Armin woke to the pale gray of early dawn filtering through the blinds.
The first thing he registered was the absence—the space beside him on the bed was empty, the sheets cool.
He reached out instinctively, his hand finding nothing but wrinkled fabric where Valerius’s body had been.
He sat up, blinking against the dim light.
The bedroom door was closed.
The estate was dead silent.
“Valerius?”
No answer.
The word hung in the air, thin and uncertain.
Armin swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
Padded out into the living room, his heart already pounding with a familiar, rising dread.
He hurried down the staircase and into the conversation pit.
Nobody.
Panic squeezed his chest tightly.
He turned and headed for the sitting room, practically running now.
For the first time, he hated how insanely huge the estate was.
The sitting room was empty, too.
Armin broke into a quiet sob.
“He left me again,” he whimpered, tears finally spilling free.
It was quiet for a few seconds and then, he heard it—soft music filtering from the kitchen.
He walked briskly toward the sound.
Behind the counter stood Valerius, wearing only black pants and a black apron tied around his waist.
His body swayed softly to the rhythm as he brewed fresh coffee beans.
Armin let out a massive, shuddering sigh of relief.
As if sensing his presence, Valerius turned around with a warm smile.
“Good morning, baby.” He walked toward Armin, but froze when he saw the tear-stained face.
His expression instantly contorted into deep worry.
“Why are you crying, Minmin? Are you hurt?”
“I thought you left me again!” Armin snapped, sniffing loudly.
Valerius’ gaze softened.
He stepped closer, cupping Armin’s face in his hands.
“Aren’t you such a sweet boy, hmm?” he murmured, gently pinching his cheeks apart.
Armin pushed his hands away, wiping his face dry.
“Why did you leave the bed?”
“I wanted to make you breakfast.” Valerius pulled out a barstool.
“Sit.”
Armin sat, murmuring, “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”
“I was going to serve you in bed after the coffee was ready, but you just happened to wake up first. Were you really going to brush before eating in bed?”
“Yes,” Armin sneered.
“You are cute even when you are being naughty and stubborn.”
“What? I’m not naughty.”
“Let last night speak for itself.”
Armin lowered his head, a burning embarrassment rushing through him as memories of the previous night flooded his mind.
Valerius smugly cleared his throat.
“Well, what do you say? Breakfast first, and then you can brush when you take your bath?”
Armin nodded, his chin still tucked against his shoulder.
“Coffee?” Valerius slid a cup in front of him.
Armin snapped his head away, scrunching his nose.
“Nay, thanks. It tastes bad.”
“Then I will add a cube of sugar for you,” Valerius said, turning toward the drawers.
“No, it will still taste like shit.”
“I see.” Valerius nodded slowly, as if processing a profound new fact.
He took a sip of his own coffee and walked to the stove to dish up the meal.
“You don’t mind a simple breakfast, right, Minmin?” He then proceeded to serve the exact opposite.
Before Armin sat a plate of golden-brown baked Liege waffles topped with crispy duck confit, a perfectly poached egg, and a drizzle of hot truffle honey.
It was paired with a delicate serving of caviar, microgreens, and a large platter of exotic fruits arranged like fine art.
Armin stared in absolute wonder.
“Caviar? You eat caviar for breakfast in this kind of quantity?”
“No… don’t, Minmin. That shit is overhyped.”
“Okay, okay,” Armin said, raising his hands in mock surrender.
“I get it, but Valerius, this isn’t a simple breakfast. I can never get used to this.”
“Why? Is it not to your liking?”
“No, I mean yes! I mean… do you always live like this?” Armin stuttered.
“Like what?”
“Like royalty?” Armin snapped up from his seat, pointing an accusing finger.
“Hold on a minute. Don’t tell me you are actually from a royal bloodline!”
“Sit down and eat your food, Minmin,” he said nonchalantly, pouring the juice into a glass.
Armin eyed the glass suspiciously.
Valerius noticed and let out a low, genuine laugh.
“It’s not alcohol, I promise.”
Armin stared at him in awe, the sound echoing pleasantly in his ears.
“You should laugh more often. It sounds so whimsical.”
The compliment hit a nerve.
Valerius suddenly stiffened, his smile vanishing as he quickly looked away.
The kitchen fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
“You’re not eating?” Armin asked after a tense minute.
Valerius didn’t reply, merely raising his coffee mug in response.
“Why do you cook lavish meals if you aren’t eating?” Armin pressed.
“Because I want to take care of you. And I enjoy cooking.”
“Like a hobby?”
Valerius seemed to ponder the question a little longer.
“You can say that,” he finally replied.
“Who taught you how to make things taste this delicious and look so exquisite?”
Valerius groaned tiredly.
“You talk too much, Minmin. Try the food. Let me know if you like it.”
Armin finally took a bite of everything, nearly groaning out loud at the flavors.
“Rius, this is the best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
Grinning, Valerius took a sip of his coffee, then walked around the kitchen island to sit directly next to him.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“You cook really tasty dishes. How did cooking actually become your hobby?”
“Someone I used to love hanging around with enjoyed cooking and trying out new recipes,” Valerius replied.
Armin instantly caught the sudden hollow, distant sadness in his eyes.
“A chef?” Armin asked.
Valerius forced a tight smile.
“Nope.”
“Your butler?”
“Try again,” Valerius teased gently.
“You don’t look like the type to even have friends,” Armin snorted, stabbing the poached egg and shoving the bite into his mouth.
“Your wife, or—”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth, Minmin.”
“Why?”
“Because gold diggers don’t do that.”
Armin scoffed loudly.
Valerius finished his coffee, stood up, and set the empty cup in the sink.
Fishing his phone from his trouser pocket, he tapped out a quick message, untied his apron, and walked back over to Armin.
He gently brushed a few stray strands of hair behind Armin’s ear.
“Get ready. We are going shopping.”
“For what?”
“Your phone and camera. Have you forgotten already?”
“Are you serious?”
“And you need to stock your wardrobe.” Valerius watched Armin chew, a faint smile returning to his face.
“I will be in my office… right there.” He pointed up toward the far end of the upper floor, just across the glass bridge spanning the middle of the house.
“Fucking ridiculous house,” Armin muttered under his breath.
“I can hear you.” Valerius pressed a quick kiss to Armin’s forehead and walked away.
Halfway out, he paused.
“And don’t do the dishes. Someone will take care of them.”
Armin watched his back until he disappeared out of view.
He returned to the bedroom after finishing his meal and cleaned himself up with a towel, only to realize a problem: he had nothing to wear.
Valerius had abducted him in his hospital robe.
Wrapping the towel securely around his waist, he headed toward Valerius’s office.
Who kidnaps people without preparing clothes for them to wear? he hissed quietly.
He walked down the stairs, crossed the living room, and took the lift to the third floor.
Walking across the glass bridge connecting the visitors’ section to the private quarters, he reached the office door and knocked softly.
The door slid open automatically.
He walked inside to find Valerius seated behind a polished mahogany desk.
He was dressed in black trousers and a crisp shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of reading glasses resting on his nose.
He placed a small remote control down on the desk.
“You don’t have to knock, you know? This is your home, too.”
“Then why don’t I have any clothes to wear in my own house?”
Valerius chuckled, standing up and walking around the desk to meet him.
He placed a firm hand around Armin’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest.
“Why are you barefoot?”
“I don’t have clothes on my body, and you are more concerned about my feet?”
“Who said I’m not concerned about your body?” Valerius suddenly scooped him effortlessly off the ground and into his arms.
Armin yelped, instinctively throwing his arms around Valerius’s neck.
Valerius pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Your body is mine, sweetheart. The source of this chapter is g.com. And I’m going to pamper it. Now, let’s get you dressed.”
Armin stayed calm in Valerius’s arms as he was carried to another bedroom, directly opposite the one they had slept in the previous night.
Valerius placed him down gently on the edge of the mattress, then squatted on one knee in front of him.
“How is your injury?” he asked, pointing toward Armin’s bandage-wrapped ribs.
“It doesn’t hurt much, but it still hurts,” Armin replied.
Valerius nodded, walked into the adjoining walk-in closet, and returned with a pair of white sneakers and a neatly folded pile of clothes.
“Do you want me to dress you?”
“My ribs are fractured, but my hands work just fine,” Armin retorted, snatching the clothes from Valerius’ grip.
He stood frozen with the fabric in his hands for a few seconds before snapping, “Well? Aren’t you leaving so I can change?”
“What?” Valerius looked thoroughly amused.
“I’ve seen everything I need to see, and you know it.”
“Get out!” Armin pointed a stern finger at the door.
“Sweetness, don’t be a grumpy old cat.”
“Get out, or I will go back to my room.”
“Fine!” Valerius sighed in mock surrender, raising his hands as he backed out of the room.
Once alone, Armin unfolded the clothes: a pair of wide cargo jeans and a cropped white t-shirt.
It was a surprisingly casual outfit for a man who lived like royalty.
Then, reality hit him.
There was no underwear.
Why was Valerius making his life so difficult?
He flung the clothes onto the bed and tugged at his hair, groaning in frustration.
Hoping to find a spare pair of boxers, he walked into the closet—and stopped dead in his tracks.
He was stunned.
It was a ridiculous, two-story closet lined with dark artwork hanging along the walls.
It looked less like a wardrobe and more like a luxury boutique owned by a moody artist.
Armin walked deeper into the space, running his eyes over the racks.
Finely tailored suits, tuxedos, long overcoats, short jackets… and even capes?
What truly caught his attention, however, was the color palette.
Everything was black.
There wasn’t a single pop of color among the clothes, the shoes, or even the ties.
Armin vividly remembered the first day he met Valerius in the gold-rimmed mirror bedroom; the man had been wearing a red robe.
But thinking back, every other time he had seen him, Valerius was dressed entirely in black.
The sudden realization made the pit of his stomach twist with an inexplicable unease.
Just as he decided to leave the room, a vase of black roses sitting beautifully on a black-and-white marbled island caught his eye.
He walked toward it, his fingers brushing the delicate, velvet petals of a single bud.
Nestled right in front of the vase was a small, framed photograph.
Armin picked it up.
The picture captured a woman in her twenties.
She possessed literal black eyes, raven hair, and a bitter, haunting facial expression.
The photograph seemed to hold a strange, magnetic power.
Cold goosebumps broke out across Armin’s arms.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and a loud, high-pitched ringing filled his ears.
“What are you doing here?” an ice-cold voice whispered right behind his ear.
Armin yelped, jumping back in terrific fright.
The framed picture slipped from his hands, hitting the floor with a loud crash as the glass shattered in every direction.
Armin spun around.
It was Valerius—but the voice had sounded nothing like him.
His head was hung low, cast in shadow, hiding his features.
He bent over and began picking up the shards of broken glass.
“I’m sorry,” Armin stammered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
“The photo… it looked haunting.”
Valerius looked up.
His face was twisted into a bitter, venomous expression that perfectly mirrored the woman in the photograph.
His fist was clenched tightly around the broken glass.
Armin looked down, gasping as he noticed blood oozing from a deep cut in Valerius’s palm.
Yet, the man didn’t flinch.
He didn’t seem to feel the pain at all.
“Give me that damned photograph, you’re hurting yourself—” Armin stepped forward, reaching out to stop him.
A dangerously quiet, low growl vibrated through the air.
The sound was so primal, so predatory, that it stopped Armin dead in his tracks.
Slowly, terrifyingly, Valerius lifted his head.
Armin’s breath caught in his throat.
Standing before him was a completely different person.
Valerius’ eyes had turned completely black, void of any whites.
Raven-black hair now cascaded all the way down to his waist.
Elongated fangs pushed past his lips, his fingernails had sharpened into wicked claws, and his skin had turned a deathly, translucent pale.
A dark, prominent vein throbbed violently in the center of his forehead.
Armin staggered backward, his eyes wide, completely speechless.
Fear paralyzed his muscles.
Valerius tilted his neck with a jerky, unnatural rhythm—like a dangerous reptile tracking its prey.
Locking his pitch-black stare squarely onto Armin’s face, he commanded in a low voice:
“Run.”
Run!
What other secret is Valerius hiding?
Let’s unfold the moments together in the upcoming chapters.
Thank you all for support, it really means a lot to me.