"Thank you," Caesar finally said with a polite nod, rising to his full height — intimidating, poised, his long black coat draped over his shoulders like a cape. "Let me walk you to the helipad. My men will escort you back to Moscow."
The doctor bowed slightly and followed Caesar through the silent hallways of the mansion. Their footsteps echoed off polished marble floors, past towering windows where the frost had begun to creep in at the corners of the glass.
Outside, the wind howled low and icy, carrying with it the sharp sting of winter. Snow dusted the stone pathways as Caesar stood tall by the helipad, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. The rotors of the helicopter began to spin, kicking up snow in wild gusts around them.
As the chopper lifted into the air, Caesar tilted his head up, watching it ascend, the morning sky painted in soft hues of gray and blue. The cold slapped against his face, but he didn't flinch. He welcomed it.
His jaw clenched as he turned and walked back toward the mansion.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the warmth engulfed him — but it wasn't comforting. No. It was heavy. Like the air itself was saturated with memories of what had happened the night before.
He passed the grand staircase and ascended slowly, his footsteps deliberate. His senses sharpened the closer he got to the east wing — the wing where Eun-jae was resting.
A smile crept across Caesar's lips, slow and wolfish.
He could already sense it — the faint scent of Eun-jae, tangled with exhaustion and residual heat. And beneath that?
The faintest hint of want. Need. Resistance laced with confusion.
"Looks like the doctor was right," Caesar whispered to himself, voice curling like smoke.
Time to see if his pheromones would really drive Eun-jae wild.
The door creaked open slowly, the golden handle glinting in the soft morning light, and Caesar stepped into the room with the same quiet dominance as always. One hand balanced a silver tray — the delicate porcelain bowl steaming with rich broth, a glass of water perfectly positioned beside it, and a small, neat line of pill bottles stacked like an ominous reminder.
Eun-jae was standing by the window, wrapped loosely in one of the oversized silk pajamas the mansion's staff had probably draped over him while he was unconscious. The morning light kissed his tan skin, highlighting the faint bruises along his throat and collarbone — Caesar's handiwork from the night before.
But Eun-jae's eyes weren't soft, nor broken. They were sharp. Icy. He stared out into the endless snow-blanketed forest beyond the glass, his jaw locked tight, arms crossed over his chest.
"You're awake," Caesar's voice broke the silence, smooth and low, with that fake sweetness he always wore like a second skin. He moved over to the table near the bed and carefully set down the tray, adjusting the placement of the spoon as if this tiny gesture made him some kind of saint.
Eun-jae didn't even flinch.
Didn't turn.
Didn't answer.
Just stood there, gazing blankly at the snow, like the silence between them was thicker than the walls of this entire mansion.
Caesar's lips twitched slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into a slow, unreadable smirk as he adjusted his cufflinks and sauntered closer, his hands slipping casually into the pockets of his black slacks.
"I know," he murmured, his voice lower now. "I know about the pregnancy."
Eun-jae's fingers twitched slightly at his side, but he still didn't turn.
Caesar's voice dipped softer — not tender, but controlled. Calculated.
"I know you aborted it, Eun-jae." He paused, his gaze trailing over the curve of Eun-jae's back, the tension in his neck, the bruises peeking just beneath the collar of his shirt. "Why? Why would you do that?"
Another pause.
"You knew it was mine too, didn't you?"
For a long second, there was only silence. The kind of silence that feels suffocating. Then —
A sharp, dry chuckle escaped Eun-jae's lips, bitter and humorless, like it had been choked out from the pit of pure hatred.
Finally, he turned.
His eyes locked with Caesar's, no longer glazed with pain or fatigue, but instead burning with something colder — pure, venomous spite.
"Why?" Eun-jae repeated, his voice low, shaking, but strong enough to drip with sarcasm. "Because the last thing this cursed world needs is another demon-spawned bastard like you walking around."
He took a slow, limping step forward, never breaking eye contact, lips curling into a taunting little smirk.
"Imagine carrying your spawn," Eun-jae sneered. "Your blood. Your DNA. Disgusting. I'd rather carve my own insides out with a spoon than let that thing grow inside me. I wasn't about to let some half-born monster turn me into a pet project for you."
The words hit like gunfire, each syllable laced with sharp malice.
"Besides, I'd rather bleed to death than let you get the satisfaction of calling me the mother of your child. Me? Bearing a parasite from the likes of you?" Eun-jae scoffed. "I'd sooner set myself on fire."
Caesar stood still, expression perfectly composed, but there was a flicker — a dangerous twitch in his jaw, so brief it almost went unnoticed. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the muscles in his neck flexing as he tilted his head just slightly, studying Eun-jae like he was a puzzle piece that never quite fit.
But Eun-jae wasn't done.
"Stop releasing those fucking pheromones too," he spat, nose wrinkling as he waved a hand through the air like trying to swat away the scent. "They're making me sick. You stink like a goddamn dog in heat."
That smirk — sharp and savage — didn't leave his face, even as the ache in his body reminded him how powerless he'd felt just hours before.
At the bathroom door, he paused for half a second, glancing back over his shoulder. His voice dropped into a quiet, cutting whisper.
"You'll never own me, Caesar. Not even if you chain me to this fucking palace for the rest of my life."
Then the door shut, the soft click echoing like a slap in Caesar's face.
The room fell silent.
Caesar stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door, the corner of his mouth twitching upward into a dark, humorless smile. He exhaled a slow breath through his nose, adjusting his cufflinks as if the conversation hadn't just carved into him.
"So feisty," he murmured under his breath, running his fingers lazily over the rim of the water glass. "I'd almost forgotten how fun you are when you bite."
Eun-jae stood in front of the marble-framed mirror, the lighting above catching on the purpling bruises around his neck, painting them in raw, ugly hues. He dragged his fingers over the tender skin, wincing slightly.
"I look like a fucking mess," he muttered under his breath, voice low and bitter. His reflection stared back at him — eyes rimmed red, hair tangled from restless sleep, lips chapped. He looked like someone who'd been through a war. Correction: he had been through a war — just not one with guns or soldiers.
His fingers undid the buttons of the soft silk robe draped over him, letting it slide off his shoulders and puddle to the floor like a whisper. He stepped into the warm bubbling waters of the jacuzzi, sighing as the jets immediately kissed his sore muscles, coaxing some of the tension from his limbs.
A deep, long breath escaped his lungs.
It was quiet in this room — almost too quiet. The bathroom, no—spa room—was damn near the size of a studio apartment. The floor was glossy black marble with gold veins running through it, and the jacuzzi itself was sunken, edged in onyx with mood lighting that could make even death look romantic. High windows let in pale light from the overcast sky, filtered through sheer curtains that swayed with the breeze of the heated ventilation.
He sank deeper, letting the water lap at his jaw, then slipped all the way under.
His long black hair fanned out around his head like ink in water. His eyes were open, staring blankly up at the shifting surface above him, thoughts scattered and bitter.
Where the fuck even am I? he thought, watching the air bubbles drift from his nose and mouth. Still with that son of a bitch… trapped in his golden fucking cage.
His lashes fluttered, eyes shutting slowly as the heat from the water started to dull the sharpness in his mind. He let himself go still — too still.
Meanwhile, back in the bedroom…
Caesar sat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, fingers drumming against the armrest, a book open but untouched in his lap. His eyes flicked to the bathroom door for the hundredth time. A minute passed. Then five. Then twenty.
An hour.
His brows furrowed.
Another passed.
Panic, foreign and unwelcome, began to settle like a stone in his gut.
He stood, knocking the book to the floor, and crossed the room in long, purposeful strides. The door swung open with a sharp creak.
"Eun-jae?"
Silence.
He stepped inside. The bathroom was filled with steam, the scent of rose oils and lavender hanging heavy in the air. And there, in the jacuzzi, he saw a still figure — submerged completely, unmoving.
His heart nearly stopped.
"EUN-JAE!" Caesar shouted, rushing forward. His hands plunged into the water, gripping the slick, warm skin of the smaller man as he yanked him up out of the tub, water cascading off him in sheets.
Eun-jae sputtered, coughing, blinking in shock.
"What the hell?!" he wheezed, yanking his arm from Caesar's grip. "Are you crazy?!"
"I thought you were dead!" Caesar barked, eyes wide, breath ragged as his palms lingered on Eun-jae's shoulders, checking him for movement, life — anything.
Eun-jae slapped his hands away, water splashing with the sudden movement.
"Don't fucking touch me!" he snapped, shoving Caesar back hard enough that he stumbled a step. "Jesus Christ, you psycho, I was bathing. Like a normal person."
"You were underwater for too long—"
"Oh, so now you're monitoring my breathing too?" Eun-jae interrupted with a vicious glare. "What's next, Caesar? Gonna put a tracker in my ass? Implant a camera in my eye? Take my pulse every five minutes?"
Caesar opened his mouth to speak, but Eun-jae cut him off again, stepping out of the tub with zero shame, water dripping down his bare skin as he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around himself with flair.
"You barge in here, acting like some overprotective husband, when literally twenty-four hours ago, you were acting like a fucking predator," he said, voice climbing in pitch. "You don't get to play worried boyfriend now just because your toy didn't float the way you expected!"
Caesar clenched his jaw, his gaze fixed on Eun-jae like he was trying to read the unspoken between his words.
Eun-jae pointed a dripping finger in his face.
"You better take your pheromones, your fake-ass concern, and your five-star Stockholm suite and get the fuck out of my face," he snapped. "I don't need you. I don't want your food. I don't want your meds. I don't want you."
Caesar's chest rose and fell, but he didn't speak.
His voice dripped sarcasm, the bite in his words sharp enough to cut glass.
"And while you're at it," Eun-jae waved a hand toward the door, water dripping from his fingers like tiny diamonds, "do me a favor — shut the goddamn door on your way out, yeah? Your face is ruining the whole zen vibe I had going."
And with that, he leaned back, letting himself slip under the water again, completely unbothered, leaving Caesar standing there — drenched in the scent of his own spiraling emotions and rejection.
The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at Eun-jae's lips under the water.
Because even broken, bruised, and trapped — he wasn't about to let Caesar have the last word.