CHAPTER 7
The ballroom was a war zone.
Gunfire cracked like thunder, loud and terrifying, the sound bouncing off the marble walls and gold decorations.
Smoke filled the air, turning the sweet smell of velvet and perfume into a poisonous, choking cloud.
Shattered glass rained from above like deadly jewels.
Screams echoed from every corner, sounds of pain and panic.
It was no longer a beautiful masquerade party—it was a brutal massacre.
And in the middle of it all, Kawin Siriprasert stood frozen, unable to move.
He’d kicked down the east doors with a dozen other agents, his rifle in hand, his mask covering his face.
But now his breath caught in his throat, his heart leaped up into his throat, almost choking him, and the mission—the years of intense training, the precise black ops movements—crumbled away like ash in the wind.
Because he saw him.
A flash of black velvet. A distinctive rabbit mask. A glimpse of soft bare skin and small hands clutching a worn, familiar plush bunny.
“Noi?” he yelled, his voice cracking with shock and desperation, barely heard through the smoke and screams.
The boy turned, his masked face looking towards the sound.
Their eyes met across the swirling chaos—a single second that felt heavy, sacred, and unforgettable, stretching out forever.
Then Noi ran.
He took a step toward his brother, his eyes wide with something between desperate hope and pure terror. His beloved Bunbun dropped from his arms, landing with a soft thud on the blood-slick marble floor, forgotten in the urgency of the moment.
But before he could reach Kawin—before a miracle could happen and they could be reunited—Inthorn Thanawanich stepped between them like a phantom born from flame, appearing suddenly, dangerously.
His arm shot out, gripping Noi possessively around the waist, pulling him back with a harsh yank.
“No!” Noi cried out, trying to fight, struggling in Inthorn’s hold. “Kawin—!”
But Inthorn was faster, stronger.
He hoisted Noi up into his arms, holding him like a living doll clutched to his chest, and turned quickly toward the nearest exit without a single word.
Kawin surged forward, his mouth open, about to shout, his weapon lowering, desperate to reach his brother.
But bullets rained down from the balconies above—guards in ceremonial red uniforms firing rapidly toward the black-clad agents.
A sudden blast struck near his shoulder, throwing him back.
He gritted his teeth in pain and dove behind a broken pillar, his heart thundering in his ears like a drum.
“Fuck!” he hissed, gripping his rifle tighter, his voice full of rage and helplessness. “Noi—!”
But his voice was swallowed by the overwhelming chaos of the fight.
Inthorn moved like a shadow, effortlessly, with Dae Kittisak at his side, covering him.
Together they reached the rear hallway, where the emergency doors opened into the cold, chaotic night.
Dae rushed ahead, yanking open the armored car door, ready for their escape.
Inthorn’s jaw was clenched tight, his face grim. His hold on Noi was like iron, unyielding.
Not a word passed between them until the car doors slammed shut, cutting them off from the violence outside.
The car’s interior was pitch dark and silent, thick with tension that Noi could almost taste.
Noi sat frozen in Inthorn’s lap, his small limbs trembling, his face pale beneath the remnants of the rabbit mask, which was now slightly askew. His hands were pressed against Inthorn’s chest, but there was no escape, no way out of this terrifying embrace.
The man’s breath came hot and heavy against Noi’s throat, a disturbing presence.
“Mine,” Inthorn growled, burying his nose into Noi’s neck, inhaling his scent deeply. “You are mine.”
He inhaled deeply again—then threw his head back and laughed, a low, feral sound that filled the car with deep dread. The sound was manic, wild, and utterly possessive, fueled by a dangerous hunger.
His hand slid up Noi’s back, fingers tangling roughly in his hair, pulling slightly.
“You were going to run?” he hissed, his voice rough with a twisted sense of betrayal. “Into another man’s arms?”
He yanked Noi’s head back slightly, forcing their eyes to meet in the dim light.
“Hmm? Tell me, my Noi. Who was he?” The question was a snarl, full of dangerous curiosity and rage. "Who. Was. He.”
Noi whimpered, his breath catching in his throat, terrified but compelled to answer. “He’s… he’s my brother,” he whispered, tears beginning to sting his eyes. “Kawin. He’s my older brother…”
Everything stilled. Inthorn didn’t move for a moment, absorbing the information.
Then the breath he released was shaky, deeper, like a sigh of unexpected realization. His grip loosened slightly—but not by much, still holding Noi firmly.
“Your brother,” he murmured, almost to himself, a new piece of the puzzle falling into place. “So the little rabbit has family."
The tension didn’t completely fade. But the pure fury in Inthorn’s eyes dimmed, shifting to something darker, more possessive, a new kind of obsession.
“Well then,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the side of Noi’s face, a chilling promise. “You’ll never see him again. Because you’re mine now, Noi. Completely. And I’m going to remind you of that tonight.”
Noi shivered, a deep, uncontrollable tremor.
Inthorn didn’t laugh this time. He just smiled, a cold, satisfied expression.
By the time they arrived back at the Thanawanich estate, the air was thick with the smell of cold rain and fresh tension.
The moment the limousine rolled through the massive gates, the staff lined up outside once more—guards in dark suits, maids in crisp uniforms, all bowing in silence as their master returned, a powerful, dark figure carrying his prize.
But Inthorn didn’t stop. He didn’t look at anyone, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
He carried Noi in his arms straight through the front doors, his hold unyielding, his eyes sharp and stormy, burning with a new, fierce desire. Noi remained quiet, limp in his arms, the bunny plush still clutched limply in his grip.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The unspoken threats and promises hung heavy in the air between them.
Inthorn ascended the grand stairs with long, precise steps, heading straight to the upper floors, his path clear.
He opened the door to his private suite with a hard shove, pushing it open with force, and carried Noi inside, setting him gently on the edge of the massive bed.
He stepped back only slightly, giving Noi a small amount of space.
“Take a bath,” he said, his voice low, dangerous, and laced with a clear, unsettling promise of what was to come. “You’ll need it.”
Then he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a soft click, sealing Noi inside.
In the office downstairs, Dae Kittisak was already waiting, standing silently with a clipboard in his hand.
Inthorn walked in, removing his gloves with calculated ease, his movements smooth and controlled.
“The man who touched my Noi,” he said without preamble, his voice cold and direct. “Where is he?”
Dae didn’t flinch, unmoving. “Basement. Interrogation Room C.”
Inthorn exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a moment, a brief pause before the coming violence.
Then he laughed. Quiet. Sharp. Unforgiving.
“Good.”
He didn’t go to the basement right away, not yet.
Instead, he turned and made his way back upstairs—faster this time, his steps heavier, more urgent. His blood was still boiling, but not with rage anymore.
Desire had bloomed behind his ribs, a dark, consuming flower. Not just lust—something worse, something tangled deeply in obsession and a terrifying fear of loss. Noi had looked at another man. Even if it was his brother, the betrayal was raw. He had tried to run.
And Inthorn needed to reclaim him, to mark him as his own, completely.
When he reentered the suite, the lights were dimmed, casting soft shadows. The air smelled of sandalwood and soap, clean and inviting.
Noi sat at the edge of the bed, fresh from the bath, his damp hair clinging to his neck. He wore a soft black robe, tied loosely around his waist, his legs folded beneath him like a small cat unsure where to hide, looking vulnerable.
His bunny plush rested beside him on the bed, a silent witness.
Inthorn said nothing, his eyes fixed on Noi.
He closed the door, locked it with a quiet click, sealing them inside, away from the world. Then he approached with slow, deliberate steps, each one filled with purpose.
Noi’s eyes lifted, meeting Inthorn’s gaze. They were wide. Vulnerable. But surprisingly, not afraid, a strange calm in their depths.
Inthorn reached him and stopped just in front of the bed, a towering, menacing presence.
“I told you I’d make you mine tonight,” he murmured, his voice a deep, dark promise.
His hand lifted slowly, brushing the wet strands of hair from Noi’s cheek, a gentle yet possessive touch.
Then he leaned down and kissed him, sealing the horrifying promise.
It wasn’t gentle.
It wasn’t soft.
It was possessive—claiming—like he was stamping his soul into the boy’s lips. Noi whimpered softly, his fingers instinctively curling into Inthorn’s silk shirt. He didn’t pull away.
He kissed back.
Inthorn groaned low in his throat, deepening the kiss, tilting Noi’s head to taste him more completely.
His hands moved—first to the nape of his neck, then sliding down his back, over the robe’s tied knot.
He pushed Noi gently down against the mattress, mouth never leaving his skin.
Kisses trailed from lips to jaw, jaw to throat, slow and burning. He sucked a mark just beneath Noi’s ear, tongue teasing the bruised skin.
Noi gasped.
“You’re so soft,” Inthorn whispered. “So good. My perfect little thing.”
His lips brushed across the hollow of Noi’s throat, down to the robe’s edge.
He sat back just enough to untie the knot.
The robe parted.
Noi shivered—but didn’t stop him.
He reached out, fingers trembling, and cupped Inthorn’s cheek.
“Don’t hurt me,” he whispered, so quietly it nearly broke him.
Inthorn’s breath caught.
He leaned down and pressed his forehead against Noi’s.
“I won’t,” he whispered. “Not tonight. Never again.”
The air between them thickened, heavy with want and warmth.
His hand stroked down Noi’s side, slow and patient, as if learning him from the beginning.
“I’ll show you how much you belong to me,” he breathed.
And then he kissed him again—long, slow, and reverent.
This wasn’t about conquest anymore.
It was about possession.
And worship.
And love disguised as madness.
Noi heard the ruffle of cloth, a zipper, and Inthorn's body pressed against Noi.
His member hard and big pushed up against Noi's entrance.
Noi gasp, eyes wide, mouth parted.
Inthorn had not prepared him and thrust inside Noi.
Noi cried out, whimpering, moaning.
"It h-hurts, please..."
But Inthorn kept thrusting while groaning.
"You feel so good, My Noi."
It became too much, too fast. Noi kept crying, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Inthorn threw his legs on his shoulder and started thrusting like a beast.
Noi kept whimpering begging Inthorn to stop.
But Inthorn pulled out and turned Noi around, face down, ass up.
He begin fucking his again. Watching his member in and out of Noi. He saw blood spilling down Noi's thighs.
Inthorn laughed throwing his head back.
The laugh that gave goosebumps to everyone in the mansion. Inthorn had not closed the door. He wanted everyone to hear everything. He wanted them to know that no one touches what's his.
Inthorn after what felt like hours finally released inside Noi who was already passed out with blood running down his thighs.