On the very first day they met, Lucian threw a fit of his typical young-master temper, only to be pinned to the floor and beaten by Sebastian.

After the dust settled, Sebastian wiped his hands clean. "Have dinner ready in half an hour, or the beating continues."

Lucian sobbed his way through the cooking, dumping a pound of salt into the steak.

Later, Lucian tried to get revenge by drugging him, but it only caused Sebastian’s old back injury to flare up. He couldn't move, let alone use the bathroom.

Lucian ended up kneeling by the bed to serve him, crying even harder than the man in pain.

Further down the road—

Lucian: "I’ve seen every inch of you by now. We’re the closest people in the world."

Sebastian: "A hired nurse could have seen just as much."

Lucian hugged him, his eyes reddening. "Then I'm not leaving. I'll be your nurse forever."

Sebastian looked down at the hand surreptitiously wandering around his waist and let out a cold sneer.

"If that hand doesn't behave, I’ll break the other one too."

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Chapter 1: Beaten to Tears

Sebastian was rarely ever off the clock, and today was a hard-won holiday.

At seven in the morning, he was jolted awake by an international call. It was Uncle Robert, an old friend of his late father, his voice sounding weary and urgent.

The call lasted twenty minutes. After hanging up, Sebastian sat quietly on the edge of the bed for a moment, feeling the old injury in his lower back stiffen with a dull ache.

At three in the afternoon, the doorbell rang.

When Sebastian opened the door, a youth was standing there. He was six-foot-two, with sharp black hair and eyes flashing with unmasked hostility. At his feet sat an expensive suitcase, discarded like trash.

This was Lucian.

His father, Marcus, had passed away in Celaya last week. Following the company’s bankruptcy, the couple had chosen the most extreme way out. Before the end, Marcus had gone through great lengths to contact Sebastian’s father, entrusting his son to him.

Sebastian’s father, Arthur, had been gone for three years, so the responsibility for that phone call ultimately landed on Sebastian’s shoulders.

"Come in," Sebastian said, stepping aside.

Lucian dragged his suitcase inside. His gaze swept across the foyer and the living room before finally settling on Sebastian. The man was in his early thirties, well-built, with his loungewear hanging loosely off a frame that hinted at lean, disciplined muscle. However, he exuded an aura of cold, distant detachment.

"So, you’re Sebastian?" Lucian kicked his suitcase to the side and flopped onto the sofa, crossing his legs arrogantly. "My old man said I should stay with you. Fine. Where’s the room? I’m exhausted; I need to crash and get over the jet lag."

Sebastian didn't move.

He looked down at the boy, eyeing the sneakers resting on the edge of the coffee table and that entitled expression. Suddenly, he felt a faint urge to laugh.

Marcus had been quite the figure in his day. How had he raised such a creature?

"First," Sebastian began, his voice steady and unhurried. "Shoes off at the door. Second, put your luggage away properly. Third, when you speak to me, lose that tone."

Lucian’s legs stiffened.

He slowly lowered his feet and tilted his head to look at Sebastian, his eyes narrowing with scrutiny. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Sebastian walked over and sat in the armchair opposite him, his back straight and his hands resting casually on the armrests, "that as long as you're living under my roof, you follow my rules."

Lucian stared at him, then suddenly let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

"Rules?" He stood up, looking down at Sebastian. "Who do you think you are? My dad sent me here for a few days, and you're already acting like you own me? Stop playing the big shot; I don’t buy that crap."

Sebastian remained still, his expression unchanged.

"Your dad sent you for a few days?" he repeated, his tone as flat as if he were stating a boring fact. "Your father’s actual words were for me to take you in until you graduate from university. Or until you find a job and can get the hell out on your own."

Lucian’s face paled.

"Furthermore," Sebastian continued, "your father’s estate has been entirely seized by the banks. Your house in Celaya, your cars, and that no-limit credit card of yours—all gone. You’re twenty-one and a junior in college. Without a guardian’s signature, you can’t even enroll in classes."

He paused, meeting Lucian’s gaze with a slight, cold tug at the corner of his mouth. "So, I’m not 'playing' anything. You’d better realize who’s actually in charge here."

The air in the room froze for several seconds.

Lucian’s chest heaved violently, his clenched fists trembling. He glared at Sebastian as if trying to burn a hole through that calm face.

"You mother—"

"I’m what?" Sebastian cut him off, remaining seated and even adjusting himself into a more comfortable position. "Are you done? If you’re done, go pick up your luggage and put it in the room under the stairs. Then go to the kitchen, see what’s there, and make dinner."

"Who asked for your charity?!" Lucian’s voice hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes reddening—whether from rage or something else. "You think I give a damn about this dump?!"

He turned to leave, grabbing his suitcase and reaching for the doorknob.

A soft chuckle came from behind him.

"You can leave, of course," Sebastian’s voice followed him at a leisurely pace. "Once you walk out that door, how much money do you have left? How many nights in a hotel can you afford? And then what? Who’s going to sign your course selection forms for next semester? And your father’s creditors—if they track you down in Crestmont and see you using your ID at a hotel, how long do you think it’ll take them to find you?"

Lucian’s hand froze on the knob.

"Oh, right," Sebastian added, as if suddenly remembering something. "You’re twenty-one, aren't you? Legally, you’re an adult and don't need a guardian. But why do you think your father went to such trouble to find me and practically beg me to take you in?"

He stood up and walked toward the door.

As he passed Lucian, he stopped for a moment and glanced at him.

The twenty-one-year-old was half a head taller than him, strong and fit, but currently, his eyes were filled with nothing but fury and resentment.

Sebastian looked away.

"Because your father knew his past would eventually catch up to you. And he figured that I might be a bit more useful than whatever 'skills' you think you have."

He reached out and brushed Lucian’s hand off the doorknob.

"Of course, if you want to go, I won’t stop you. The door is right there, and you have legs."

He turned back toward the living room.

Behind him came the sound of the suitcase being slammed violently onto the floor.

Sebastian didn't look back.

Then came the sound of hurried footsteps and the rush of wind from behind. He instinctively ducked, a fist grazing his shoulder.

In the next second, a kick landed on his waist. It wasn't particularly heavy, but it was enough to make his already aching lower back muscles spasm painfully.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed.

He turned around.

Lucian stood two paces away, chest heaving, his eyes bloodshot as if he had been pushed to the edge.

"You're so good at talking, aren't you?!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "Come on then! Do something! Stop pretending!"

Sebastian looked at him.

Then, he smiled.

Young people truly were impatient.

"Fine," he said.

Before Lucian could react, the world blurred. A punch landed in his abdomen—not too heavy, but precisely angled to hit the spot that knocked the wind out of him. He groaned, instinctively swinging back, but Sebastian slipped the blow with ease. Immediately after, a knee strike to his lower back sent a wave of numbness through his frame.

"Come on," Sebastian’s voice sounded near his ear, slightly breathless but terrifyingly calm. "Keep going."

Lucian lunged at him like a madman.

He was twenty-one, six-foot-two, a gym regular, and he prided himself on never losing a fight. But now, he realized he couldn't even touch the man.

The man before him moved with an uncanny rhythm, lightly dodging every time Lucian thought he had a lead, only to counter with a punch or a kick from the most unexpected angle. The force was perfectly controlled—it hurt like hell, but it wouldn't break any bones.

The living room was a disaster.

Ten minutes later, Lucian was pinned to the floor, his face pressed against the cold tiles. Sebastian’s knee was pressed firmly into his lower back, and his hands were twisted behind him.

"Had enough?" Sebastian’s voice came from above, his breathing slightly heavy.

Lucian struggled desperately, but that only caused the knee on his back to press harder.

"Go to hell!"

Sebastian applied a bit more pressure, and Lucian let out a muffled groan of pain.

"Are you done yet?"

"No!"

Before the word could fully leave his mouth, he felt another strike to his face. It wasn't hard, but the humiliation was crushing.

Lucian’s eyes began to sting.

From the moment he received the news of his parents' death until now, he hadn't cried. Not a single tear. Everyone said he was cold-blooded, that Marcus had raised an ungrateful wolf. He didn't care to explain, nor did he want to.

But now, being held down and beaten by a stranger, unable to even fight back, he suddenly felt something clogging his throat—something that hurt.

Sebastian noticed the trembling of the boy's shoulders and loosened his grip slightly.

"What are you crying for?"

"You're freaking crazy!" Lucian roared, though his voice was thick with a sob. "Just kill me if you're so tough!"

Sebastian didn't say a word.

He let go, stood up, and looked down at him.

Lucian remained on the floor, his face buried in his arms, his shoulders still shaking slightly.

Sebastian looked down at his own waist; that kick earlier was no joke, and it was starting to throb painfully.

"Half an hour."

Lucian didn't respond.

"Have dinner ready in half an hour," Sebastian said, turning toward the stairs. "If it's not ready, the beating continues."

The footsteps faded, followed by the sound of a door closing upstairs.

Lucian sat on the floor for a long time before he finally, slowly, sat up.

The living room was a mess; the sofa was crooked, and things from the coffee table were scattered everywhere. He sat there in a daze for a while, then reached up to wipe his face, only to find his hand wet with tears.

He stared at the moisture for a couple of seconds before wiping it aggressively on his pants.

The sound of the refrigerator door opening echoed from the kitchen.

Sebastian stood by the bedroom window upstairs, looking at the old locust tree in the yard. After a while, he heard the sound of chopping from below—clatter, clatter, clatter. It was messy and uncoordinated, but very forceful.

He looked down at his waist, pressed it with his hand, and hissed through his teeth.