The door creaked open to the dimly lit guest room.
Alessio stepped aside, his hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable as he motioned Noah inside. "This is where you'll sleep."
Noah walked in slowly, eyes scanning the large room. The walls were cream-colored, the bed massive, covered in rich grey sheets and a cloud-soft duvet. The room was quiet, too quiet, and so sterile it barely felt like anyone had ever lived in it.
"It's cold," Noah muttered under his breath.
"The temperature is adjustable. You're not a guest, you're here under contract. You'll survive," Alessio said curtly, turning to leave.
Noah's lips twitched into a bitter smile. There he goes again. Hot one second, cold the next. Typical.
But he didn't say anything. He just nodded slightly and sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the bathrobe tighter around himself. Alessio paused at the doorway, looked back for a split second—but whatever emotion flickered in his eyes, he buried it quickly.
"Goodnight, Noah."
"Yeah... sure."
The door clicked shut behind him.
---
The next morning...
The first light of dawn filtered into Alessio's bedroom through the floor-length curtains. He sat on the edge of his bed, still shirtless, his hair a little mussed, fingers loosely holding a cup of black coffee.
A knock sounded.
Then a pause.
Then—click—the door opened.
"What the hell—"
Alessio stood instantly, glaring at the doorway.
Noah stepped inside, barefoot, wearing one of the long silk shirts left for him. His curls were damp from a fresh shower, his skin glowing against the pale sunlight.
"I—" Noah began.
"Who told you you could come in here?" Alessio snapped, voice like a whip. "This is my room. My space. You don't walk in uninvited."
Noah flinched.
But then… something flared in those honey-gold eyes.
"I didn't know I needed permission to speak to you. You bought me, right? I'm your thing now," he spat, fists clenched at his sides.
Alessio raised an eyebrow. "Don't twist my words."
"Don't yell at me like I'm your servant. I just came to ask if I could—if I could get different clothes. These... smell like someone else. I hate it. But never mind."
He turned sharply, stomping his foot against the hardwood floor like an angry kitten.
Thud.
And then another.
Alessio watched in stunned silence as the boy stormed off, eyes gleaming with unshed tears.
SLAM.
The guestroom door echoed through the penthouse like thunder.
---
An hour passed.
Then two.
Then five.
Noah didn't come out.
Alessio paced the hallway like a restless predator. He knocked once. No answer. He knocked harder. Silence.
He even tried the doorknob—locked.
"Noah. Noah. Open the door."
Nothing.
He called the kitchen staff.
"Leave a tray outside his room. If he opens the door, he'll see it."
But by evening, the tray was still untouched.
That was the final straw.
Alessio slammed his palm against the hallway wall, growling under his breath. "That brat will kill himself just to spite me."
He whipped out his phone.
"Get your asses here. Now," he barked.
Theo's voice came through, casual and amused. "What did he do this time?"
"He's been locked in that damn room all day. Not eating. Not drinking. I'm two seconds away from kicking the door down."
Enzo laughed. "You? Losing patience over a kitten who scratches back? Never thought I'd see the day."
"Five minutes. That's all you have," Alessio growled.
---
Fifteen minutes later, Theo and Enzo strolled into the penthouse.
"What did you say to him?" Theo asked as he peeked at the locked door.
"I told him not to come into my room."
"...That's it?"
"I may have raised my voice."
Enzo snorted. "You roared, didn't you?"
"Shut up and fix it."
Theo knocked softly. "Noah? It's Theo. Want some hot chocolate? We have those pink marshmallows you like."
Silence.
Enzo grinned. "Step aside. It's time for Operation Omega Whisperer."
He faked a dramatic sigh. "Oh no… guess we'll have to eat all these cupcakes by ourselves. What a waste..."
There was a click.
A soft shuffle.
The door creaked open slowly… revealing Noah, cheeks red, eyes puffy, shirt wrinkled.
He looked like a kicked puppy.
Enzo and Theo high-fived silently behind their backs.
Then they stepped aside.
Noah froze.
Alessio was standing right there—his arms crossed, shirt black as ink, hair slicked back, face unreadable.
The moment their eyes met, the hallway dropped into silence.
Alessio took a step forward.
Noah stepped back on instinct, but Alessio kept walking—slow, calculated, like a beast approaching prey. When he finally stopped in front of him, their chests nearly touched.
Noah tilted his chin up defiantly.
"Done sulking?" Alessio asked coldly.
"You made me," Noah snapped.
"You didn't eat. Didn't drink. You think that proves a point? You could've fainted."
"I didn't ask you to care."
Alessio grabbed his wrist—not hard, but firm—and pulled him close enough to smell the faint citrus of Noah's soap.
"I care because you're mine," he growled, his voice like velvet laced with steel. "Until the contract ends, your life belongs to me. That includes your meals, your health, your sleep."
Noah blinked, stunned.
Theo coughed loudly. "Okay! That's enough sexual tension for one hallway. We'll… leave you two alone."
Enzo chuckled. "Text us if you kill him. Or kiss him."
They both vanished around the corner.
Alessio still hadn't let go.
Noah's breath hitched as his hand was gently released, the warmth lingering.
Alessio's voice dropped. "If you're going to scream at me... fine. But don't starve yourself. Don't lock yourself away. If I wanted a broken doll, I would've bought one of the trembling girls from the stage."
Noah's lips trembled.
"I'm not a doll."
"I know. That's why I picked you."