I was Julian’s kept man for five years. Purely in name. What he loved was just my face, a mirror image of Leo’s. On nights when his longing became unbearable, his fingers dug into my throat, his eyes blazing red as he snarled, “Kian, why wasn’t it *you* who died?!” I stopped fighting, letting Julian steal my breath. His broken, crumbling expression twisted grotesquely in my blurring vision. In these five years, he’d had so many moments of losing control. One second he’d almost kiss me raw. The next, he’d want me dead. To pay the price for my twin brother, Leo. I indulged every ounce of disgust and hatred festering inside me, picking the words I knew would hurt him most. Each one a knife to his gut. “Don’t pretend to be heartbroken! You never loved him when he was alive, did you? Leo would have poured his damn heart out to you! And you just used him as a pawn in your game with my dad! Go on, kill me! Then this face? You’ll only ever get to stare at it on a damn tombstone!” … After I’d spat my venom, I knew the beating was coming. The worst was two years ago, on Leo’s death anniversary. Julian wiped his lips, a streak of the red from where I’d bitten him, then yanked me to the floor. He grabbed the heavy brass floor lamp from beside the bed and swung it, without hesitation, smashing my knees twice. I bit down, hard, to stifle my cries, but hot, involuntary tears streamed down my face. “There, now you’re even more like Leo,” Julian said, pressing his foot into the hollow behind my knee and twisting his toe. I shook like a leaf, my vision tunneling to black, my jaw finally unlocking as a choked, desperate moan escaped me. Julian knelt, one hand gripping my chin, the other smoothing my bangs, slick with cold sweat. Then he pulled me into his arms. He murmured, his voice thick with tears, “Leo, I miss you so much.” I convulsed in his embrace. Julian, I want you to… Die! But now, I was tired. Exhausted, I let go of all my resentment and hatred. Five years of torturing each other. If one of us had to die for it to end. Then let it be me. I let Julian’s face blur in my vision… “Cough, cough—!” Julian suddenly let go. Air rushed back in, and I coughed violently, snot and tears streaming, pathetic as a clown again. Julian pulled away, standing by the bed, looking down at me as I curled into a ball. His voice was low, hoarse, and cold: “Your life was saved by Leo. You’re not allowed to die.” He was utterly insane. He’d just been trying to kill me moments ago. I nearly coughed my lungs out, finally breaking free from the agony of suffocation. I didn’t care that my clothes were barely covering anything, just lay sprawled on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My voice was steeped in despair: “Julian, it’s been five years. Haven’t you had enough? Leo, wherever he is, wouldn’t want this.” In five years beside him, I’d never said anything that sounded remotely like comfort. Any sane person would have heard that I was unilaterally surrendering, that I didn’t want to fight him anymore. Yet the next second, Julian was back, looming over me. His long, powerful legs forced their way between mine. I felt a flicker of confusion. All these years he’d kept me, Julian had only treated me as a substitute, as the enemy who’d caused Leo’s death. He’d never bothered with the final step. All his kisses, his touches, his bites, his rough handling—they were all just acts of pure rage. This intimate posture, I truly didn’t understand it. Had he come up with a new way to torment me? I awkwardly tried to pull away. He slammed a hand onto my shoulder. “Kian, whether this game between us begins or ends, it’s not up to you.” With that, he covered my mouth. And then reached for my pants! A jolt went through me, and I pushed him, hard: “What are you doing?!” Desire flared in Julian’s eyes. My mind, in a sudden, ill-timed twist, wondered: *Is this for Leo, or for me?* Then Julian’s voice, full of savage cruelty. His knee pressed against me: “Give up, Kian. This is your life now. You’re mine.”
I don’t know how much time passed. I just felt hot and weak all over. In a hazy dream, I thought I saw Leo. He was angry with me, demanding to know why I was sleeping with his beloved man. I wanted to scream that I was a straight guy, I didn’t want to either. But I couldn’t speak, frustrated and scratching at myself. Leo cried harder and harder, until his whole face dissolved into a blurry mess of tears. Just like his horrifying face after he was flung by that speeding car… “Leo!” I cried, but my outstretched hand grasped nothing. Couldn’t grasp Leo, flung by the car. Couldn’t grasp Leo, fading away, still blaming me. … “Kian, it’s me.” A soft, deep male voice, like a gentle, steady breeze, cleared all the chaotic images from my mind. I opened my eyes and saw Spencer sitting beside me. My arm was clutched tightly in his hand, the sleeve of his crisp white shirt already a crumpled mess. I quickly let go, my voice dry and hoarse: “Sorry.” He reached up to check my forehead. His clear, elegant eyes behind his glasses looked away, avoiding my gaze: “The fever’s gone down.” I hummed, glancing at the dim, dark sky outside the window, and asked him, “How long was I asleep?” “Thirty-two hours.” Spencer glanced at the grey diamond watch on his wrist. I shifted my body, and everything ached. A certain place felt like a scorching, piercing pain. Still, I bit back the pain and sat up, leaning against the headboard: “Thank you. Every time something goes wrong, I end up troubling you.” “Julian pays, I perform.” Spencer didn’t look up, methodically organizing his medical kit. But then, without warning, his movements faltered, instruments clinking together. He sprang to the bedside, his perfectly chiseled face inches from mine, the corners of his eyes flushed with raw emotion: “Kian, trust me. I *can* help you!” I stared at him, forcing a bitter smile and shaking my head. This was the second time I’d rejected his offer of help. Spencer was Julian’s private physician. Whenever I felt unwell and a few pills weren’t enough, he was the one who handled it. Two years ago, when my knee was shattered, Julian called him to treat me. That was the first time I’d seen the usually cool and composed Spencer lose his composure. He picked me up, growling, “He needs to go to the hospital! Otherwise, he’ll lose this leg!” Unfortunately, Julian merely chuckled dismissively: “Good. Leo had his leg broken for me, and was left unable to walk. His stand-in ought to be more dedicated.” I leaned my head against Spencer’s chest, feeling his frantic heartbeat. He looked down at me, his lips trembling. Then, ignoring Julian’s protests, he took me to his hospital. After the surgery, when the anesthesia wore off, I was drenched in cold sweat from the pain. Spencer pushed his glasses up, seemingly making a decision: “Kian, I can find a way to deal with your father’s debt.” I looked at this usually silent, aloof man, a little surprised. He was Julian’s friend, yet he wanted to save me from this hell. But this hell was something I had to endure. I needed to stay by Julian’s side as Leo’s substitute, so that Julian would go easy and not pursue the massive debt my dad owed him. Otherwise, my dad wouldn’t survive. I stopped reminiscing, avoiding Spencer’s earnest gaze: “Dr. Hayes, I’m fine now. You can go.” I could practically hear his jaw grinding in frustration. But he said no more, stood up, grabbed his medical kit, and left. He ran into Julian outside the door. The door was ajar, and their conversation was perfectly clear. “Is Kian alright?” Julian asked, his tone dismissive. Spencer’s emotions were now perfectly concealed: “The fever’s gone down. But the tearing down there will need some time to heal.” He paused, then added, “Julian, control yourself.” Julian scoffed: “Isn’t that what you’re here for? He won’t die.” Then he pushed the door open and walked in. I looked away, not wanting to see him. Julian sat on the edge of the bed and placed the takeout he was carrying on the nightstand: “You’re hungry, right? Eat something.” It wasn’t concern, it was a command. I looked at the takeout. It was heavily spiced tripe stew. “You love it, don’t you? Don’t leave any.” Julian opened the box, pulled out a pair of disposable gloves, and held it out to me. “I’m not hungry.” Julian didn’t move. His cold, menacing eyes fixed on me, unblinking. Resigned, I put on the gloves and took the container. I took a bite. It was insanely spicy. Julian pulled out his phone and opened a surveillance feed. It showed Spencer and me talking just moments ago. “Kian, I know your every move. Don’t try to pull any stunts. It’s useless.” A chill snaked up my spine, and I instinctively looked around. I had no idea where the cameras were hidden. I lowered my head and continued to gnaw on the tripe. It was so spicy. That’s why, I told myself, I was crying.
This torment continued for over a month. By the time Julian took me golfing again, I’d lost a ton of weight. I actually looked like a frail, delicate little thing. Julian’s friends formed their own clique, laughing amongst themselves, their occasional glances at me filled with unconcealed mockery and disdain. I stood beside them, holding Julian’s golf club, feeling like nothing more than the golf ball being hit back and forth. One of them, Brett, casually tucked his left hand into his pocket, tossed a ball with his right, then lifted his hand and pointed at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Kian, my man, fetch the ball, will you?” The surrounding chatter instantly died, and all eyes turned to me. A perverse pleasure, the thrill of watching a spectacle, silently swelled between them. I didn’t move. Looking at their young faces, all brimming with superiority, I thought vaguely, *What would the old Kian have done?* He would have charged at them, kicked each one until they begged for mercy. No, back then, in Rosewood, no one would have dared to mock me like this. My dad, my brother—they were my solid, broad umbrella, shielding me from all the crap life could throw at me. My world was smooth sailing, full of flattery, and “Kian, my man” was a byword for reckless glory. But now, that umbrella had been cruelly shattered, and raging storms swept over me. Even those lowlifes who wouldn’t have dared to approach me before now found amusement in tormenting me. “Go fetch it, or I’ll tell Julian. I hear Mr. Thorne has quite the ways of dealing with people.” Brett’s eyes lingered on me in an unreadable way, then drifted to the little white dot on the distant grass. “One moment.” I said, my voice so calm it even surprised me. I placed Julian’s club back in the bag, then, enduring the excruciating pain in my left knee, walked step by painful step towards that humiliatingly white ball. Julian was currently in the VIP lounge, handling an urgent business call. Before that, he’d already made me his caddy, fetching balls for him over a dozen times. He wouldn’t let me use a cane. He just wanted to torment my useless leg. It was effective. I was limping especially badly now. I’d only taken a few steps, but I was already sweating from the pain. But when I finally retrieved the ball, and could already see Brett’s magnified smirk. He threw another one. Even further. Brett called out, mimicking a pleading tone: “Kian, please—!” I gripped the ball tightly in my hand, fighting the urge to throw it at his arrogant face. I turned to fetch the next ball. Behind me, a wave of laughter erupted—their triumphant celebration of my humiliation. By the time I returned the second time, my left leg could barely lift. As I neared Brett, my foot caught on the turf, and I went down on my knees. The retrieved ball slipped from my grasp and rolled away. Julian, who had just returned, stepped on it, then another, neatly stopping all the scattered balls. Brett suppressed a laugh: “Mr. Thorne, look at Kian here, bowing so deeply on an ordinary day.” Julian ignored him, walking over and extending a hand to me. I looked up at his emotionless face, unsure whether to take his hand. “Do you like kneeling?” Julian’s voice was sharp. So I took his well-defined hand. Julian pulled me up, didn’t let go, and led me slowly past them. Then he commanded: “Hand me the club.” As soon as the club was in his hand, I saw a flash of silver. “Ah—!” Brett clutched his knee, screaming as he crumpled to the ground, howling in agony, “Ah—! Ah—!” Julian casually tossed the golf club, its head dented, and stepped on the writhing Brett. “Mr. Thorne!” Someone tried to interject. Julian’s fierce gaze swept over them, and no one dared to speak again. “Even if Kian is just a plaything, he’s *my* plaything. You think you’re worthy of humiliating him?!” “Mr. Th-Thorne, I’m sorry—!” Brett sobbed, snot and tears streaming. “Crawl over and apologize.” Brett crawled, a pathetic snake, to my feet: “Kian, I’m so sorry, I’ll never dare to do it again, please forgive me…” The others looked at me with a newfound hint of fear. But it only made me feel like nothing more than Julian’s pet. It was pathetic. I took a step back: “Don’t do this. Get up.” “Whack—!” Julian stepped forward and slapped me across the face. My ears rang for a long time. Eventually, the stinging heat faded. Julian’s voice was sharp: “His apology to you is a courtesy *I’m* extending. You will accept it.” That moment of bittersweet warmth I’d felt when he extended his hand to me had been brutally distorted by that slap. It morphed into profound self-loathing. God, I was so utterly pathetic, falling for a monster like Julian.
Julian got sick. In five years, I’d barely heard him cough more than a few times. But now, he was shivering violently, curled up on the large bed in the villa’s medical room, all his sharp, cold edges melted away, leaving him a vulnerable, pitiable animal. I sat by the bed, examining his flushed, sickly face. On a sudden impulse, I cautiously reached out, tracing the curve of his brow. The heat radiating from his body traveled through my fingertips, burning a path to my heart, making me flinch. A soft cough came from the doorway. I snapped my hand back, turning to see Spencer standing there with his medical kit, his gaze heavy. “Dr. Hayes.” Spencer nodded, opened the closet, took out a lab coat specially kept for him, changed into it, sanitized himself, and then examined Julian. I automatically moved to the corner massage sofa, out of the way. After Spencer finished his procedures, he said calmly, “He’s fine. Just overworked.” “His health has always been excellent, and he’s always been busy. Before…” “You’re worried about him?” Spencer cut me off, tilting his head. He’d caught me off guard. I opened my mouth but no words came out, so I just nodded. “I give him regular check-ups, and I’m very familiar with his physical condition. The human body has its limits. Even the strongest people have their breaking point and need to stop and rest. The high fever is just his body’s cry for help. A good night’s sleep and a few days of rest will fix him.” “Alright, thank you.” Spencer set up an IV for Julian. Julian stirred, turning twice impatiently: “Kian.” His delirious murmur was so soft, I almost couldn’t believe I’d heard my own name. Disbelieving, yet hopeful, I walked over and leaned closer. “Kian, I’m cold.” As if under a spell, I immediately and gently tucked the blanket more tightly around him. The next second, Spencer yanked me violently aside, his clear, sharp eyes clouded with fury: “Kian, if I wasn’t here, would you have wrapped your arms around him to warm him up?” My hidden thoughts exposed, I awkwardly looked away. “Kian, you’re sick.” Spencer’s voice was heavy with pain, as if I were already beyond saving. “I think you need to see a therapist. I have a friend who’s an expert in this field, I’ll SnapChat you his contact.” Spencer picked up his phone, his fingers trembling as they scrolled across the screen, not at all like hands that could wield a scalpel. “Dr. Hayes, I’m fine.” Spencer seemed not to hear. My phone vibrated. I opened it to find the therapist’s contact he’d sent. “Stockholm Syndrome can be completely reversed with timely intervention.” “Dr. Hayes, I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist.” I fled, trying to get out. Spencer followed closely, cornering me at the top of the stairs. “Kian, you can’t love Julian.” When such a thought was so bluntly exposed, I suddenly lost all strength to deny or hide it. I slumped against the wall, a lost cause, just letting myself rot: “But I am a rotten person who doesn’t know what’s good for him. Julian’s good-looking, and now he’s a big shot in Rosewood. Besides, he’s practically ruined me. Why can’t I love him?” Spencer took off his glasses, looking pained, and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Dr. Hayes, don’t bother with me. Just let me rot.” With that, I brushed past Spencer’s shoulder, ready to go downstairs. “Kian, have you never once doubted your brother’s death?”
Julian would wake up, see the villa’s security footage, and realize Spencer and I had left together. He’d probably go insane. And then he’d make me suffer terribly again. But I didn’t care anymore. Spencer had hit my weak spot, and I had no choice but to get into his Porsche. “Talk. What do you know?” I asked from the passenger seat, letting Spencer drive two blocks before pulling over into the shade of some trees. My jaw was clenched, my heart churning like it was in a frying pan. Spencer was blunt: “Julian used several accounts, making small, frequent transfers to the driver, Mark, over three years, totaling two million. It was to get him to cause the car accident and kill Leo. That two million was just enough for Mark to get his daughter the highest-end cochlear implant and ensure his wife and daughter could live a stable life afterward.” “He killed someone for two million?” My voice was warped. Spencer shook his head with a bitter smile: “Kian, two million might not even buy you a watch, but for Mark, it was his daughter’s chance at a normal life, their only hope of changing their future.” “I don’t give a damn about the disparities in the world right now. Just tell me why Julian killed my brother.” Leo loved Julian so much. Loved him enough to willingly betray my dad, to give Julian a clear advantage in the bidding for that huge piece of land on the east side of town. Loved him enough to unhesitatingly block an attack from an enemy, breaking his leg for Julian. Loved him enough to learn carving, his hands covered in calluses, just to carve Julian a jade figurine. Loved him enough to make a life-sized doll of Julian and cuddle it every night. Julian would just smile at him, and Leo would give away a business deal. Julian would put an arm around his shoulder, and Leo would gleefully hand over the most valuable club my dad owned. It enraged my dad so much that he snapped the old wooden paddle he kept for discipline, and Leo’s back and butt were a bloody, pulpy mess. His high IQ, once so evident as a top student, seemed to vanish. He seemed to use up all the stupidity he’d never committed in twenty-some years, all on Julian. Like an idiot, he would have ripped out his own heart and offered it to Julian, and even if Julian trampled all over it, Leo would have been happy. And now Julian wanted to kill him? Spencer sighed: “Because of you.” I felt like I suddenly couldn’t understand English, asking blankly, “Because of me?” “Eight years ago, you graduated college and held your graduation art exhibit in the city. Julian was with a friend, strolling through, and he saw you.” I tried to recall that distant scene. I was an art slacker, really. My graduation exhibit was purely because my dad and Leo wanted to promote me, so I wouldn’t end up unable to sell a single painting. Most of the people who came were invited to show support; they might not have understood art, but they understood social etiquette, lavishly praising my haphazard scribbles as if I was about to become the American Picasso. But I replayed my memories again and again, still finding no trace of Julian. I could only look helplessly at Spencer, waiting for him to wipe away the dust of memory and expose the initial entanglement between Julian and me. “Julian fell in love with you.” Just a few words, yet they hit me like a sledgehammer. They cracked open details I’d never noticed before. During the time Leo was pursuing Julian, his aesthetic suddenly changed. In college, he’d meticulously worn student uniforms; after graduation, he’d worn perfectly tailored suits, always dignified and elegant. But then, he started rummaging through my closet, saying he wanted to learn trendy styles. I scoffed, telling him he couldn’t pull off the artistic vibe. Leo just smiled and shook his head, looking resigned: “Julian likes it. He wants me to try something new.” Damn him! Leo, trying so hard, was he just playing *my* substitute? How could Julian be so twisted?! It took me a long moment to find my voice, my heart sinking, yet I still forced myself to rail: “What are you talking about?! Spencer, I don’t believe any of this! Love me? Murder? I don’t believe it!”
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