Cilian’s face was literally glowing in excitement that the sweat rolling down his face seemed to glow like crystals, his heart racing so fast Ren could feel the pulse through his chest.

He wasn’t just aroused; he was happy. He was delighted that Ren had finally cried for him, seeing the tears not as a sign of fear, but as a deeper connection—a break in the wall of cold disgust Ren had maintained since the auction.

To Cilian, these emotions were a victory.

They made Ren’s scent thicken and bloom, the lavender turning sharp and sweet in a way that made Cilian’s pheromones smell even more perfect, filling the room with a heavy, intoxicating frost.

Cilian let out a low, ragged groan into the curve of Ren’s neck, his self-control fraying. He leaned down and bit Ren’s shoulder, a sharp, possessive mark that would serve as a reminder of their sinful night.

But it wasn’t deep enough. He wished he could leave a deeper mark, one that would mark Ren as his forever, but he didn’t do it. Not yet, he thought. It wasn’t the time yet. Ren wasn’t ready.

When Cilian pulled back, opening his eyes to take a look at Ren’s face, he paused as he caught Ren watching him.

Ren’s eyes were still wet, his breath coming in shallow hitches as he stared at the flushed, intoxicated expression on Cilian’s face. He wasn’t looking out of interest or desire; it was a dazed, hollow stare, but Cilian didn’t care about the reason.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Cilian whispered, his fox eyes glittering with dark pleasure.

Ren stayed silent for a moment, but then he rolled his eyes away. Why was he looking? He wondered but couldn’t find the answer, so he said,

"Just because," his voice sounded distant even to his own ears. A pathetic excuse.

Cilian’s chest vibrated with a soft, delighted chuckle. "Just because?" There was no way Ren would stare at him with such eyes just because. "How cute." He mused.

He didn’t wait for Ren to retract the statement and leaned in to capture Ren’s lips again, the kiss now lacking the violence of the car but carrying a heavy, suffocating possessiveness.

He tasted the salt of Ren’s tears and the copper of his own blood, drowning in the sensation of having Ren finally broken and trembling in his arms.

Cilian began to move again, his hips thrusting back and forth as the friction brought him to his limit. He loved Ren’s scent filling the air, his pillow, and surrounding them, so much that he got lost in the pleasure and lost the perfect composure he was known for.

His face was a mess, flushed, wrecked, delighted...

"This is the best night I’ve ever had since that night," he said, his voice uneven as he thrust them back into an unwanted memory lane... one Ren had tried so hard to bury in hate.

That night, both of them had been so undone, feverish red, oozing their Pheromones everywhere, and moaning so much that they nearly sounded like broken recorders.

But the highlight of that night wasn’t just the moans and the physicality; it was the words Ren had said, the confession of his heart that prompted Cilian to go down the lane he did.

The trigger for the disaster.

"Ngh," The veins around his neck crawled boldly, as his desire reached its peak.

He gripped Ren’s legs tightly together and finally blew his semen over Ren’s skin.

A long, vibrating grunt left his chest, his shoulders shaking until the last of the tension drained out of him.

He didn’t move away immediately. He stayed there, his heart hammering against Ren’s ribs, before he reached up to caress Ren’s chin with a trembling hand.

Slowly, Cilian dropped his heavy, exhausted body onto Ren, burying his face in the crook of Ren’s neck.

"Ren," he called, his voice smooth and soft that it sounded melodic, devoid of the sharp edge it usually carried. "My Ren." He repeated, a genuine smile spreading on his lips.

He called Ren’s name a few more times, saying it like a silent prayer, one that he desperately wished for Ren to answer, and when he stopped, silence filled the master suite.

He had fallen asleep, and even in sleep, Cilian’s arm remained draped over Ren’s waist, feeling more like a shackle than an embrace.

Ren simply lay there, staring at the dark green ceiling, listening to his own heart thumping as he endured the weight of this man who loved him enough to destroy everything he cared about and, in the end, break him.

The shame of his own body’s betrayal—the way it had responded to the very man he vowed to kill—sat like lead in his stomach.

He tried to shift, to perhaps find a pocket of space where he didn’t have to feel Cilian’s heart beating against his side, but the movement only caused Cilian to grunt softly and tighten his grip, pulling Ren closer even in his unconscious state.

Ren surrendered since he couldn’t push Cilian away, and his own eyes finally drifted shut. He was exhausted, drained of every ounce of fight and spite he had carried through the gala. As sleep pulled him under, his last conscious thought was of that night two years ago—the night he had opened his heart and inadvertently handed Cilian the map to his destruction.