The clock in the corner of the bedroom ticked through the hollow hours, each swing of the brass pendulum a mockery of Easter’s fraying nerves.

He sat rigidly on the velvet settee by the cold fireplace, still fully dressed, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on his knees.

The room felt more like a cage than ever before.

The silence was a physical weight, broken only by the clock and the frantic, hammering beat of his own heart.

North. The name was a prayer and a curse on his lips. His little brother, so full of fire and life, now in the clutches of a man Hill himself had called the most brutal.

The thought of North, terrified and fighting, haunted him. He had to do something. He had to confront the devil he knew.

It was just past midnight when the familiar, heavy tread sounded in the hall.

The door opened, and Hill filled the frame, his silhouette broad and powerful against the dim light of the corridor.

He loosened his tie, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when he saw Easter waiting, awake and tense.

A slow, amused smile graced his lips as he stepped inside, closing the door with a soft, definitive click. "My love," he rumbled, his voice a low, intimate sound in the quiet room. "Why are you still awake? Waiting for me?"

He crossed the space between them with his predator's grace, the scent of night air and expensive whiskey clinging to him.

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Easter's forehead before his hand moved to cup his jaw, his thumb stroking his cheekbone. He leaned in, his intent clear, his dark eyes half-lidded.

As Hill’s lips descended towards his, Easter’s head turned sharply to the side, breaking the contact.

The air in the room froze.

Hill went perfectly still. The gentle pressure of his hand on Easter’s jaw tightened, his fingers digging in just enough to be a warning.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes, which had been soft with amusement, now darkened like a gathering storm.

A deep frown etched itself onto his brow.

"Easter," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

That was all the warning he got. A surge of adrenaline, fueled by days of fear and a brother's love, shot through Easter.

He shot to his feet, his body trembling with a potent mix of terror and rage. Before Hill could react, Easter’s hands flew up, fisting themselves in the immaculate silk of Hill’s shirt collar, crumpling the fabric.

"What's your issue with my family??" Easter yelled, the words tearing from his throat, raw and desperate.

His voice echoed in the vast room, a shocking breach of the quiet control Hill demanded.

Hill didn't struggle. He didn't even flinch. He just looked down at Easter, his expression unreadable, a mask of cold stone.

The silence that followed Easter's outburst was more terrifying than any shout.

"First my father," Easter seethed, his voice cracking, "then me, and now my brother! Why can't you just leave us alone? What did we ever do to you?"

Hill’s eyes, dark and impenetrable, held his.

He allowed Easter to hold him there for a long, tense moment, letting the fury burn itself out against his impassive wall.

Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of immense boredom, he moved.

His hands came up, not with violence, but with an effortless, crushing strength.

He pried Easter’s frantic grip from his collar, finger by finger, as if he were unwrapping a stubborn child's hands.

Once free, he didn't push Easter away. Instead, he yanked him forward, hard.

Easter gasped as he collided with Hill’s solid chest, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.

One of Hill’s arms banded around his back, locking him in place, while the other hand came up to grip his chin, forcing his head up, forcing him to meet that stormy gaze.

"My love," Hill murmured, his voice a deceptive caress that belied the steel in his grip. "My patience is very, very thin. Let's make this quick, alright?"

Easter struggled, a futile writhing against the unbreakable hold. "Let me go!"

"Your father," Hill stated, the words dropping like stones, "sold you to me."

The world stopped. Easter’s breath hitched, his struggles ceasing instantly. He stared up at Hill, his eyes wide with disbelief. "No," he whispered. "That's a lie. My father would never do that."

He managed to wrench his chin from Hill’s grip, pulling his head back as far as the imprisoning arm would allow. "He loved me! You're a liar!"

A flicker of something—pity? contempt?—crossed Hill's face.

Without a word, he released his hold on Easter's chin and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out his phone.

His movements were calm, deliberate. He tapped the screen a few times, his eyes never leaving Easter's horrified face, then turned the phone to show him.

It was a video.

The quality was crisp. There was his father, looking older and more haggard than Easter had ever seen him, sitting in a plush office that Easter recognized as Hill's study. The audio was clear.

"...the debt is insurmountable, Khonkaen. They'll kill me."

"There are other ways to settle a debt, Theerawong."Hill's voice, from behind the camera, was cold.

"I have nothing left! Nothing but..."His father’s voice broke, and he looked down at his hands. "My son. Easter. He's... he's beautiful. Well-bred. He could be... an asset to you. A companion. Take him. Consider the debt cleared."

The phone clattered to the carpet as Easter’s hands flew to his mouth, a choked sob escaping him.

He stared at the blank space where the video had been, his father's betrayal searing itself into his soul.

He felt the foundations of his entire world, every happy memory, crumble into dust.

Hill watched his pained expression, a strange, almost clinical detachment in his gaze.

He bent down, picked up the phone, and tucked it back into his pocket.

"Your father offered to sell you to me," Hill repeated, his voice low. "But... I didn't buy you."

Easter looked up, tears streaming down his face, confusion warring with the gut-wrenching hurt.

"In fact," Hill continued, his tone shifting, becoming almost introspective, "I liked you the first time you bumped into me in that cafe, spilling your latte all over my coat. You were flustered, and you apologized with those big, innocent eyes. You saw me as a man, not just a threat. It was... refreshing."

He reached out, his thumb wiping away a tear from Easter's cheek, the gesture shockingly gentle. "So, rather than buying you like a piece of property, I brought you here with dignity. As my spouse. I gave you my name, my protection. And you have the audacity to question me?"

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Your father's heart attack had nothing to do with me. He already had more investors going for his neck than he could count. It was only a matter of time before one of them killed him. I was the least of his problems."

Easter’s eyes were glossy, his mind reeling.

The narrative he had built—of Hill as the ruthless predator who destroyed his family—was fracturing, replaced by something far more complex and horrifying.

"And as for your brother," Hill said, his tone turning final, shutting down any further argument. "Johan barely pays anyone any attention. He finds most people tedious. If your brother caught his eye, truly caught it, there is nothing I can do about it. Johan is... his own law."

He finally released Easter, taking a step back.

Easter stood swaying, utterly broken, the fight gone out of him.

Hill looked him over, his expression hardening once more into its usual mask of cool command. "And don't think about messing with Johan," he warned, his voice laced with a seriousness Easter had never heard before. "Remember, he is not me. I have... rules. Johan has only whims."

With that final, chilling statement, Hill turned and walked towards the ensuite bathroom, leaving Easter alone in the middle of the room, his world shattered, his hope for saving North extinguished, and the devastating truth about his father's betrayal echoing in the silence.

____________***_____________

The university library was a cathedral of quiet, its silence broken only by the rustle of turning pages and the distant hum of the ventilation system.

Nao sat at their usual oak table, a fortress of scattered textbooks and half-empty coffee cups.

But the usual dynamic was off. The chair opposite him, North's chair, was conspicuously, terrifyingly empty.

Nao’s knee bounced under the table, a frantic, nervous rhythm that had been going on for over an hour.

He’d been staring at the same paragraph in his economics textbook, the words swimming meaninglessly in front of his eyes.

He finally slammed the book shut, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. "Tiger."

Tiger, who had been meticulously highlighting a legal text, didn't look up. He merely made a soft, non-committal sound in the back of his throat. "Hmm?"

"This isn't right," Nao insisted, his voice low but strained. "North didn't even text today. He didn't show up for Haas's lecture, and you know he never misses Haas. He said that one time it was like 'skipping a free lesson in advanced napping.'" Nao tried to force a laugh, but it came out as a dry, anxious cough. "I called him three times. It went straight to voicemail. All three times."

Tiger carefully capped his highlighter, his movements calm and precise. "His phone is likely dead. Or he is unwell." He finally looked up, his dark, placid eyes meeting Nao's worried gaze. "You are overreacting, Nao. He is an adult."

"An adult who vanished after his uncle reported him missing last night!" Nao hissed, leaning forward across the table. "Don't you get it? This isn't him being flaky. This is… something else. I have a bad feeling about this, Tiger. A really, really bad feeling."

He searched his friend's face for any sign of shared concern, any crack in that infuriatingly calm facade.

But Tiger's expression remained as unreadable as a still lake.

He simply picked up his pen again, as if the matter were settled.

"Remember that day?" Nao pressed, desperation creeping into his tone. "In the square? He looked like he'd seen a ghost. And then he got that text and blocked the number so fast… and that girl, Jah, he just cancelled on her out of the blue. Something's wrong. I know it."

"People have personal issues, Nao," Tiger replied, his voice even. "It is not always our business."

"It is when he's our friend!" Nao's voice rose slightly, earning a sharp "shhh" from a student at the next table. He lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "What if he's in trouble? What if someone… I don't know, what if that text was a threat?"

Tiger let out a slow, patient breath, as if explaining something to a child. "You have been playing too many of those mafia games. This is real life. He probably just had a family emergency and forgot to charge his phone."

Nao slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Tiger's logic was sound, but it did nothing to quell the cold dread coiling in his stomach.

His instincts were screaming that this was different.

It was then that the sound broke through the library's hush—a sleek, modern ringtone, vibrating against the wooden table.

Tiger's phone.

Nao watched as Tiger pulled the device from his pocket, his eyes flicking to the screen.

A subtle, almost imperceptible shift went through Tiger's body. His spine straightened just a fraction.

The placid disinterest in his eyes was instantly replaced by a sharp, focused attention.

"Who is it?" Nao asked, his curiosity piqued by Tiger's sudden change in demeanor. "Your mom? Is everything okay?"

Tiger didn't answer immediately. He stood up smoothly, chair scraping softly against the floor.

He slid the phone into his pocket, the screen now hidden from view. As he moved to walk away, he paused beside Nao's chair.

He looked down at Nao, and a slow, enigmatic smile touched his lips—a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

It was a knowing, secretive look that sent a completely different kind of chill down Nao's spine.

"Johan," Tiger said, the name dropping into the quiet space between them like a pebble into a deep, dark well.

And with that single, loaded word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps silent on the carpeted floor, leaving Nao alone and confused at the table.