The Billionaire's leash: Kneel for me, Prince

The darkness swallowed everything. Sylvain couldn’t see the room, the walls or even the man who had just shoved him onto the bed.

All he could feel was the pounding of his heart and the firm grip still wrapped around his throat. The gloved hand simply held him firm, controlled, impossible to ignore.

A reminder that Sylvain was no longer the one in control. He forced himself to breathe slowly. This was what he had agreed to.

He had walked into The Gilded Cage knowing exactly what kind of place it was. Wealthy men didn’t come here for conversation or companionship.

They came for the thrill of watching someone else break. And tonight, Sylvain was the one meant to break. The gloved hand finally loosened and withdrew.

For a moment, Sylvain almost sagged in relief. But the silence that followed somehow felt even worse. The man still hadn’t spoken. Not a single word.

Sylvain pushed himself upright on the edge of the bed, his fingers gripping the sheets beneath him. "Is there... something you want me to do?" His voice shaky. He felt like a tightly wound wire ready to snap.

The man moved somewhere behind him. Sylvain heard the faint rustle of expensive fabric.

Sylvain straightened his posture automatically, a reflex from years of elite upbringing. Even now, some stubborn part of him refused to slouch like a beggar.

"Look," he said quietly, forcing the words out. "You paid for tonight. I understand that. But if there are specific rules you want me to follow, it would help if you actually said something."

The silence stretched longer. Until he felt a breath close enough that Sylvain felt it brush against his cheek.

Sylvain’s patience snapped. "If you’re planning to stand there all night, we’re both wasting time."

The reaction was immediate. A hand grabbed his chin roughly, forcing his head upward. Sylvain gasped for air.

The grip was painful and firm enough to make resistance pointless. The man tilted Sylvain’s face slowly from side to side, as if inspecting him.

Sylvain’s pride burned. "I’m not an object," he muttered.

A low chuckle answered him. The sound was deep and rough, as if amused at his words.

And again that strange, unsettling feeling crept up Sylvain spine. Why did that laugh sound familiar?

Before he could think about it further, the man’s other hand reached up and tugged Sylvain coat off his shoulders. The expensive fabric slid to the floor. Sylvain’s breath caught.

The man’s gloved fingers brushed over Sylvain’s collarbone. Sylvain forced himself not to react. This was part of the deal. He reminded himself of Leon sitting in that interrogation room.

The prison sentence hanging over his brother’s head. He could endure one night.

"Go ahead," Sylvain mumbled. The words came out harsher than he intended. "You paid for it."

The man’s hand paused, following that the grip tightened suddenly. Sylvain was pushed back onto the bed again. This time harder.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight as the man loomed over him in the darkness. Sylvain felt his pulse quicken again.

The way he moved seemed intentional, like he’d rehearsed every step. Almost mechanical, a coiled spring finally unleashing. You could almost sense the anticipation, as if he’d been waiting years for this and now, nothing was gonna stop him .

The man’s hand slid up Sylvain’s throat again. Sylvain’s breath came faster. "Is this what you want?" he asked quietly. "Someone begging?"

The man’s lips touched his neck making Sylvain skin to crawled as warm breath ghosted his ear, loud silence screaming intent. No words needed, the air was thick with it, a palpable threat lingering.

Sylvain’s fingers clenched in the sheets. "Fine, you want me to beg?" His voice trembled despite his effort to control it.

"I’ll do whatever you want, just please pay me the money." The gloved hand tightened slightly.

Sylvain continued, forcing the humiliating words out. "Just... pay me." The silence that followed was suffocating.

The man’s laughter came again, low and velvet, wrapping around Sylvain like a shroud. It was a sound that said ’oh, this is gonna be good’ and Sylvain’s gut knew it was gonna be anything but deadly. His chest compressed, anxiety spiking.

Suddenly the man grabbed Sylvain wrist and pinned it above his head. The movement was quick and effortless.

Sylvain barely had time to react. "Hey—" the word got strangled in his throat as the man’s face loomed, breath mingling with his own. The silence was a vise, squeezing tighter with each heartbeat. No words, just raw unspoken power flexing its muscles.

Time warped, heavy with anticipation, till Sylvain’s nerves were frayed raw. The man’s patience was the real threat.

He simply tested Sylvain limits again and again until the tension in the room felt unbearable.

Sylvain eventually found himself gasping for air, his composure completely shattered.

His hair clung to his forehead with sweat.

"Please," Sylvain whispered hoarsely. The word slipped out before he could stop it.

Sylvain felt the man froze and stood up.

Sylvain’s muscles turned to stone, horror creeping in as he replayed the words. The shame was a kick to the gut. He teetered on the edge of bitter laughter, but... Click.

A faint sound echoed through the room. Sylvain blinked. Light flooded the suite.

Just enough to illuminate the room. Sylvain squinted, his eyes struggling to adjust after so long in darkness.

He looked up and the world stopped.

The man standing beside the bed was tall. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his dark hair stood out the most.

Cold blue eyes that looked down at Sylvain like he was something fascinating and slightly disappointing.

Sylvain’s breath caught in his throat. Impossible.

The man tilted his head. A slow, terrifying smile spread across his face. "Hello, Sylvain." The voice was smooth but unmistakable cold.

Sylvain entire body went rigid. "S... Silas?"

Silas Vane. The name hit him like a gunshot.

Ten years ago, Silas had been a scholarship student at Sylvain’s elite academy. The perfect target for the cruel arrogance of wealthy teenagers.

Sylvain remembered it all. The mocking and humiliation. The nickname he had given him. He always called him a dog.

Silas stepped closer to the bed. His expensive shoes barely made a sound against the floor.

Sylvain’s mind struggled to process the sight in front of him.

Silas Vane was supposed to be a nobody but the man standing before him now looked nothing like the timid boy from their school days.

He looked terrifyingly dangerous, his eyes held something far worse than anger. They held satisfaction.

Silas leaned down slowly until his face was inches from Sylvain. He could smell the same cold cologne from before.

Silas raised a gloved hand and wiped a tear from Sylvain’s cheek.

Sylvain hadn’t even realized he was crying. Silas studied the tear on his thumb thoughtfully. "You used to call me a dog," he murmured. Sylvain felt his stomach drop.

Silas leaned even closer, his voice lowering into something dark and dangerous. "Little prince."

Sylvain’s breath trembled.

Silas’s smile widened. "Now let’s see..." His fingers wrapped around Sylvain’s chin again, forcing him to look up. "...how well you beg for your leash."

Sylvain felt the ground disappear beneath him. Because in that moment, he realized something far worse than humiliation. All of this hadn’t been an accident. Silas Vane had planned this and he had walked straight into his trap.