Since that day, they were  inseparable, and Daniel begrudgingly embraced all the other aspects of life of the ultra-rich man who seemed destined to be part of his life. Vincent compensated for the constant security with his love. He had been the ideal alpha until Daniel's own personal doomsday, when Vincent assumed the role of God, nearly bringing him to the brink of death.

“OK, Daniel, either you get me those documents or we start the trial without them. Even if we can't put Laurent away, we'll put you away for obstruction of justice, and that will be sufficient to rile him up and provoke mistakes," Adrian said calmly as they exited the highway and headed towards the opulent suburb.

"Or I'll be killed tonight, and you'll use it to incriminate him, won't you, Adrian?" Daniel concluded with a somber tone, gazing wistfully out the window. In his daze, he was no longer afraid; he had overcome all his fear during the long drive.

"He won't harm you, you silly," Adrian grinned. "He loves you, so go and apologize for running away. You're crazy; he'll understand. He'll put you on pills, what's the big deal? In a week, be at the Alpha mall, and we'll intercept you there."

"What do you mean by 'intercept'?" Daniel looked at him with confusion, and Adrian clarified:

 "Our guys will discreetly remove the documents from your bag, okay? It's a term, are you from the moon?"

"Fuck you, Adrian," Daniel pushed him away in anger and resumed staring out the window. Adrian answered the call, swiftly composing himself and adopting a serious demeanor. Daniel involuntarily turned around at the altered tone, now sounding subservient—evidently, Adrian was talking to his boss, manipulating him just as he manipulated Daniel.

 

"Alright, alright. When? Okay, understood," Adrian fixed his gaze on a single point ahead of him, engrossed in the phone conversation. "He'll do it, don't worry. Okay," he concluded the call, turning to Daniel with an expression tense with anger. "Alright, Bamby, change of plan. You don't need to retrieve the documents; we'll open the safe ourselves. You'll disable the alarm, okay?" He turned to the driver and inquired, "Dean, how much “sleeping potion” do you have?"

“Enough for a soccer team," Dean chuckled, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Stop fucking around, you idiot. How much exactly?" Adrian suddenly shouted, contorting his handsome face into a demonic and frightening expression that made Daniel squirm in fear. He breathed convulsively, sweating as a terrible sense of déjà vu overwhelmed him—it felt like he had never witnessed Adrian in this menacing state before.

"We've got enough for ten people, Adrian," the driver quickly interjected, slowing down and pulling over to the side of the road. "Wait a sec, I'll double-check," he rummaged in the glove compartment, retrieved a bag of pills, performed a swift calculation, and asserted confidently, "There's sufficient for eleven people with an average weight of no more than two hundred pounds."

"That's enough," Adrian nodded reassuringly and turned to find a sweaty, shallow-breathing Daniel huddled at the car door. "Give one pill to all of Laurent's bodyguards and the staff, especially if they're hefty. Exclude Laurent; he should be fully alert when we arrive. Give the “sleeping potion”, disable the alarms, and then you're free to leave, Daniel. Once everyone is unconscious, and the alarm is disabled, signal by flashing the lights in the living room three times. Don't worry; no one except Laurent will be harmed. We need to catch him at home; there's intel suggesting he's stashed some stolen art pieces there."

 

"H-how can I be certain no one will be harmed?" Daniel whispered in a strained voice, barely breathing. His eyes widened as he observed every move Adrian made, bracing himself for the worst.

“No one will give you any guarantee at all," Adrian raised his voice angrily. “You're in no position to bargain, asshole! If his pitbulls wake up and  start fighting, they'll get their asses kicked, but we're not going to kill anyone, do you understand?

“I see," Daniel mumbled. - What's going to happen to Vincent?

“What do you care? All right, well, if you must know, we'll prove his guilt when we get the documents out of the safe, and then he'll be in jail for twenty years, so you can create your paintings in peace. Hey, what, are you gonna pass out? Damn it, Dean, stop. I think he's gonna puke.”

Daniel started vomiting in the car, once pulled out, he continued to expel the contents of his stomach until only bile and emptiness remained on the street. He sank to the ground on weakened legs. Adrian washed his face with water, gave him mouthwash, and promptly opened a mini bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Have a drink, or you will be unconscious when you get there. Snap out of it, come on!" Adrian tapped his cheeks, waved his fingers in front of his eyes to assess his alertness, and reluctantly placed him in the car, muttering. "Dean, clean up this mess, it stinks."

Daniel was transported towards the familiar garden, where a stately white mansion loomed, its once inviting presence now decidedly unpleasant. He was discreetly dropped off at a distance from the security cameras.

"Don't act foolish, Daniel," Adrian cautioned. "Avoid repeating past mistakes. Make the right choice, and you'll be free, while your ex will face the consequences he deserves. Go inform him that you got here by cab."

Daniel walked compliantly, his weak, trembling hands leaning on the aged Irish blue limestone wall of the fence. He understood he had no alternative – Adrian would catch him again if he attempted to flee. Resignedly accepting the challenge of fate, he reached the surveillance camera, turned awkwardly towards it, as it tracked his movement, and raised his doomed face. Progressing further, his strength waning, he sensed fear creeping up belatedly, anticipating an imminent breakdown, a violent scream, and the impending loss of sanity. Astonished, Matt and two unfamiliar guards rushed toward him. In defense, Daniel instinctively recoiled, attempting to escape. He was lifted gently but firmly, cradled in arms, and carried into the garden. As Daniel's consciousness faded, he heard the soft click of the oak door closing, and darkness enveloped him—the cage slammed shut.

Daniel awoke, relieved to find no headache this time. He took a moment to listen to the room with closed eyes before cautiously opening them. Almost screaming, he realized Vincent was seated beside him in a plush, comfortable chair, dressed in a gray business suit, shirt, and dress shoes. Vincent leaned forward, exhaling warmly:

“Danny, baby, you scared me so bad! How are you feeling? The doctor's on his way. He'll be here soon.”

"Alright," Daniel replied hoarsely, uncertain about the situation. Vincent appeared concerned and fatigued but showed no signs of aggression—no shouting or swinging. Daniel attempted to rise on his woozy, stiff arms, and Vincent extended his hands, assisting him. The sudden movement caused Daniel to shout briefly, shielding himself with his hands, eliciting a frustrated recoil from Vincent.

“I'm not hurting you, Danny, I'm not going to hurt you, I just wanted to help. Can I get you a drink?”

"Y-yes, if it's not too much trouble," Daniel replied, lowering his hands and breathing heavily. He observed every movement, staying alert and prepared to defend himself with the last of his strength. Vincent extended his hand slowly, very slowly, demonstrating his peaceful intentions, and reached for the maid bell. He pressed the button and just as slowly settled back in his chair, calmly summoning the servants.

"Bring some mineral water with lemon and something light to eat. Chicken broth and salad would be preferable," he turned to Daniel and inquired in a gentle tone, "Danny, is there anything else you'd like?"

"No, that would do," Daniel said as he sat down on the bed, pulling his knees up to him and clasping them with his hands. He noted absently that he had been changed into his house clothes while unconscious. When the servants appeared, Vincent asked in the same gentle tone:

“Did you receive any treatment during the time? Did you see any doctor?”

"No, and I'm not interested in any treatment. I'm healthy," Daniel whispered wearily, acknowledging that resistance was futile, aware that Vincent would likely insist regardless. Still, he was relieved to engage in a civilized conversation rather than face a beating—a brief reprieve.

"You will get a treatment, baby, you will," Vincent said calmly yet firmly. He then added with tension, "Where have you been?"

"In Utah," Daniel replied quietly, recognizing that there was nothing left to hide; Vincent would uncover the truth anyway. Then, with a tremor in his voice, he asked, "What's going to happen to me?"

Vincent rose gradually, his movements tense, and approached slowly, taking small steps towards Daniel. Seating himself at the edge of the bed, he placed his hands near Daniel's feet and cautiously gazed into his eyes, as though fearful of startling a wild animal. The scent of Vincent's minty-ginger pheromone, once adored, now felt ominous, evoking a desire in Daniel to escape. Daniel nervously shifted his toes, casting a fearful gaze at Vincent's face, uncertain if he sought to inflict harm or merely prolong the enjoyment.

"You're going to be fine, baby," Vincent assured, his voice low and steady. "You'll recover, won't run away anymore, and we'll be happy. Understand?"

"Understand," Daniel nodded, willing to do anything to be left alone. He sighed with relief when the maid knocked delicately on the door to announce the food. "I'd like to eat alone, if you don't mind, Vincent. I..."

"OK” Vincent's lips twitched, noting the word Daniel had swallowed, and he stood up. "I'll be back in half an hour; get some rest, Danny."

Following the meal and the looming sense of impending consequences, Daniel succumbed to sleep. He gazed sleepily at the ceiling, allowing his heavy eyelids to close. Whatever might transpire, he hadn't slept in almost two days, worn out by nervous tension and prolonged anticipation. Vincent would talk to him tomorrow if he wished. As he slipped into a profound slumber, rendering him nearly immobile, Daniel felt a gentle touch on his lips and heard a tender murmur:

“Good night, baby.”

Vincent didn't go to the office in the morning; instead, he came to Daniel's room dressed casually in a wine-colored long-sleeved shirt, a shade darker than the one from the previous day, paired with soft corduroy pants and suede Gaziano&Girling loafers. Seating himself beside Daniel's bed, Vincent drew him closer, took his trembling hand, conveying that there was no need for Daniel to fret anymore—that he was completely safe and would never be subjected to harm again. Daniel listened intently, finding it hard to believe there would be no aggression. Unconsciously, he left his palm in Vincent's hand, who kissed each finger eagerly, intermingling kisses with reassuring words. Dr. Myers had disappeared suspiciously after Daniel's escape; Daniel speculated that the fortunate man was already in the witness protection program and sighed enviously. Vincent interpreted his sigh differently and admitted with a tinge of guilt, “That bastard was working for my enemies, Danny. I don't know what he was doing while you were in therapy, but I had the whole clinic cleaned up. You're going to be treated by Dr. Kim, he has an impeccable reputation.

“Can we do it next week instead of now, Vincent? I'm very tired, and I don't want to go to any proven shrink," Daniel asked grimly, not hoping for a positive answer, but Vincent surprisingly agreed.

“Okay, baby. You're very pale, you must be exhausted. So, you want to tell me where you've been?”

"Not now," Daniel wriggled his hand out of Vincent's grasp and slipped it under the blanket, hiding it underneath. Vincent gazed longingly at the now-empty hand and nodded reluctantly.

"As you say, Danny. However, when you visit Dr. Kim, make sure to tell him everything. And Dr. Kim insists on joint sessions," Vincent gently touched his knee beneath the blanket, stroking it affectionately without resistance. "I believe we will make progress this time."

“What about your Dr. Sanchez? Did he work for your enemies and escape, too?” Daniel asked, fixing his gaze on the firm hand that was gently stroking him.

"Dr. Sanders, you mean? He didn't escape; he's still our primary physician, and he's doing well," Vincent's expression softened with sympathy. He swiftly gathered Daniel in a comforting embrace, holding him close. "God, you're all tangled up from the stress, Danny. It's okay, it's okay; it'll pass."

Daniel momentarily stiffened before erupting in frantic movements spurred by panic. Vincent embraced him more tightly, whispering into his ear:

"It's me, your Vincent. There's no need to fear me. I'm letting you go, don't worry," he released his hold and moved away, returning to his chair with a weary, almost inhuman expression. "Damn, how can we get out of this mess as quickly as possible?"

"Very easy!" Daniel yelled, distancing himself. "Let me acclimate, give me some space. You've been pressuring me relentlessly: dizzying pills, shady therapists connected to your enemies, constant surveillance! At least grant me a week to rest, collect myself, and then we can begin with your therapy! And please, don't touch me. Can't you see I don't want your touch?"

"Alright, Danny, you've got a week," Vincent said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "I won't mention therapy this week, okay? We'll just take it easy, or at least try to. Don't be anxious; no one is going to harm you here."

"Even you?" Daniel's gaze turned sharp and filled with disdain. Vincent winced, his face paling as he spoke softly, “Especially me, baby.”

He kept his promise. Throughout the week, he refrained from mentioning therapy, allowed Daniel to move around the house without the constant presence of bodyguards, creating an illusion of freedom. Vincent no longer attempted to hug him, opting instead for affectionate looks that seemed to caress him. Daniel took advantage of the newfound freedom, inspecting the security system in the guard room with a sharp eye; it was the same system as before he ran away, he now knew he could disable it, a positive development. He tallied the number of bodyguards in the servants' canteen, there were twelve of them and he was one pill short. But he thought that one was not sufficient for a confrontation and hoped that Adrian and his team could handle a single adversary. Having completed his checks, he prepared to wait, counting down the hours with impatience as time passed mockingly slowly.

The most challenging aspect of the D-Day was administering sleeping pills to the bodyguards—a puzzle Daniel had contemplated for a week before devising a plan. He requested Vincent to designate the day as the commencement of their journey to happiness, effortlessly weaving his own lies without a hint of hesitation. Late that night, he concocted a bowl of fruit punch, discreetly adding sleeping pills to specific cups, serving each one alongside a large cake. Vincent's face lit up with joy as he sensed the shift in Daniel's mood. He timidly touched his hands while assisting with the trays of cups, but Daniel felt an irrational sense of guilt as he forced a fake smile onto his face.

The only remaining task was to go to the bedroom, deactivate the alarm, and signal Adrian. Then he would embark on his new life, shedding the identity of Daniel Bell for someone unburdened by a difficult past. Daniel anxiously paced his room, anticipating the darkness to envelop the house and peering into the garden where gentle shadows played. Waiting until the sole remaining lit window was in the security room, Daniel descended the stairs cautiously, catching his breath. He toggled a switch, disabling the security system, and then flicked the lights on and off three times before sinking helplessly onto the couch in the dimly lit living room.

Adrian and his men entered silently, dressed in black like last time, moving coherently and predatorily, peering around the perimeter through night vision goggles.

"Come with me, Daniel," Adrian instructed upon spotting him huddled anxiously on the couch. "Lead me to Laurent's room; you'll be of assistance."

"Why should I go?" Daniel grimaced, avoiding eye contact with Vincent, burdened and darkened once more.

"Let's move," Adrian whispered sharply. "Right now!" Daniel complied, trying to match Adrian's silent footsteps.

He pointed towards the door of Vincent's bedroom, the room they had once shared, using a trembling finger. He felt like Judas, suppressing unwanted tears, haunted by the image of Vincent's happy face just hours ago. Adrian's men had entered the room, leading to a brief struggle with Vincent's enraged screams. They eventually dragged him, bloodied, into the illuminated living room.

"Search every floor, including the basement," Adrian commanded with a grin, taking off his mask. "Well, hello, Vince. I've been anticipating this for a while. I have notizia importante from Maurizio's family. Open the safe, Vince, and give me with the file on Maurizio's family."

Vincent surveyed the living room with eyes filled with anger, the intensity of his gaze halting as he focused on Daniel, who was beginning to comprehend the situation. Vincent sighed wistfully, “No, Danny, no—”

“What Maurizio family?” Daniel asked, his lips feeling numb. “You're FBI!”

"He's naive, he would believe anything," Adrian grinned. "But he's mischievous, aren’t you, Daniel? I had to educate him once, though it's a shame he doesn't recall anything. No, fortunately, he doesn't. Come here."

"Fuck you!" Daniel was no longer afraid, uttering the words with sheer hatred. Adrian, his face twisted in an angry visage, struck him with his fist, sending him sprawling to the ground. Vincent screamed frantically, wrenching himself free from the grip of his men:

“Don't touch him, you bastard!”

"I'll do that after I'm finished with you. I've missed you, Daniel," Adrian leaned in, wiping the blood from Daniel's face. It was then that Daniel cried out, recollecting and realizing belatedly.

That fateful night, Daniel had fled Vincent's house because Adrian had threatened to lock him up the next morning if he didn't get the file, and Daniel had fled without the money and documents, hoping to make it with little cash to the halfway point to Mexico and hitchhike the rest of the way. But Adrian caught up with him, having set up a tracker in his phone, and knocked him down with the first blow, Daniel fell to the ground and hit his head with a loud crack, hearing his head rumble, not feeling nearly as much as he was dragged into the car. The disruption of the plan turned Adrian into a monster. He beat Daniel, enjoying the screams, the pleas to stop, and when Daniel was barely crawling, he ripped off his jeans and raped him, catching his hoarse moans with his lips, his face going satanic and getting more and more heated. When he was done, he pulled up his pants and started beating him again. Beat and rape, rape and beat, fierce, ferocious, terrifying. Daniel fainted several times and came to from the sharp pain, wheezing in a broken voice. And the last time he floated away from the searing sensation of a blade cleaving his cheek. And when he opened his eyes, he saw the distraught black eyes of Vincent, driving him into a panic, placing his favorite face on the head of the monster…

"What?" Adrian clarified mockingly, tilting his face up with a smug expression as Daniel let out a choked cry, breathing in convulsions. "Remember everything, you damn jerk? Look, Vince, I've straightened out your lunatic friend for you. A win for me, right? No need for pricey shrinks. It's a shame you won't need them anymore, but I guarantee you'll share the same fate and the same grave. Open the safe, Laurent, unless you want me to fuck your darling in front of you!"

“I will, but don't touch him," Vincent said dryly. “He won't tell anyone anything, let him go. Let him go.’

"He'll be free once you spill everything, I assure you, Vincent," Adrian smirked, releasing his grip on Daniel's face. "Show us to the safe, Laurent."

With his men and Vincent, Adrian strolled into their bedroom, where the safe was hidden behind the Monet painting. Daniel, shielding his face with his hands, sat limply, accompanied by the one man dressed in black who saw no danger in him and stood at ease. Daniel's thoughts raced feverishly, recalling all the instructions Vincent gave him in case of an attack. He rose from his seat and asked softly, “Can I pour myself a drink? I need a sip of something strong.”

"Go ahead,  I'll have a drink too, but later," the man in black playfully winked his brown eye, and Daniel headed to the bar. He opened the imposing doors, clinked the bottles, and pressed on top of the concealed compartment. It slid away noiselessly, revealing loaded pistols with silencers and safeties disengaged. Vincent had taught him to shoot and commended his precision—after all, an artist with excellent eye-hand coordination should excel in marksmanship. Daniel simultaneously drew two pistols, swiftly turned, and fired, almost instinctively, at the man in black. The man gasped in surprise, tearing the mask from his face and collapsing before he could utter a scream. Daniel went into the bedroom, where Vincent, in a desperate frenzy akin to a suicide bomber protecting his omega, struggled against the men who had let their guard down and started a fight. The men in black, snarling, pounced on him, ruthlessly assaulting Vincent as he stifled moans. Meanwhile, Adrian chuckled maniacally, leaning against the open safe door, clutching the documents in his hands.

Deliberately aiming for the right side of his chest, Daniel fired at the man, relishing the fleeting expression of pain and astonishment on his face. He then proceeded to methodically shoot the other three assailants. One of them, in the chaos of the struggle, reached for a fallen gun and fired a shot that seared into Daniel's chest, throwing him aside. With a snarl, Vincent lunged at the assailant, delivering a forceful blow that rendered him unconscious. Vincent wrestled out the gun and delivered a fatal shot to the head, eliminating the remaining threats except for Adrian, who was destined for a painfully protracted demise rather than a swift one. Vincent then hurried to Daniel, who was choking on blood.

“I'm sorry, Vincent, I'm so sorry," Daniel whispered.

"Hold on, my love, hold on. I'll call an ambulance," Vincent's lips quivered, pale. "Stay with me. I'm sorry I couldn't keep you safe again..."

 

***

 

"So, baby, how does it feel to be back home?" Vincent kissed Daniel tenderly, enveloping him in his arms, and Daniel nestled affectionately against his shoulder.

 

"It's truly wonderful this time, my love."