Kelvin tried to sit up, but a sharp spike of pain shot through his ribs, making him gasp.
He collapsed back onto the pillows, his mind racing.
The last thing he remembered was the bar.
The whiskey.
The bartender’s, knowing eyes.
And then…
nothing.
He looked down at himself and his blood turned to ice.
His dress.
The zipper was undone.
Halfway down his back, the fabric gaping open, exposing the bindings wrapped around his chest.
‘Oh God.
Oh God.
Oh God.’ Someone had been undressing him.
Kelvin’s heart slammed against his ribs, a cold wave of panic washing over him.
‘They know.
They found out.
Someone knows I’m a man.
They’ve probably already called the police.
They’re probably waiting for me to wake up so they can arrest me for fraud.’ He scrambled off the bed, his legs wobbling beneath him.
The room spun, the lingering effects of the alcohol still clouding his mind, but adrenaline pushed him forward.
He fumbled with the zipper, yanking it up with trembling fingers, sealing the dress closed.
He had to get out.
Now.
He stumbled toward the door, his bare feet cold against the carpet.
He pressed his ear against the wood, listening.
Silence.
He cracked the door open, peering into the hallway.
Empty.
He slipped out, closing the door softly behind him.
The hallway was long and lined with doors, paintings, and ornate sconces.
The decor was achingly familiar—dark wood, muted colors, classical elegance.
It looked like the Morrowgate estate.
But this hallway wasn’t one Kelvin recognized.
In the two days he’d lived in Alexander’s house, he’d tried to memorized the layout of the west wing, where his room was located.
But this place—with its different paintings, different furniture, different perspective—felt foreign.
‘Where am I?’ He walked cautiously, his bare feet silent against the floor.
His head throbbed, his vision swimming in and out of focus.
The whiskey was still in his system, dulling his senses, making everything feel like a dream.
He turned a corner.
Another hallway.
Another set of doors.
He was lost.
Completely, utterly lost in a mansion he was supposed to be trapped in.
Then he heard voices.
He froze, pressing himself against the wall.
The voices were coming from up ahead, from a room with double doors slightly ajar.
Light spilled out into the hallway, along with the sound of conversation.
He crept closer, his heart pounding so loud he was sure it would give him away.
He peered through the gap in the doors.
His blood turned to ice.
It was the living room.
And standing in the middle of it, facing each other like two wolves circling for a kill, were Alexander Morrowgate and King Morrowgate.
Kelvin’s breath caught in his throat.
He pressed himself flat against the wall, his back to the cold wood, praying they hadn’t seen him.
“Get out.
I don’t have time for this,” Alexander was saying, his voice sharp and impatient.
“If you have nothing meaningful to say, King, then I suggest you leave.
I have things to attend to.” King chuckled, that low, infuriating sound that seemed to be his signature.
“Always so busy, little brother.
Always so important.
Tell me, is it business keeping you occupied?
Or is it that pretty little fiancée of yours?” “My fiancée is none of your concern.” “Oh, but I’m making her my concern.” King’s voice dropped, taking on a dangerous edge.
“You see, I find her fascinating.
There’s something about her that doesn’t quite add up.
Something you’re hiding.” “There’s nothing to hide.” “Everyone has something to hide, Alexander.
Even you.” Kelvin’s heart was hammering so hard he thought it might burst through his ribs.
‘He knows.
King knows something.
He’s suspicious.
Oh God, oh God, oh God—’ He took a step back, trying to retreat, trying to find a way out before they noticed him.
But his foot caught on the edge of a rug, and he stumbled, his shoulder slamming against the wall with a dull ‘thump.’ The voices stopped.
Kelvin froze.
“Did you hear that?” King’s voice, smooth and amused.
Alexander’s footsteps.
Heavy.
Approaching.
Kelvin closed his eyes, bracing himself.
The door swung open, and Alexander’s tall, imposing figure filled the doorway.
His eyes landed on Kelvin immediately, narrowing.
“Kelly.” The single word was ice cold.
Kelvin’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
He stood there, frozen, his dress rumpled, his wig slightly askew, his face a mess of bruises and bandages.
He looked like a ghost—pale, trembling, caught in the act of something he couldn’t explain.
And then King appeared behind Alexander, his smirk widening like a cat who had found a mouse.
“Well, well,” King said, his voice dripping with amusement.
“Look who’s finally awake.” Alexander turned sharply, his body tense.
“Don’t talk to her.” King raised his hands in surrender, palms up, his smirk never fading.
“I’m just greeting your fiancée.
Is that a crime?” “Don’t.
Talk.
To.
Her.” The words were clipped, each one landing like a hammer blow.
King tilted his head, studying Alexander with an expression of mock curiosity, then let out a soft laugh.
“Fine.
Fine.
I’ll leave.” He stepped around Alexander, his eyes locking onto Kelvin.
He walked closer until he was standing right in front of him, close enough that Kelvin could smell the whiskey on his breath and see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
“Take care of yourself better,” King said, his voice soft, almost intimate.
“You seem like a fragile thing.
It would be a shame if something happened to you.” He reached out and, before Kelvin could react, tucked a strand of hair behind Kelvin’s ear—a gesture so tender and possessive that it made Kelvin’s skin crawl.
Then he pulled back, smiled, and walked away.
Kelvin stood there, frozen, his heart in his throat, as King’s footsteps echoed down the hallway and faded into silence.
Alexander strode past him, his face a mask of barely controlled fury.
“He’s gone.
Come with me.” Kelvin blinked, still disoriented.
“W-what?” “I said, come with me.” Alexander grabbed his wrist—not roughly, but firmly—and pulled him out of the doorway and down the hallway.
Kelvin stumbled after him, his mind reeling.
“Wait—Alexander—I can explain—” “In my room.” “But I—” “In.
My.
Room.” Alexander didn’t stop until they reached a door at the end of the hallway.
He pushed it open and stepped inside, pulling Kelvin in after him.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Kelvin found himself standing in the middle of what he now realized was the master bedroom.
The bed where he had woken up.
The room where someone had started to undress him.
Panic surged through him again.
“I can explain—” “Good,” Alexander said, his voice flat.
“Because I’m listening.” To be continued…