Shackles

Darkness fell like a cold velvet curtain.

Inside the mansion, slow footsteps echoed on the marble floor—steady yet carrying an invisible weight. The air here was always tense, as if the slightest mistake could make someone vanish without a trace.

Lucian stopped in front of the heavy wooden door. He didn't need to knock.

The door swung open, revealing a spacious yet chillingly cold room. Aaron sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, looking like a small animal trapped in a corner. His gaze was fixed on the floor, unwilling to look up as he felt the towering presence of Lucian approaching.

-"Why aren't you sleeping?" Lucian's deep voice rang out—unclear whether it was a sign of concern or merely a means of control.

Aaron clenched his fingers tightly. "…I can't sleep."

Lucian let out a soft chuckle, but there was no warmth in it. He sat down and reached out, tilting Aaron's chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze. In those eyes, Aaron saw no gentleness—only cold, possessive dominance.

-"Can't sleep?" Lucian murmured. "Then let me help you."

His breath brushed close, making Aaron shiver…

——————————————

Lucian.

He was a man of success—someone whose presence alone commanded the attention of the world. He owned a fortune so vast that no one dared to touch it, partly due to his exceptional business acumen and partly because the name "devil" had long been etched into the minds of those foolish enough to stand in his way. At his age, there was no one who could match him. It was as if he was born to reach the pinnacle of power—to stand above all, to make others kneel at his feet.

Cold. Emotionless. Ruthless.

The business world revered him. The underworld feared him. To Lucian, there was no such thing as failure, nor did the concept of mercy exist in his dictionary. If he desired something, it didn't matter who it belonged to or how tightly it was guarded—he would take it. Even if it meant destruction, even if it cost countless lives, he would never hesitate.

His possessiveness was absolute—so overwhelming that those who once considered opposing him quickly realized a simple truth: Never let anything catch Lucian's eye if you don't want to lose it forever. He was not just a businessman. He was a ruler. A modern-day king. A man so cruel that even the most bloodthirsty figures dared not challenge him.

And then… his eyes landed on him.

Aaron.

Compared to Lucian, he had nothing. If Lucian stood at the peak, Aaron struggled at the bottom. If Lucian could spend millions without a second thought, Aaron had to count every penny just to get by. His entire life, all he ever wished for was peace—just enough to eat, enough to wear, enough to live each day without trouble.

He was beautiful. But not in the sharp, striking way of those Lucian was used to. Aaron's beauty was pure and delicate—the kind that made people want to reach out but hesitate for fear of tainting it. He was gentle, understanding, never fought for anything, and never wished for luxury. Aaron only wanted a simple life, by the side of those he loved.

But then… he met him.

And everything changed with just one glance.

Lucian saw him. And that alone was enough to shatter Aaron's world.

He wanted him.

And when Lucian wanted something, no one else could have it.

Aaron already had someone he loved? Lucian didn't care.

Aaron didn't want to be with him? That didn't matter.

To him, rejection was meaningless. Feelings, freedom, desires—none of it held any weight.

He wanted Aaron.

And that meant Aaron would belong to him.

There was no other choice.

No way out.

And in the end, he got what he wanted.

He dragged Aaron into his dark, gilded cage—one he would never escape from.

——————————————————

A Night in the Gilded Cage.

Inside the grand mansion, within a suffocatingly lavish room, Aaron lay motionless on the vast bed. He could feel the softness of the silk sheets against his skin, the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air, and even the warmth of Lucian's breath so close to his body—yet none of it brought him any comfort.

This was a cage, and he was the helpless little bird trapped inside.

Lucian never bound him with chains, but his presence alone was far more terrifying than any prison walls. Aaron couldn't escape—not because he had no chance, but because he knew what would happen if he dared to try.

Lucian was not a man who let anything slip through his fingers. Once he set his sights on something, he would keep it, even if it meant shedding blood.

Aaron knew this better than anyone.

He didn't dare move. Didn't dare resist. Didn't even dare to breathe too loudly.

Lucian's breath brushed against his thin face. A hand reached out, fingers trailing slowly along his pale cheek. The touch was featherlight, yet it sent a chilling numbness through Aaron's scalp.

Gentle did not mean kind.

Lucian could cradle him like a precious treasure—but he could just as easily crush him like a fragile flower.

His fingers traced down the bridge of Aaron's nose, stopping at his pale lips. He studied him in silence, eyes dark and endless like an abyss. To the world, Lucian was a king—a man of absolute power. But to Aaron, he was nothing more than a demon in human skin.

A moment passed before Lucian finally pulled away. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Aaron's forehead, then stood and strode out of the room.

Aaron heard the door close, but he didn't move.

Not until the last trace of Lucian's presence faded from the air did he slowly open his eyes. His tear-filled gaze lingered on the closed door—on the place where Lucian had disappeared.

Aaron had pretended to sleep just to avoid facing him.

Because he couldn't face him.

Silent tears trickled down his thin cheeks. He remained still, unmoving, but each breath he took was heavy and choked with sorrow.

Lucian had taken him.

He had given him everything—a life of luxury, careful attention, fine clothes, exquisite meals. He never let Aaron lift a finger, never let him struggle to survive like before.

But Aaron was not happy.

What Lucian had given him was not freedom, but a gilded cage. He wasn't shackled, yet he couldn't run.

Not because he had no way out—but because he was too afraid.

Aaron knew that if he disappeared, Lucian would stop at nothing to find him. And in doing so, he wouldn't hesitate to kill a few people.

Even if the one who had to die… was the person Aaron loved.

The thought sent a sharp pain through his chest. He bit his lip, fingers clutching the soft blanket beneath him, desperately trying to keep the tears from falling further.

Lucian didn't imprison him with iron chains.

He bound him with fear.

And there was no escape. No resistance.

Nothing Aaron could do—except endure.

————————————————

Morning in the Grand Mansion

Morning light gently filtered through the curtains, illuminating the lavish yet cold bedroom. Aaron opened his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot where he was.

Not the old, cramped apartment.

Not the place that once belonged to him.

But here—Lucian's mansion.

Aaron slowly sat up, the silk blanket slipping off his shoulders, revealing his pale skin. The room was too big—so big that even though he lay alone on that massive bed, he still felt like there was no space for himself.

Lucian wasn't here.

Of course not. He had his own room, far from this one. He had never forced Aaron to sleep beside him, but that didn't mean Aaron was free.

Lucian was a king.

And Aaron… was just the prey trapped in his cage.

Shaking off those thoughts, Aaron got out of bed and stepped out of the room. The mansion was vast—so vast that anyone unfamiliar with it would undoubtedly get lost. But Aaron had long memorized its layout, even though he had never once considered this place home.

Descending the grand staircase, the first thing he saw was Lucian's butler—a middle-aged man with a composed, formal demeanor. The moment he spotted Aaron, he immediately bowed in respect.

-"Young Master, you're awake. Please have breakfast."

Aaron froze.

That title…

He had lost count of how many times he once dreamed of a wealthy life. As a child, he had longed for luxury, for the honor of being addressed with such reverence, for the privilege of having servants cater to his every need. That was his dream—back when he still didn't understand the cruelty of this world.

And now, when he finally had it, he felt nothing but emptiness.

No—worse.

It was laughable.

-"I'm not a 'Young Master.' Don't call me that," Aaron said, his voice laced with quiet frustration.

The butler hesitated briefly but remained as respectful as ever.

-"I apologize, Young Master, but I cannot address you otherwise. It is the master's order."

Aaron fell silent.

Lucian's orders…

Who would dare disobey?

Under the rule of that king, everything followed his command. No one defied him. No one dared to.

Aaron clenched his fists but could do nothing. Resigned, he sat at the dining table, staring at the exquisite dishes laid out before him—yet feeling no appetite at all.

Lucian could force everything upon him.

But the one thing he could never force—

Was his heart…..

———————————————

A Night in the Cage

That night, as usual, Lucian entered Aaron's room.

No knocking. No asking for permission.

Because this was his territory.

The dim light cast a soft glow over the grand bedroom, reflecting the towering figure of Lucian as he stood before Aaron. But this time, unlike every other night, Aaron didn't pretend to be asleep. He sat motionless on the bed, his vacant eyes staring at some distant point, utterly devoid of expression.

Lucian narrowed his eyes.

His large hand reached out, gently touching Aaron's face.

Cold.

That soft skin was frighteningly cold.

And yet, Aaron didn't react. His eyes never even flickered toward him, as if Lucian were nothing more than an illusion, unworthy of his attention.

Lucian's voice broke the silence—low, icy, and dangerous enough to make anyone tremble.

-"Did something in this house displease you today?"

He asked, but his gaze was more of a warning than a question.

Aaron didn't answer right away. His face remained emotionless, but after a long silence, he finally spoke. His voice was soft, almost like a whisper, carrying a hint of exhaustion.

-"Why me? Why did you choose me when you could've had anyone else?"

Lucian tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a cold smile touching his lips.

-"Because I like you. I want you."

No unnecessary explanations. No justifications.

A simple sentence, yet it carried an undeniable weight. Because Lucian was a king, and once he set his sights on something, he would have it.

Aaron's fingers clenched slightly, his gaze wavering for the first time—but still, he refused to look at him.

-"But I don't like you," he murmured. "I like someone else. I want to be with Raih—"

He never got to finish.

Lucian's fingers clamped down on his jaw, gripping him with a force that made him wince.

The sudden roughness startled Aaron, his small chin aching under the pressure.

Lucian's cold eyes darkened.

-"In front of me, you are not allowed to speak another man's name."

His voice was low, a quiet but lethal warning.

Aaron trembled, his clear eyes welling up with tears, but he still turned his head away, refusing to meet his gaze.

No begging. No pleading.

That stubbornness irritated Lucian.

He stared at Aaron for a long moment, then suddenly leaned down.

Their lips were almost touching.

For a breathless second, time stood still.

Aaron remained beneath him, his tear-filled eyes devoid of resistance. No struggling, no cries for help—not even hatred.

Just… emptiness.

Lucian looked at him, and a strange feeling stirred within him.

He closed his eyes.

Then let go.

Lucian pulled away, his expression unreadable, and stood up without another word.

He left the room without looking back.

No one could tell what was running through his mind, but his tall, retreating figure carried an air of quiet, unpredictable danger.

Lucian was a king—merciless, ruthless, and bloodthirsty.

He had claimed Aaron, locked him inside his world. But no matter how powerful he was, no matter how easily he could decide the life and death of countless people—there was one thing he had never forced.

Aaron's body.

He wanted Aaron to surrender willingly.

Perhaps, that was the only trace of kindness a man like him was capable of.

Lucian stepped into his study.

The room was vast and dark, devoid of warmth—just like him.

He sank into the leather chair, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. He didn't smoke often, but whenever his mind felt unsettled, nicotine helped him regain control.

Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk.

Lucian didn't rush to pick it up.

A call at this hour wasn't about business.

It was about life and death.

Lifting the phone, he answered.

The voice on the other end reported something in a hushed, urgent tone. Lucian listened in silence, his expression unreadable, not a single emotion flickering across his face.

When the report ended, he finally spoke.

One word…

-"Kill."

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

Ordering someone's death, to him, was as effortless as making a business decision.

—————————————————

A man like Lucian had never known the meaning of fear. He feared no one—only others trembled and bowed before him.

That night, while handling business in his office, a subordinate rushed in, his face pale as if he had just seen death itself.

-"Sir… there's a traitor! He's colluding with our enemies, trying to sabotage this deal!"

Lucian remained unmoved. His expression stayed cold, his knife-sharp eyes betraying no emotion. He merely lifted his gaze from the stack of documents, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the desk.

This composure wasn't due to indifference but rather because… he had foreseen this long ago.

A man like him never allowed himself to be caught off guard. If one wished to achieve greatness, they had to anticipate the worst moves in advance. And more importantly… Lucian was always one step ahead of his enemies.

Without a word, he rose to his feet, draped his suit jacket over his shoulders, and strode out.

Lucian stood in the darkened room, facing the traitor bound tightly to a chair.

The man trembled, cold sweat running down his spine. He opened his mouth to beg, but all he received was Lucian's indifferent gaze.

Lucian lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke, his eyes never leaving his prey.

-"Do you want to die quickly or slowly?"

His voice was ice-cold, devoid of emotion, as if he were merely asking a casual question.

The man panicked, struggling against his restraints, stammering desperate pleas. But Lucian had no patience for useless words. He despised anything that wasted his time.

-"Annoying."

"——BANG——"

A single gunshot rang out, sharp and merciless.

Blood splattered across the floor, staining even the crisp fabric of Lucian's shirt. But he didn't bother checking—he merely dusted off his sleeve and turned away.

Lucian stepped out of the building, buttoning his vest neatly, as if he had just wrapped up a routine negotiation rather than taken a man's life.

But before he could reach his car—

A gunshot suddenly echoed from afar!

The bullet streaked through the air like lightning, grazing his arm and leaving a crimson trail on his pristine white sleeve.

A subordinate shouted in alarm.

-"Protect Mr. Lucian!"

Immediately, shadows surged from all directions, and a storm of bullets rained toward the attacker. Within seconds, agonized screams filled the air.

Lucian remained unfazed. He glanced down at his wound, the corners of his lips curling into a cold smirk.

-"Clean it up."

His voice was calm, as if he hadn't just been shot. A man like him—stabbed, shot, wounded—never felt pain.

When the chaos subsided, he stepped into the car, leaned back against the seat, and closed his eyes slightly.

The scent of blood mingled with gunpowder, lingering in the air. The passing streetlights flickered across his face, casting shifting shadows over his sharp features.

Lucian should have returned to his room to tend to the wound. But…

A thought crossed his mind.

No, he wasn't going back to his room…..

——————————————

When Lucian's sleek black car finally returned to the mansion, he didn't head straight to his room as usual. This time, he made a small change.

He stopped.

His cold gaze shifted toward Aaron's room.

Even after an entire day drenched in blood and cruelty, he still couldn't stop thinking about that boy.

The door to Aaron's room was unlocked. Lucian pushed it open gently and stepped inside, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit space.

In the faint darkness, Aaron's figure was clearer than ever—his tousled hair, his fair skin standing out against the shadowed room. He was sound asleep, eyes lightly shut, so peaceful that nothing in the world seemed capable of disturbing him.

Lucian stood there, at the edge of the bed, staring at Aaron's beautiful face but unable to move forward. He hesitated—not knowing if it was because he didn't want to get closer or because of something else entirely.

A part of him feared that if he got too close, the scent of blood on him would wake Aaron up.

And he didn't want to disturb this tranquility.

So he simply stood there, watching. Seconds stretched endlessly, each one dragging on longer than the last. Lucian had the feeling that if he stayed here any longer, he would bleed out before he was satisfied.

But before he could turn away, the icy coldness of his own hand was interrupted by a small warmth.

Aaron—still asleep—had reached out and grasped his hand, refusing to let him go.

Lucian turned back, meeting Aaron's gaze.

No words were exchanged. Just two pairs of eyes locked onto each other, cold and unreadable, in the suffocating silence of the room.

Every breath between them only intensified the tension.

Lucian couldn't let this atmosphere linger. He broke the silence…

-"Why aren't you asleep?"

His voice was soft, yet laced with challenge.

But there was no response. Aaron said nothing, his eyes never leaving Lucian's, their coldness unchanged.

Then, Aaron's gaze shifted downward—toward the wound on Lucian's shoulder.

The once pristine white shirt was now soaked in crimson. Even in the dim lighting, the injury was clear as day.

Lucian didn't seem to feel any pain, but there was something else in his eyes—displeasure.

He hated this feeling.

Hated appearing weak.

Hated exposing even the slightest vulnerability in front of someone like Aaron.

Aaron said nothing. Instead, he simply got up, walked over to the cabinet, and took out a first-aid kit.

He returned to the bed, his expression unreadable, but the way he looked at Lucian made it clear—sit down.

Lucian understood.

Not because of words, but because of Aaron's actions.

He quietly sat down beside him, unbuttoning his bloodstained shirt and shrugging it off.

The wound was still bleeding, but Aaron paid no mind to Lucian's strong, well-built frame. His eyes were fixed only on the wound.

Even though Aaron remained silent, something stirred within him.

He hated Lucian. He despised him to the core.

But when he saw him injured…

Something inside him wouldn't let him look away.

No matter how much he hated, no matter how much he wanted to loathe Lucian—he couldn't ignore someone's pain.

Not even the man who had locked him in this wretched cage.

Aaron gently pressed his fingers to the wound, his touch light, careful as he bandaged it.

Every time his hands made contact, Lucian felt the warmth. It was unfamiliar. And, annoyingly, it unsettled him.

These gestures weren't sympathy.

But they made Lucian feel something strange—something he had never considered before.

Even though Aaron never once looked at him, Lucian could tell how perceptive he was.

Every time Lucian's brow furrowed from the pain, Aaron's touch became gentler, as if he could sense Lucian's discomfort through the subtlest of movements.

Lucian stared intently at Aaron's face, never once looking away.

At first, it was simply Aaron's beauty that caught his attention. But now, in the dim glow of the room, as he gazed at him so closely, that beauty felt almost hypnotic.

Aaron had a unique kind of allure.

And something deep within Lucian made him wonder—if Aaron were to smile, just how breathtaking would he be?

Lucian slowly raised a hand, his cold fingers brushing lightly against Aaron's cheek.

The moment their skin made contact, Aaron stiffened ever so slightly—but he quickly regained his composure, continuing his task as if unaffected.

He didn't let Lucian know the small ripple of emotion that passed through him.

Once the bandaging was done, Lucian stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Aaron alone in the silence.

From start to finish, there had been no words.

Only the quiet exchange of glances.

Only the cold stillness surrounding them.

As Lucian stepped out, a strange unease settled in his chest—something he couldn't quite explain.

After his departure, the room once again sank into silence.

Aaron remained seated on the bed, his gaze fixed on the closed door.

He didn't look away.

Not even for a second.

The vast, cold space around him suddenly felt emptier than ever—despite the fact that Lucian had just been here moments ago.

A peculiar feeling surrounded Aaron, as if something within him had shifted.

He placed a hand over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

Each pulse echoed the unrest deep within him.

Was it fear?

Or was it something else—something he couldn't quite name—tied to Lucian's presence?

He couldn't find an answer.

But he could feel it clearly—his heart pounding faster, stronger.

Maybe he was lying to himself.

But deep down, something was changing.

Aaron took a slow, deep breath—yet it did nothing to ease the turmoil inside him.

He hated Lucian.

He despised him.…So why did it feel this way when he left?

What was this feeling?

Did he truly only hate Lucian?

Or was something within him beginning to shift?

End of Chapter 1.