Darrien's Perspective

Darrien struggled to wash his hair without getting the bandage wet, his fingers trembling slightly as he carefully maneuvered around the wound. After several frustrating attempts, he finally succeeded, exhaling in relief as the warm water sluiced down his back. When he stepped out of the shower, steam curling through the air, he reached for the clothes Cass had left him. The T-shirt slipped on easily enough, soft and quite oversized, hanging down almost to his knees like a nightgown. But the pants…

They wouldn't stay up, no matter how much he adjusted them. After a few minutes of fruitless tugging, they sagged down his hips with stubborn defiance. Huffing in defeat, Darrien kicked them off and settled for just the T-shirt. It left his legs bare and the hem brushed dangerously close to revealing more than he'd like. But maybe… maybe that wasn't a bad thing. A wicked thought flickered in his mind. If Cass had ulterior motives, this was a perfect chance to test them.

Cass sat perched on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his knees. "Sir, I've—" He began, but the words died in his throat the moment his eyes landed on Darrien. His gaze widened, dark eyes flicking down and then quickly away. A deep flush crept up his light almond-toned skin, staining his cheeks and neck with a soft crimson hue.

Darrien smirked. He picked up the notepad and pen lying on the bed and scribbled, _"The pants don't fit. I can't keep them on." Fluttering his lashes, he crossed the room toward Cass with unhurried grace.

Cass's throat bobbed as his gaze darted down — then hastily away, focusing on some random spot over Darrien's shoulder. His hand twitched at his side. A wave of heat radiated off him.

"Ah… I see," Cass murmured, visibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "I—I'll get you proper clothes. Right away."

Cass shot to his feet so fast that Darrien instinctively stumbled backward — but before he could lose his balance, Cass's hand lashed out and caught him by the waist. The sudden contact sent a sharp jolt down Darrien's spine. Cass's arm tightened, steadying him as their bodies pressed together. Darrien's eyes widened as he felt Cass's heartbeat beneath his hand. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the air grew heavy with unspoken tension. Darrien's breath quickened as his chest brushed against Cass's firm frame.

Slowly, Darrien's hand lifted of its own accord, his fingers brushing along Cass's jawline. He traced the curve of his cheekbone, then his thumb ghosted over Cass's lower lip. Cass's face lowered toward Darrien's, and Darrien rose on his toes in anticipation.

But instead of a kiss, Cass's forehead pressed gently against his. The hand on his waist tightened for a brief, fleeting second before Cass let out a strained sigh and pulled away.

"I'll… I'll come back later," Cass murmured, voice tight with restraint. He released Darrien and practically fled toward the door.

Darrien stood frozen as Cass disappeared around the corner just past the bathroom door and into the narrow hallway leading to the entrance. A sharp slam echoed through the space as the door shut behind him, leaving Darrien standing there, heart hammering in the sudden, hollow silence.

Did he just… get rejected? While practically half-naked? His pride smarted at the thought. Annoyed, he flopped onto the bed with a heavy thud. The sheets were crisp and freshly laundered, smelling faintly of mint and oranges. Did Cass change the sheets while he was in the shower? The thought warmed him unexpectedly.

He buried his face into the pillow, a cool breeze slipping beneath the hem of the shirt, raising goosebumps on his skin. His bare thighs brushed the smooth cotton sheets as he shifted, settling more comfortably on his stomach. Sleep tugged at the edges of his awareness. He vaguely recalled that it wasn't safe to sleep after a head injury—but right now, he didn't care. His eyelids fluttered shut, and soon, he drifted off.

A sharp jolt pulled him from sleep. Hands gripped his shoulders. "Sir, wake up! Please open your eyes!"

Darrien's eyes fluttered open, blearily focusing on Cass's wide-eyed face above him. His dark eyes were taut with panic, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. When Darrien's gaze finally cleared, Cass let out a relieved sigh and slumped forward, pressing his forehead briefly against Darrien's shoulder as he tried to steady his breathing.

"I just fell asleep," Darrien croaked, his injured throat dry and scratchy. He reached up, threading his fingers through Cass's hair in an attempt to soothe him. Cass leaned into the touch, but his brows remained furrowed with concern.

"You know you're not supposed to sleep after a head injury," Cass scolded, his voice low and sharp. "Good thing I came back quickly."

The tension between them thickened as Darrien became acutely aware of their position. Cass's larger frame hovered over him, effectively caging him in. His own pulse quickened under the weight of Cass's gaze. Their faces were inches apart. Cass's breath fanned across his skin, warm and dangerously inviting.

Darrien's lips parted slightly, unsure whether to lean closer or pull away. But before either of them could move, Cass stiffened, his eyes widening. He abruptly pulled away, rising to his feet quickly. Cass's face was beet red again.

"I brought some clothes and food," Cass said, his voice steady but laced with quiet tension. He cleared his throat and bent down to gather the bags he'd dropped on the floor earlier. His movements were precise, controlled—too controlled, as though he were trying not to betray whatever storm brewed beneath the surface. "Also some things you might need."

Cass handed Darrien two of the bags before carrying the third one toward the small kitchenette. Darrien glanced inside the bags, rifling through the contents. A toothbrush, underwear, jeans, cotton pants, a few shirts and T-shirts, and even a pair of sneakers. Everything looked simple and practical, no flashy logos or extravagant designs.

He studied the tags, trying to place the brands, but none of them were familiar.

"I bought them at the market," Cass said, his dark eyes flicking toward Darrien as he noticed his scrutiny. "I couldn't afford to get what you usually wear, sir. And even if I could, it wouldn't be a good idea to have my card information tied to the purchase of high-end brands your ex-employer favored. Not if you intend to disappear."

That… made sense. Darrien wasn't particularly attached to brand names, but curiosity lingered. He'd always had an eye for design—not just jewelry, but fashion too. It was unavoidable, growing up a Valmoor, immersed in the retail business.

Darrien picked up a paper pad and scribbled down, "It's fine. I like the clothes." He offered Cass a faint smile before heading toward the bathroom.

He slipped into a pair of soft cotton pants and a plain white T-shirt, tugging them into place. Sliding into the underwear felt like a small mercy; things were starting to feel a little too suggestive with him wandering around half-naked in Cass's oversized T-shirt.

When he emerged, Cass had already laid out the food on the small table by the window. The scent of warm broth filled the air.

"I got you some chicken soup and pudding," Cass said, motioning toward the table. "Your throat's hurt, so I figured something soft would be easier to swallow."

Darrien sat down, picking up the spoon. He managed a few bites before setting the bowl down, already feeling full. His stomach had never handled large meals well. He leaned back in the chair, pressing a hand to his belly.

"Sir, you need to eat a little more," Cass said gently, sliding the bowl closer.

Darrien hesitated before picking up the paper pad again. "Later, Cass." He paused, tapping the end of the pen against the paper before continuing. "But… how long are you going to keep calling me 'sir'? I'm not your employer anymore. Besides, you're older than me. It feels… weird."

Cass's gaze faltered. His expression tightened slightly, and a flicker of discomfort passed through his features. "Should I call you 'young master' instead?" he asked, his tone carefully measured. "You're still a Valmoor, regardless of whether you employ me or not. There's a difference in status between us. Even if I don't work for you anymore, I know my place. You're also a first-class omega… and I'm just a beta."

Darrien's chest tightened. It felt like a blow—sharp and unexpected. So Cass was still holding on to the cutting words Darrien had thrown at him the other day. 

"Cass, I—" Darrien started writing but stopped midway. The apology stuck in his throat. Instead, his hand moved automatically, writing, "I've decided to leave behind the Valmoor name. I won't be a young master anymore."

Cass's brows lifted, a flicker of surprise passing through his dark eyes. "So… you're going through with it? The plan I suggested?"

Darrien nodded, scribbling down, "Yes. I'm not under the illusion that my life will suddenly become perfect if I give up the Valmoor name. But one thing's certain—I don't want my current life anymore."

Cass's gaze drifted toward the window. His jaw tensed as though weighing the gravity of Darrien's words. After a long pause, he said, "If that's your decision, then we'll have to leave the city before anyone realizes you're gone. I was going to suggest leaving even if you were still undecided. Once people figure out you're missing, moving around will become difficult."

Darrien's pen scratched against the paper. "Where would we go?"

"I have a cabin up north," Cass replied. "Deep in the mountains. Isolated. No one knows about it—not even my friends."

Darrien's brows arched. A cabin in the mountains, hidden from the world. His mind spun. Was this Cass's way of claiming control over him and over his body? Of putting him under his thumb, away from everything and everyone? If Cass truly wanted revenge… a remote cabin would be the perfect place for it.

But then again, if Cass intended to kill him, he wouldn't have gone to such lengths to protect him. No, this wasn't about death. This was about something else—something sharper and more dangerous.

Darrien's gaze slid toward Cass's broad shoulders, the tense line of his jaw. Control over his body… The thought sank in, and heat bloomed in his chest. His mind spiraled, drifting toward images that made his skin prickle—Cass's strong body pressing into him, hands trailing down his sides…

Darrien's hand tightened around the pen. His cheeks flushed hot. He quickly wrote, "That sounds… great. I think we should leave at nightfall. Leander will realize I'm missing soon."

Cass's brow creased in concern. "Are you sure you're up for a long drive? How's your head?"

Darrien's pen moved swiftly. "It still hurts a little, but I'm fine."

Cass hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Alright. I'll make some calls and put everything in motion. Rest in the meantime—but don't fall asleep." His eyes softened. "I'm sorry I don't have a TV to keep you entertained, but there are some books and magazines in the nightstand."

"Okay. Don't worry about it," Darrien wrote with a small smile.

Cass pushed away from the table and headed toward the door. Just before stepping outside, he glanced over his shoulder. "I'll be back before nightfall."

And then he was gone.

The apartment, already small and sparse, felt achingly empty in Cass's absence. Darrien sat in the silence for a long moment before standing and walking to the window. The glass was cold under his fingertips as he pressed his hand against it. The quiet hum of the city filtered through the glass, muted and distant.

Alone again.

Darrien sighed and slid down to the floor, his back resting against the wall. His fingers curled around the hem of his shirt. He didn't know where this would lead. He wasn't sure what Cass intended. But one thing was clear—whatever happened next, he wasn't turning back.