
"Will you stay in the city long?" Inthorn asked, his voice casual.
"A few days," Dante replied.
Inthorn nodded slowly. "Then I'll prepare either wine-or your tomb."
They both laughed, a shared, dark sound that held no warmth. But Dae and Enzo didn't laugh; they remained still and watchful, fully aware of the true weight of their masters' words.
By the time Inthorn returned to the estate, the sun was already beginning to dip below the horizon.
Pink and orange stretched across the sky like the world was bleeding slowly into night, a beautiful but mournful sight.
Inthorn paused near the garden path before entering the mansion, his gaze drawn by something.
There, beneath a cherry blossom tree-where delicate petals fell like forgotten snow, dusting the ground-Noi sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, the bunny plushie clutched in his lap.
His head was tilted to one side, lips slightly parted in thought, his eyes far away, lost in some distant contemplation.
Inthorn didn't speak, didn't announce his presence.
He simply watched.
He watched the way the last rays of sunlight kissed the boy's cheek, making his skin seem almost translucent.
Watched the delicate bones beneath his skin, so fragile.
Watched the soft slouch of his spine, as if he was shrinking just to take up less space, trying to disappear.
Dae came to his side, as silent as a shadow.
Inthorn muttered, his voice low, "He looks like something I could break by breathing on him."
"Maybe that's why you like him," Dae said, his voice calm, insightful. "Because he's still whole."
Inthorn's jaw ticked, a muscle flexing in his cheek. And for a second-just one second-there was something almost human behind his dark, calculating gaze, a flicker of something close to vulnerability.
Then it vanished, replaced by the usual cold control.
Noi looked up when he heard footsteps, his head turning instinctively towards the sound.
Inthorn stood at the edge of the path, a powerful figure silhouetted against the fading light.
No words passed between them, no greetings, no questions.
But their eyes locked across the short distance, and something shifted between them.
Not affection. Not trust. But something far more potent: gravity.
Like an invisible thread had pulled tight between them-thin, dangerous, and now, impossible to sever.
It was a connection that bound them, against Noi's will, to Inthorn's terrifying orbit.
Inthorn finally spoke, breaking the heavy silence.
"Did you enjoy the garden?"
Noi nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the man. "It's quiet here."
"Too quiet?" Inthorn asked, taking a single, deliberate step closer.
Noi hesitated, then admitted, "Sometimes quiet is better than noise."
Inthorn crouched in front of him then, his tall, powerful form suddenly closer, his presence all heat and shadow, engulfing Noi's small space.
"You've survived this long," he murmured, his voice a low, dangerous hum. "But tell me, My Noi..."
He reached out, his gloved hand brushing a strand of hair gently behind Noi's ear, a touch that sent shivers through the boy.
"Do you think you'll survive me?"
Noi didn't answer. His bunny plushie trembled in his grip, his knuckles white from holding on so tightly.
But his eyes-
They didn't look away. They met Inthorn's dark gaze directly, a flicker of something resolute beneath the fear.
And Inthorn smiled, a slow, deep smile that held both triumph and a chilling promise.
Because that... that was a beginning.