Not the smell of Caesar's skin lingering on his own, not the suffocating silence that always followed a storm, and definitely not Caesar's twisted attempts at affection. His chest felt like it was caving in — heart thudding violently against his ribs like it was trying to escape, just like he was.
He turned abruptly, storming toward the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.
Click.
The sound of the lock felt final.
Inside, he gripped the sink so hard the porcelain creaked under his hands. He stared into the mirror — at the swollen lips, the tired eyes, the flush still lingering on his cheeks, the marks across his neck and collarbones like art made from sin. The more he looked, the more disgusted he became. Not with Caesar.
With himself.
Back in the bedroom, Caesar let out a low, satisfied chuckle. He laid back onto the bed like a man who'd just finished a five-star meal, leisurely reaching for the platter of fruits on the bedside table. He popped a grape into his mouth, chewing slowly, eyes half-lidded. The room still smelled of sweat and desperation, and he loved it.
"Poor baby," Caesar murmured under his breath, staring at the closed bathroom door with a sly smirk. "He's so dramatic."
Meanwhile, halfway across the world...
In the cold, high-rise heart of Moscow, the office was dimly lit — just the cold glow of a laptop screen and the faint amber flicker from a glass of whiskey catching the light.
Yevgeni sat at his desk, fingers tented under his chin, his expression unreadable. He was a man carved from war and ice, his presence alone enough to make trained killers hesitate.
His phone buzzed. Once. Twice.
An unknown number.
Yevgeni narrowed his eyes. Normally, he wouldn't bother. But something — a gut instinct hardened by decades of blood and betrayal — made him tap it open.
1 New Message.
There was no text. Just a video file.
He hit play.
At first, the screen was dark, grainy. Then it flickered to life.
And everything stopped.
There, on the screen, was his son.
Eun-jae — bare, vulnerable, straddling none other than Caesar. Moaning, panting, clawing at Caesar's chest, his head thrown back in ecstasy. Caesar was gripping Eun-jae's waist tightly, kissing him like he owned every inch of him, licking along his jaw, biting at his throat possessively. Their bodies moved together like they had done this a thousand times before.
And through all of it — Caesar's eyes stared straight into the camera.
Unblinking. Grinning.
Mocking.
The footage didn't stop there.
It cut to images — obscene, unholy.
Eun-jae sprawled out on the bed, flushed and wrecked. Caesar's semen smeared across his face, dripping down his chest. Photos — each more humiliating than the last — each one edited for maximum cruelty.
The video ended with Caesar leaning into the lens, lips brushing against it as he whispered:
"He's mine now."
The phone slipped from Yevgeni's hand.
It crashed into the far wall, shattering with a violent smash that echoed through the room.
Yevgeni didn't move. He sat frozen, his breath heavy, his eyes wide with something far worse than rage — disbelief.
His chest heaved.
Then the fury caught up.
"Caesar... you bastard," he growled, voice low and murderous. His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. "I'll skin you alive."
The office door flew open.
One of his men, tall and in black tactical wear, stepped in, gun half-raised in instinct. "Sir?! I heard something break. Are you—"
"I'm fine," Yevgeni snapped, not even turning to look at him.
"Yes, sir…" the soldier replied cautiously, glancing at the shattered mess of the phone in the corner.
Yevgeni's fingers curled into a fist against the table. "Report. Did you find anything today? Any leads?"
The man stiffened, stepping forward with a clipboard. "Yes, but it's strange. We traced Caesar's last known activity — and there's nothing recent in Moscow. No transactions, no surveillance footage, not even airport departures. It's like he vanished."
"Vanished?" Yevgeni hissed.
"Not a trace. I even tapped into international flight data using his aliases. He didn't use any of his known identities. No border records. Either he used an unregistered private aircraft… or he's hiding in a place completely off the grid."
Yevgeni stood up suddenly, eyes burning with a storm that had no name.
"Then find the goddamn grid."
The man nodded quickly, stepping back.
"I want every asset we have — hackers, smugglers, underground brokers — everyone. I want every inch of this planet scanned. Satellites, private island registries, ex-military flight paths. I don't care if you have to interrogate the fucking birds in the sky. I want Caesar found."
He paused, his voice dropping to a deathly whisper.
"And when you find him… you bring my son back."
Caesar stood just outside the bedroom, in the dimly lit hallway lined with cold marble and towering windows draped in heavy silk. He leaned against the wall casually, the phone pressed to his ear, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black slacks. His posture screamed ease, but his eyes—those icy, calculating eyes—were sharp, alert, always watching.
"Is it today?" he asked, his voice low and nonchalant. "They're testing Voron?"
The voice on the other end scoffed. "Yeah, it's today. Haven't you even bothered to check your messages, Your Highness?"
Caesar smirked, shifting the phone to his other ear. "You wound me, Vseslav. I thought you'd be honored that I keep my phone dry and untouched in the presence of such… captivating company."
"Most of everyone is already here," Vseslav said, impatient. "We're waiting on you. Again."
"Oh? Really?" Caesar hummed, a grin blooming on his face. "I'm that important? Stop, I'm blushing."
"Shut the hell up and get your ass here," Vseslav growled, then promptly hung up.
Caesar lowered the phone with a soft chuckle, letting it dangle between his fingers.
Unbeknownst to him—at least at first—Eun-jae was standing behind the door, cracked just an inch open. His breath was shallow, barely audible. He stood barefoot, pressed against the frame, listening intently.
"Voron…" he whispered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "Right… I remember that name."
His memory darted back—like a violent flash. That mission. The one that started out clean but ended in chaos. A weapon in development, too unstable to be used. Malfunctioning tech. Bodies falling one by one. It had to be the same.
His pulse began to race.
"They're testing it today?"
The moment he heard footsteps approaching, Eun-jae's body snapped into motion. He darted back into the bathroom and slammed the door shut softly, locking it with trembling fingers. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared at his reflection again. This time, it wasn't shame he saw—but rage. A quiet, controlled fire brewing in his gaze.
Meanwhile, Caesar entered the room.
He paused.
The air was heavy with silence, but it didn't fool him. His eyes flicked briefly to the bathroom door. He hadn't missed the shift of air from the door cracking shut. He hadn't missed the faint creak of a floorboard.
A knowing smirk played on his lips.
"Curious kitten," he muttered, chuckling softly to himself. "How cute. Always listening where he shouldn't."
He strolled across the room, humming low under his breath. He opened the door to the dressing room—a lavish space lined with rows of tailored suits, military-grade tactical gear, and drawers full of gold-plated watches and knives polished like jewels.
He reached for the centerpiece: a heavy grey fur coat, draped regally over a hanger carved from obsidian.
The coat looked like it belonged to a man who dined with kings and slit throats between courses. It was long, luxurious, and tailored to fit Caesar's tall frame like it was molded to his bones. The fur was thick, soft like storm clouds, but held the weight and gravity of dominance. He pulled it over his black turtleneck and zipped leather vest, adjusting the collar with a slow, precise movement.
In the mirror, he looked untouchable.
A king. A devil. An emperor dressed for war.
He adjusted his gloves and took his time fixing the strap of his side holster, sliding a sleek, engraved pistol into place before checking the sight. His reflection smirked back at him, cold and in control.
"I suppose it's time to go play with the big boys," he murmured, then paused. He tilted his head toward the bathroom. "But not before I say goodbye to my precious omega…"
He walked over and knocked gently, the sound light but intentional.
"Eun-jae," he said, voice dripping with honey and poison. "You don't have to hide, love. I know you were listening. I don't mind—curiosity is such an attractive trait in a mate."
Silence.
He smiled wider, his tone lowering as he leaned closer to the door.
"Voron's just a toy, darling. Something for very bad men to play with. It's not your concern... unless you want it to be." His voice grew darker, more velvet, more dangerous. "I could show you. Let you see just how devastating power can be when it's in the right hands. My hands."
A pause. Then he chuckled lowly.
"You're still so angry with me. So fierce. So dramatic. And yet... you stay." He let the words hang in the air like smoke. "It's adorable, really."
No answer.
"Don't miss me too much while I'm gone," he added playfully, then turned on his heel.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And just like that, the wolf disappeared into the cold corridor of his empire.
As soon as Eun-jae heard the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of the helicopter blades slicing through the cold island air, fading into the distance like the breath of a vanishing monster, he stepped out of the bathroom.
His bare feet touched the warm floor, and the silence hit him like a wave. The heavy scent of Caesar's cologne still lingered in the room—spice, gunmetal, something faintly floral—but the storm had finally passed, if only temporarily.
He let out a long, weighted sigh. His shoulders slumped, as if dropping invisible armor he'd been wearing too long. Then, his eyes sharpened. His lips pressed into a firm line. That little flicker of resolve—the one he thought Caesar had burned out of him—ignited again.
"Right," he muttered under his breath, brushing a hand through his still-damp hair. "I need answers."
His mind was already shifting gears—from the emotionally wrecked omega Caesar tried to mold, back to the trained intelligence operative he was before all of this madness began.
He padded quietly down the marble stairs, every creak and echo hyper-mapped in his brain. His senses were dialed in, hyper-aware. The hallway, the corners, the security cameras—he noted them all like he used to back during infiltration drills. No matter how gilded or luxurious Caesar's so-called paradise was, Eun-jae knew a prison when he saw one.
As he entered the sprawling, chrome-heavy kitchen, he moved almost silently. His fingers went to work automatically, pulling out instant ramen from the pantry and placing a pot on the stove. Water boiled. Steam rose. But his eyes weren't on the food—he was thinking.
"That night... at Alexei's place."
His hands paused, mid-stir.
"That week... when Caesar wouldn't stop. Kept me locked in that bedroom, his obsession chewing through me like acid..."
He could still feel the phantom bruises—the ache in his limbs, the exhaustion, the raw humiliation. But it wasn't just the physical torment that haunted him. It was what Caesar said.
He had whispered it in between bites and kisses. Between cruel smirks and brutal truths.
"Your people sold you out, Eun-jae. They sent you here knowing what you'd walk into."
At the time, he didn't want to believe it. Couldn't. His team. His handlers. The agency that trained him, backed him, praised him—they wouldn't do that. Right?
But now…?
His eyes narrowed.
"I never understood what he meant," Eun-jae murmured, dropping noodles into the pot. "But what if... what if Caesar wasn't just playing mind games?"
He began pacing slowly, arms crossed as the noodles boiled. His thoughts unraveled like thread:
"Seraphim…"
He had detonated it. Or—so he thought. But the more he remembered, the shakier it felt.
"I was standing in Caesar's compound when I pressed the timer. The signal was strong. It linked to the satellite system. I watched the feed, watched the explosion. But…" he paused. "Why didn't it feel right?"
Something was off.
Caesar let him trigger the explosion. No interference. No alarms. No attempt to stop him.
"Caesar never lets go of anything that powerful," he whispered. "Never. So either... I didn't really destroy it... or…"
His stomach turned.
"Or what I blew up wasn't really Seraphim."
He blinked, horrified by the possibility.
"A decoy? A shell? He knew I'd come for it. He let me think I succeeded."
Because that's what Caesar did. He fed people illusions and let them choke on them. He controlled the game so deeply, even his losses were plays in disguise.
Eun-jae leaned against the counter, trembling fingers running through his hair again.
"And what if he's right about my superiors?" he asked aloud, voice sharp. "What if they knew what was going on? What if they sent me in as a disposable asset—just to get Seraphim's data, or test Caesar's response?"
He clenched his jaw.
His pulse pounded in his ears.
"Am I just... a pawn in their little power game?"
A bubbling sound reminded him of the ramen. He moved robotically, pouring it into a bowl. But he didn't eat. He stared at the swirling noodles like they held answers.
"I need proof," he muttered. "Something Caesar doesn't know I'm looking for. Maybe in his private server. The secure vault downstairs. The ones I couldn't access before…"
He'd wait until Caesar left the island again. He'd hack it. Dig up the truth. Burn down all their lies.
But first—he needed strength. Focus.
He picked up the ramen and sat at the table, hunched forward like a soldier reviewing war maps, eyes full of silent fire.
"I'm done being Caesar's toy," he whispered to himself. "And I'm done being the agency's pawn."
He took a slow bite of ramen.