Ren’s heart was beating so loudly that even his own ears heard it loud and clear.

His gaze traveled to Cilian’s hands—the same hands that had shot a missed shot at Dennis, but a perfect aim at three more heads, the same hands that had touched Ren, and the same hands that had, according to Dennis, opened the gate.

"Was it worth all that blood?" Ren whispered.

Whatever Cilian had been searching for in the wreckage of the Pierce estate, he had paved the road to it with corpses. And Ren saw no justification.

The ’Hard Heart’ inside Ren felt cold and hollow. There was no triumph in the silence, only the realization that he was bound to a madman whose reasons were buried deeper than the bodies he’d left behind.

Ren didn’t move. He sat in the chair, silently watching the rise and fall of the Alpha’s chest. He would wait for the morning. He would wait until that very moment when he would get the answers he was seeking.

But the morning didn’t come with answered secrets, and it definitely didn’t come with peace of mind.

And so did the following days. It was a nightmare.

In the days that followed the shooting, Ren had every urge to stuff Cilian in a heavy bag and toss him over the highest point of the roof.

Not only did an opportunity to ask him questions not arise, but he also played the role of a ’nanny’.

After Ren finally convinced Cilian to wear a medical brace—mostly so the man would stop bleeding on the expensive sheets and causing Ren to stitch him every single time—Cilian became an absolute nightmare.

He was persistent, annoying, and seemed to have forgotten how to use his own legs or hands for anything that didn’t involve pestering Ren. Every five minutes, that melodic, grating voice would drift through the suite:

"Ren, I need to take off my clothes... the brace is itchy."

"Ren, I’m hungry. This broth is cold."

"Ren, I feel a chill. Come warm me up with your body. It’s for my recovery, darling."

"Ren, my shoulder aches. Rub my arm. Not that spot—lower. Yes, there. Don’t stop."

"Ren, the pillows are lumpy. Fix them."

"Ren." "Ren." "Ren."

It was a constant tapping on Ren’s sanity, and he was nearly losing his mind. He wanted to be away from the man for just one minute. No, even a single second to breathe without those provoking eyes tracking his every movement like a hawk watching a mouse.

But when the moment finally came, it wasn’t the relief Ren expected.

On the seventh day, the ’nanny’ routine finally ended. Ren was in the middle of re-adjusting the medical brace for the tenth time that hour, his fingers fumbling with the stubborn velcro, when Cilian reached out with his good hand and caught Ren’s wrist.

Ren scowled, his gaze snapping up to meet the infuriating beam on Cilian’s face. It was a look of pure satisfaction, the kind that made Ren want to tighten the brace until the Alpha turned blue in the face.

"What do you—?

"Thank you, darling," Cilian interrupted with a murmur, his thumb tracing a line over the pulse point in Ren’s wrist. "You’ve been taking such good care of me. I might actually miss this."

Ren’s scowl deepened. He knew that tone. It was the ’calm before the storm’ voice, the one that usually preceded a new demand or a fresh indignity. He waited for the catch, his heart already starting that heavy, familiar thud against his ribs.

"But," Cilian continued, his gold-brown eyes glinting with a sharp, predatory light, "I think I’ll be out of your hair for a few days. I have a business trip to attend to. High-level negotiations that require my... personal touch. So, it’s too bad, but I can’t play with you for much longer, Ren." he kissed the pulse point.

Ren paused, his body going rigid for a moment.

His mind flashed back to a muffled phone call he’d overheard earlier that morning while he was fetching Cilian’s water—something about ’offshore accounts’ and ’securing the perimeter.’ He’d wondered then if Cilian was planning a move against the names Dennis had given him. But a business trip?

"A business trip?" Ren repeated, his voice flat.

"Yes. It’s a delicate matter. I’d leave you here with the silence you prefer, but I suspect you’d find a way to burn the house down just for the entertainment." He laughed, but Ren did not find it funny.

His insides churned. The thought of being left alone in this mausoleum of a house felt like being buried alive. He hated Cilian, but the silence of the Vane estate was a different kind of torture. It was a vacuum where the ghosts of the Pierce family screamed the loudest.

And he did not want to spend an unknown period of time in a place like this.

He forced himself to look down, his hair shielding his eyes as he leaned into the role.

"Take me with you."

Cilian tilted his head back, and the air in the room suddenly felt electric, heavy with tension from just his words.

"And why would I do that, Ren?" Cilian’s voice was a low, dangerous purr. "I thought you were counting the seconds until I finally stepped out the door."

"You stepping out the door and you going out on a business trip are two different things," he muttered, but still didn’t look into Cilian’s eyes. "It’s too long," he murmured.

Cilain blinked and then felt he was getting onto something. He inclined his head even more, planning to tease Ren even more when Ren blurted out the last thing he thought he would hear.

"I don’t want to be away from you," Ren forced out, the lie feeling like a hot coal in his throat. He finally looked up, meeting Cilian’s gaze with a desperate, practiced vulnerability. "This house... It’s too big. I don’t want to stay here alone, Cilian. Please, take me with you."

Cilian watched him for a long, agonizing moment, searching for the crack in the mask with surprise on his own face.

He watched how Ren’s face warmed up after his confession, and how he struggled to remain in eye contact when Cilian wasn’t saying anything. Then, a slow, genuine smile—one that lacked its usual mockery—spread across Cilian’s face.

"You don’t want to be away from me?" Cilian whispered. "If that’s the case, then go pack. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my most ’dedicated’ caretaker behind anyway."

Ren gulped, wondering if he had dug his own grave, but it was fine.

"I don’t think I have anything to pack," he said. He’s never really looked in his wardrobe since Mary was the one who helped with most of that.

"Nonsense," Cilian laughed and then called out. "Someone tell Mary to pack Ren’s bags." Ren flinched, and then Cilian grinned like a fox, his mischievous eyes meeting Ren’s again. "We’ll be going on a little honeymoon."

"Honeymoon? Don’t call it that," Ren’s face flushed even harder, his heart hammering uncomfortably in his chest in betrayal, but Cilian laughed heartily at it, not until Ren tightened the Velcro strap of the brace and made him choke from the sudden tightness.

Ren cleared his throat and then got up, straightening his shirt as he acted like he didn’t just almost cut off the Alpha’s circulation.

"Then I’ll get going now," he muttered, not waiting for a response as he headed out.

"Goodnight, Ren," he cooed. "Sweet dreams. Make sure to dream about me."

But Ren simply gave him the middle finger without looking back, and Cilian laughed. "Adorable,"

Cilian watched his back as he walked away, the playful smile lingering on his lips a moment longer until his eyes fell on the collar. His gaze narrowed, the gold-brown depths darkening into something contemplative and sharp.