The doorman’s eyes tracked me like a security camera as I shuffled across the gleaming marble lobby. The cardboard box in my arms threatened to split at any moment.
The look shouldn’t have bothered me. As a kid from the wrong side of the tracks—the wrong side of life, really—I’d been dealing with that side-eyed weariness all my life. But it did this time. It made me feel awkward and like I needed to squirm out of my own skin.
It was obvious that I didn’t belong here. I was too young for a place like this, too rough around the edges and undoubtedly poor. My ratty Converse squeaked against floors so polished I could practically count my pores in their reflection.
“Holy shit, Jay,” Kenzie whispered. Their pink hair was a shock of color in the otherwise white and glass foyer. Kenzie craned their neck to take in the soaring ceiling and crystal chandelier which were both things I was stubbornly trying to ignore. I didn’t want to look like I was impressed or gawking. It would only make the security guard’s displeasure feel more pronounced. “I can’t believe this is real. Your sugar daddy is basically a real estate god.”
I flinched at the term. “He’s not—“ I started, then stopped. What was the point? Benefactor, sugar daddy, Dom… none of those words captured what Silas was to me now.
The only word that seemed to fit was owner.
“I mean, this place must cost more per month than I make in a year,” Kenzie continued, their voice echoing a bit too loudly in the marble vastness. They adjusted the pathetically light duffel bag containing everything I hadn’t pawned or abandoned—clothes mostly, a few books and trinkets I’d picked up over the years. I watched them gawk at the ceiling again, completely blind to how each word dug under my skin. “And he’s just, what, letting you live here because you bat your eyelashes and say ‘yes, sir’ occasionally?”
My throat tightened. There was so much I couldn’t explain to Kenzie. They knew there was a contract involved, but they didn’t know how deep it went. They had no clue about all the rules or the way Silas treated me like a possession. Or the darker truth—that I liked it.
“Something like that,” I muttered, dropping my gaze to the floor’s glossy surface. Even my reflection looked out of place here.
The doorman cleared his throat pointedly, and I felt heat crawl up my neck.
I forced a smile, fighting the urge to melt into the floor. That was Kenzie—all the subtlety of a sledgehammer wrapped in neon and studs. They’d been the one who’d convinced me to sign up for The Concordance in the first place, but I doubted they’d pictured this outcome: me moving into a high-rise that no doubt had a waiting list longer than my rap sheet, courtesy of a Dom who owned half of Chicago.
“Could you maybe not broadcast my situation to the entire building?” I hissed, noticing how the doorman’s eyebrows had practically disappeared into his hairline. “I have to live here, you know.”
Not that it mattered. I had the feeling they all knew exactly what I did to get the keys to this place, given what Declan, Silas’s assistant, had said to me yesterday.
Declan had looked at me like I might contaminate the very air when he’d handed over the key fob, his fingers curled in a way that ensured we wouldn’t touch. “Mr. Burch expects you to treat this property with care. The building staff have been informed of your… association.”
Association. The word still sat in my stomach like a rock. Association. Like I was a business deal or a tax write-off.
I’d wanted to ask what exactly that meant. Had Silas introduced me as his sub? His kept boy? The twink he fucked when he felt like it? Instead, I’d just nodded and pocketed the fob, because what was I going to do—argue?
At least I had somewhere to go. Marco was flying back next week, and Kenzie’s sublet had an expiration date stamped on it. Without Silas, I’d have been looking at shelters again or sleeping on the Blue Line until some cop kicked me off.
So yeah. Saved.
But saved into what, exactly?
I’d never seen the apartment. Silas had told me the address and the floor, nothing more, and Declan had met me in a cafe close to home to hand over the keys. I’d been too scared to come and see the place last night, and so I’d waited until today—Saturday; move-in day, as designated by Silas—so I could have Kenzie with me. For all I knew, it could be some sterile bachelor pad with leather furniture and abstract art I’d be too terrified to touch.
My pulse kicked up a notch, and I felt the health monitor on my wrist buzz faintly in response. Great. Now Silas would know I was nervous.
I shifted the box in my arms and headed toward the elevator bank, Kenzie trailing behind me.
“You good?” they asked, quieter now.
“Yeah.” I wasn’t. I was walking into a life that didn’t fit, wearing a cock cage I couldn’t take off, about to live in a space I hadn’t earned. But none of that mattered. This was the deal. This was what I’d signed up for.
I just hoped the apartment wasn’t so over the top that I’d feel like a stray cat someone had dragged in from the alley.
Though knowing Silas, that was undoubtedly the point.
I fumbled in my pocket for the key fob, painfully aware of how I must look to the doorman in his crisp uniform. Nineteen, with unruly hair, thrift store clothes, and a stick-and-poke tattoo peeking out from under my sleeve. I was the very picture of someone who belonged seventeen floors below street level, not about to ascend seventeen floors above it.
The elevator couldn’t come fast enough, and when it did, I almost groaned when I stepped inside. It was mirrored on all sides, forcing me to confront my reflection from every angle. I looked small, hunched around my cardboard box of belongings like it might shield me from the reality of what I’d agreed to.
“So this is what selling your soul looks like,” I murmured to my reflection.
Kenzie snorted. “Please. If this is hell, sign me up.”
