Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
LUCAS
I unplug my hearing aids from the charger and put them in my ears as I nervously watch myself in the mirror attached to my wardrobe.
Tyler is stretched out on my bed like he owns the place. One leg crossed, head tilted back against the pillows, phone in hand. The most unbothered person in the world while I’m over here spiraling in front of a mirror.
“So,” he says, scrolling casually, “I added up the price tags from the outfits Alex got you, minus whatever this dinner look is, and the total’s almost twenty thousand.”
Letting out a frustrated breath, I rub my eyes.
I know that already; I calculated it yesterday.
I spin around and sign quickly,
“I really don’t want to think about that, Tyler.”
He smirks without looking up.
“Too late. I’ve thought about it for both of us.”
I sigh, tugging at the hem of my shirt again. I’m still not used to this kind of fabric — soft and expensive. The type of material that whispers not-cheap every time you move. It’s beautiful, and it scares the hell out of me.
It still feels surreal — Thursday evening, the sushi dinner, the warm ramen in my hands… and then getting home to find Ashley at my door, arms full of shopping bags.
“These,” she’d said in her always-professional tone, “are the pieces you said you liked.”
I’d stood there frozen, staring at her, then at the bags. I remember touching the fabrics as if they might vanish, and seeing them placed in another rack; I didn’t even know how to respond.
Alexander bought all of this, every single outfit, and I still don’t know how to breathe around that.
“You’re nervous for the dinner party, right?” Tyler asks suddenly, snapping me out of the memory. He gets off the bed, walks over to me, and fixes my jacket collar gently.
“I’m so nervous I’m about to throw up” I sign, my hands moving fast.
“Thought so.” He says with a chuckle.
He brushes invisible lint off my shoulder and tilts his head, looking at me with a thoughtful squint.
“You know… You look expensive.”
I shoot him a glare.
“I mean it in a good way,” he grins, hands up in surrender. “Don’t be surprised if people ask what private island you grew up on.”
“Stop,” I sign, but I’m smiling despite myself.
He moves to the side, letting me get back in front of the mirror. I run my fingers lightly through my hair, trying to fix the curls that always seem a little too wild and soft.
“Don’t touch it too much before you ruin the curls,” Tyler warns from behind me.
I roll my eyes, but I let my hands fall. My reflection stares back at me. I still see the same face, the same freckles, the same boy who used to bike home after late shifts and hides from the world behind his silence.
And yet… everything around me feels different now. Like I’m standing on the edge of something I don’t understand.
My phone dings.
I grab it quickly — a message from Alex’s driver.
“He’s here, right ?” Tyler asks, and I nod.
Tyler’s already moved to the window, peeking through the curtain.
“Jesus. The driver who always picks you up is standing beside an Escalade.” He says, then turns to me, eyes wide. “How many cars does this Alexander have?”
That’s the same question echoing in my head. I shrug, swallowing the lump in my throat. Tyler walks over and gives my arm a quick squeeze.
“Hey. You look amazing, okay?” He says with a teasing smile. “Good looking, classy, emotionally unavailable twink… the whole aesthetic.”
I give him a grateful glare. I don’t know what I’d do without him.
Then I take a deep breath and make my way downstairs. My legs feel weird and stiff, like they’ve forgotten how to move naturally.
The driver, whose name I have gotten to know as Mike, gives me a brisk nod before opening the backseat door.
Alexander is sitting at one of the rare seats, his demeanor calm as ever. Wearing a black suit, his hair always styled in perfection, gaze cool — but it softens the moment our eyes meet.
He looks like he belongs in a magazine. Or a movie. Or maybe a different world altogether. I slip into the seat next to him, but before the door is about to close, I flinch as the sound of a familiar voice calling out.
“Lucas, wait.”
Tyler?
I blink as the driver steps aside, and Tyler appears, panting like he sprinted down the stairs. He looks between me and Alex, chest rising and falling, his eyes darting like he’s trying to piece something together. His gaze finally settles on Alex.
“Well,” he says, breathless but still managing a smirk, “you look as intimidating as your voice sounded on the phone.”
My eyes widen. I almost forgot that he and Alex had talked on the phone the second time I slept at Alex’s place.
Alex doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, still as stone, his posture relaxed but unmistakably commanding. His voice is low and effortless.
“You must be Tyler.”
“That’s right,” Tyler answers, folding his arms like he’s trying to make himself look bigger. “And I’m Lucas’s best friend. I see you’ve got him wrapped around your pinky finger.”
My mouth falls open.
“Jesus, Tyler,” I sign quickly, hoping he catches the panic in my movements. “What are you doing?”
Tyler doesn’t look at me. His gaze is locked on Alex like he’s squaring up to him. And Alex… just watches. Unbothered. Almost amused.
“And you’re here to warn me?” Alex asks, his lips quirking into the tiniest smile.
“Yes, a warning and a threat,” Tyler replies boldly. “Don’t mind that I look like a twink—I get dirty when I want to. If you’re gonna mess with him emotionally, physically, or telepathically, I will come for you, I will find you even at the bottom of the sea, and I will stab you.”
There’s a silence. One of those sharp, pulsing silences, and I sink lower in my seat, the nerves and awkwardness eating me alive. Alex studies him for a long second. Then, he nods, slow and deliberate.
“Alright, Tyler. Thanks for the heads up.” He says it without irony, without a hint of mockery. Like, he genuinely appreciates the warning. Somehow, that’s even scarier.
Tyler opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but then he looks at me, really looks, and something in his eyes softens.
“Call me, okay?” he signs.
I nod. I think I do it too fast.
He sighs and starts to pull back, then pauses, looking at Alex,
“Don’t make me regret trusting you.”
With that, he walks away, and the door closes.
I sit there frozen, eyes glued to the now-closed door, my chest tight. Alex doesn’t say anything right away. Then I hear him chuckle under his breath—barely there.
“This is the first time in my life someone has ever threatened me,” he says simply in an amused tone. I don’t say anything but just stare at my hands in my lap.
“he cares about you,” Alex adds softly, looking at me.
“I don’t deserve him,” I whisper before I can stop myself. I can feel the weight of Alex’s gaze even though I don’t look up.
***
The drive is silent the rest of the way, and forty-five minutes later, the car begins to slow down. I sit up straighter, pressing my hands against my lap to keep them from trembling. My palms are clammy—the engine hums, gliding us past tall trees.
The black gates are already opening. Outside, men dressed in sharp black suits stand guard, earpieces tucked in, shoulders squared. One of them gives a slight nod toward the car.
I glance at Alex beside me. His face is unreadable, all cool edges and calm.
As we pass through the gates and into the long driveway, the estate stretches out before me like something out of a painting.
The mansion is a massive three-story structure, with warm, golden lights that shine behind its towering windows. The stone exterior is a creamy off white, the rooftops are dark and pointed, like the silhouette of a crown against the sky.
At the center of the circular driveway, a grand fountain sprays water in soft arcs. It’s beautiful, not the usual cold marble kind I’d expect. The base is carved with delicate lotus petals, and gold-tinted koi fish circle the edge, their forms smooth like the kind you’d see in temple murals.
Other luxury cars are parked along the circular path—sleek, foreign machines that shine like obsidian under the soft lighting.
There’s a line of servants at the grand entrance, dressed in uniform black with silver accents. Two of them move forward as the car stops, opening the door in perfect sync. I hesitate. My heart is racing. My mouth is dry.
Alex steps out, and I couldn’t help but do the same. He comes close to me and puts his hands at the small of my back, leading me towards the entrance stairs.
“Are you good?” He asks, voice low.
“No,” I reply shakily, “I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out.”
He stops walking and looks at me softly.
You won’t,” he says finally, “I’m right here.”
And with that, he leads me towards the front door.
***
The room is full.
Alex had led us into this room as soon as we were in the grand foyer of the mansion.
Everywhere I look, there are people—men in clean-cut suits, women dressed in flowing silk and diamonds.
They talk in low voices, laughing and clinking glasses filled with wine.
The space feels alive, warm with golden lighting and the soft swell of string music coming from the corner of the room.
A violinist is playing something delicate.
I would have loved to admire the rich interior more if I weren’t so nervous.
No one notices us at first.
Alex takes a glass of champagne from a passing servant and hands it to me without a word. I hesitate, then take it, holding it with both hands to keep it from trembling. The glass is cold. My throat’s already tight.
“Alex!”
The voice rings out like a firecracker in the warm buzz of conversation.
I turn toward it just as Alex sighs, barely. Not in annoyance. More like a subtle groan of inevitability. His hand finds the small of my back, steady as always, and he guides us toward the sound.
That’s when I see him.
Maksim.