CAGED, CORNERED, CLAIMED.

Volume 3, Chapter 88 – Caged, Cornered, Claimed

Vincent's breathing was shallow. Every muscle in his body coiled tight.

Cain hadn't moved. He hadn't needed to.

The weight of his gaze was enough.

"You don't belong to me?" Cain repeated, voice smooth as velvet, dark as ruin. "Then say it, Vincent. Say it like you believe it."

Vincent opened his mouth—

And nothing came out.

Cain's smile widened, slow and knowing.

"That's what I thought."

Dominic chuckled, stepping back as if he had never been part of this conversation to begin with. "You see now, don't you?" he murmured to Zane. "How deep it runs?"

Zane didn't flinch. Didn't step away from Vincent. Didn't let go of his hand.

If anything, his grip only tightened.

Vincent barely registered it.

Because his pulse was a thunderstorm in his ears. His thoughts were a tangled, choking mess.

He had spent years running from this. From him.

And now—

Now he wasn't sure if he was running at all.

Cain had never chased him. Had never needed to.

Because Cain had known all along.

Vincent had never truly left.

He had never belonged to himself.

Not then.

Not now.

And Cain?

Cain was ready to remind him why.

---

Five Years Ago.

The first time Cain touched him, Vincent had been on his knees.

Rain-soaked. Bloodied knuckles. Breathing too fast, too uneven.

Cain had crouched before him, lifting his chin with two fingers.

"You want out?" Cain had asked.

Vincent had nodded, breathless. Desperate.

Cain had hummed, almost thoughtful.

"Then prove it."

Vincent had swallowed. "How?"

Cain's lips had curled, slow and deliberate.

"Beg."

Vincent's stomach had twisted, something dark and unfamiliar slithering through his veins.

But he had done it.

He had begged.

And Cain—

Cain had smiled.

Like Vincent had given him exactly what he wanted.

Like Vincent had already lost.

---

Now.

Vincent's knees felt weak. His fingers curled tighter around Zane's, knuckles white.

"Don't," Zane said quietly, only for him.

Don't let him get inside your head.

Don't give him what he wants.

But Cain already had it, didn't he?

Cain had always had it.

Zane must have realized that too, because his jaw clenched. "You're not taking him."

Cain exhaled a soft, amused sound. "Aren't I?"

Vincent felt it then—how Cain's attention never once left him.

Like Zane didn't exist.

Like Dominic didn't matter.

Like Vincent had always been the only piece on the board that actually mattered.

And the worst part?

Vincent didn't know if that scared him—

Or if a part of him had been waiting for this all along.

Cain shifted, finally standing.

And Vincent—

Vincent felt everything come crashing down.

Because Cain was closer now.

Because Cain was the kind of danger that didn't chase.

He waited.

And Vincent?

Vincent had walked right back into his hands.

Cain's fingers brushed against Vincent's wrist—just once, just enough.

And Vincent didn't move.

Didn't pull away.

Didn't fight.

Cain smiled.

"See?" he murmured.

Zane swore under his breath.

But it was already too late, wasn't it?

Vincent hadn't let go.

And Cain?

Cain had just won.

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