Chapter 4 : Forced Sanctuary

The black sedan didn''t take Roy home. Instead, it wound through the city''s wealthiest district, finally pulling into the underground garage of a building Roy recognized—Mus''s penthouse. The same building he''d fled from two years ago, the memories of which were still fresh and painful.

I can''t stay here, Roy said as the car came to a stop.

You don''t have a choice. Mus''s voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. Black Dragon knows where you live. Your apartment isn''t safe.

I''ll go to a hotel.

And put other people in danger? Mus turned to look at him, his expression grim. The Dragon doesn''t care about collateral damage. If he thinks you''re at a hotel, he''ll burn it down to get to you.

The words were chilling in their matter-of-fact delivery. Roy stared at Mus, searching for some sign that this was an exaggeration, a manipulation. But all he saw was cold, hard truth.

You''re doing this to control me, Roy said, though the protest sounded weak even to his own ears.

I''m doing this to keep you alive. Mus opened his door. Now come inside before someone sees us.

The penthouse was exactly as Roy remembered it—all clean lines and expensive minimalism, a space that felt more like a museum exhibit than a home. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city, but tonight the lights seemed less like jewels and more like watchful eyes.

Mus''s men took up positions by the doors and windows, their presence a constant reminder of the danger outside. Roy stood in the center of the living room, feeling like an intruder in a place that had once felt like his.

Your old room is still made up, Mus said, his voice softer now. I never... changed it.

Roy looked at him, surprised. Why not?

Mus didn''t answer, just turned and walked toward the kitchen. Are you hungry? I can have something brought up.

I''m not hungry. Roy followed him, the familiarity of the space unsettling. He remembered cooking in this kitchen, remembered Mus coming up behind him while he stirred something on the stove, remembered the feel of Mus''s arms around his waist, his chin resting on Roy''s shoulder.

The memories were a physical ache. Roy leaned against the counter, trying to steady himself.

Look, Mus said, turning to face him. I know this isn''t ideal. I know you don''t want to be here. But until I deal with Black Dragon, this is the safest place for you.

How long will that take? Roy asked.

As long as it takes. Mus''s gaze was steady. The Dragon has been planning this move for months. He''s patient. And he''s smart.

And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Sit here and wait?

Write. Mus gestured toward the study. You''re a writer. Write your book. Or write about this, if you want. Just... stay alive.

There was a rawness in Mus''s voice that Roy hadn''t heard before. A vulnerability that felt at odds with the man who commanded a criminal empire. It made something in Roy''s chest tighten.

Fine, he said finally. But I''m not your prisoner. I come and go as I please.

Mus''s expression hardened. No, you don''t. Not until this is over. If you leave, my men go with you. If you try to run... He trailed off, but the threat was clear.

So I am a prisoner.

You''re under protection. Mus moved closer, until they were standing inches apart. Roy could feel the heat radiating from his body, could smell the familiar scent of his cologne. There''s a difference.

Is there? Roy held his ground, refusing to back away. It feels the same from where I''m standing.

Mus''s hand came up, his fingers brushing Roy''s cheek. The touch was gentle, at odds with the tension between them. Two years ago, you walked away because you were afraid of my world. Now my world has come for you anyway. Let me protect you from it. Please.

The please did it. That single word, spoken in a voice stripped of all its usual authority, broke through Roy''s defenses. He nodded, a tight, jerky movement.

Okay.

* * *

The first night was the hardest.

Roy lay in the bed that had once been his, staring at the ceiling. The room was exactly as he''d left it—the same books on the shelves, the same writing desk by the window, even the same pen he''d favored sitting in its holder. It was as if time had stopped in this room, preserving a moment that no longer existed.

He could hear Mus moving around in the main living area, the low murmur of his voice as he spoke on the phone. Roy wondered who he was talking to at this hour. Business associates? His men? He Lian Yuwei?

The thought of Yuwei made Roy''s stomach clench. He remembered the way she''d looked at Mus at the Lotus Hotel, the possessiveness in her gaze. The merger wasn''t just business—it was personal. And Roy was suddenly, painfully aware that he had no claim on Mus, not anymore. Not after walking away for two years.

A sound at the door made him sit up. Mus stood in the doorway, backlit by the hall light. He''d changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair damp from a shower. He looked younger like this, less like a crime lord and more like just a man.

Can''t sleep? Mus asked.

Can you? Roy countered.

Mus shook his head. Too much on my mind. He hesitated, then stepped into the room. Do you mind?

Roy shook his head. Mus sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound their breathing and the distant hum of the city below.

I missed this, Mus said quietly. Having you here.

Roy''s throat tightened. Don''t.

Don''t what?

Don''t say things like that. It makes this harder.

Harder than what? Mus turned to look at him, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Harder than pretending we''re strangers? Harder than acting like the last two years didn''t happen?

Yes. The word was barely a whisper.

Mus''s hand found his in the darkness, their fingers intertwining. The touch was electric, a current that ran straight to Roy''s core. He should pull away, should maintain the distance he''d worked so hard to create. But he didn''t. He let his fingers curl around Mus''s, let the familiar warmth seep into his skin.

I never stopped thinking about you, Mus said, his thumb stroking the back of Roy''s hand. Every day. Every night.

Even when you were with Yuwei? The question was out before Roy could stop it, sharp with a jealousy he hadn''t realized he still felt.

Mus''s grip tightened. I''m not with Yuwei. Not like that.

But you will be. Roy pulled his hand away. The merger—

Is business. Mus''s voice was firm. Nothing more.

You can''t expect me to believe that.

I don''t expect anything from you. Mus stood, his movements stiff. I gave up expecting things from you two years ago.

The words hung between them, heavy with all the things they hadn''t said. Roy watched as Mus walked to the door, his broad shoulders tense.

Get some sleep, Mus said without turning around. We''ll figure this out in the morning.

The door closed softly behind him. Roy lay back down, staring at the ceiling again. His hand still tingled where Mus had touched it, a phantom sensation that felt like both a promise and a warning.

* * *

The days settled into an uneasy routine. Roy wrote in the study during the day, the words coming easier than he''d expected. There was something about being trapped in this glass tower, about the constant presence of armed men just beyond the door, that sharpened his focus.

Mus was often gone during the day, dealing with business that Roy didn''t ask about and Mus didn''t offer to explain. But he always returned in the evening, always checked on Roy first thing, as if reassuring himself that Roy was still there, still safe.

On the third day, Roy ventured out of the penthouse for the first time. Two of Mus''s men accompanied him—a driver and a bodyguard who moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who knew exactly how to spot and neutralize threats.

They went to Roy''s apartment so he could collect more clothes and his laptop. The place felt small and shabby after the penthouse, a reminder of the life he''d built in Mus''s absence. As he packed, he noticed things he hadn''t before—the way the light fell in certain patterns, the way the sounds of the city filtered through the windows. It was a good apartment, a safe apartment. Or it had been, until Black Dragon decided Roy was a useful pawn.

Almost done, Mr. Wen? the bodyguard asked from the doorway.

Almost. Roy zipped his bag closed. Just need to check the mail.

The mailbox in the lobby was stuffed with the usual—bills, advertisements, a few letters from readers. And one plain white envelope with no return address. Roy''s name was typed on the front in a generic font.

He opened it as the elevator carried him back up to his floor. Inside was a single photograph, taken from a distance but clear enough to make out the details. It showed Roy leaving the library three days ago, just before Black Dragon''s men had picked him up. On the back, typed in the same generic font: *We''re always watching.*

Roy''s blood ran cold. He showed the photograph to the bodyguard, whose expression turned grim.

We need to get back, the bodyguard said, his hand going to the weapon concealed under his jacket. Now.

The drive back to the penthouse was tense, the bodyguard constantly checking the mirrors, his posture rigid. Roy held the photograph in his lap, staring at his own image. He looked vulnerable in the picture, unaware of the danger closing in around him.

When they arrived back at the penthouse, Mus was waiting. He took one look at the photograph and his expression turned to stone.

They''re sending a message, he said, his voice dangerously calm. They want you to know they can get to you anytime, anywhere.

What do we do? Roy asked, his own voice sounding small.

We do nothing. Mus crumpled the photograph in his fist. You stay here. You let me handle this.

And how long do I stay here? A week? A month? Forever?

As long as it takes. Mus''s gaze met his, and Roy saw the determination there, the absolute refusal to back down. I won''t let them hurt you. Not again.

The again hung between them, a reference to the emotional hurt of two years ago that felt just as fresh as any physical threat. Roy wanted to argue, wanted to insist on his independence, his freedom. But the photograph in Mus''s clenched fist was a stark reminder that freedom came with a price he might not be willing to pay.

That night, Roy couldn''t sleep. He paced his room, then finally ventured out into the living area. Mus was there, sitting on the sofa with a glass of whiskey, staring out at the city lights.

Can''t sleep? Roy asked, echoing Mus''s question from a few nights before.

Mus shook his head. Too much to think about. He gestured to the space beside him. Join me?

Roy sat, leaving a careful distance between them. They sat in silence for a while, watching the city sleep.

I''m sorry, Mus said finally.

For what?

For dragging you into this. For not being able to protect you from my world. Mus took a sip of his whiskey. I thought if I kept you separate, if I kept my business away from you, you''d be safe. But it found you anyway.

It''s not your fault, Roy said, though he wasn''t sure he believed it.

Isn''t it? Mus turned to look at him. Everything that''s happened to you since we met is because of me. The danger. The fear. Even the two years apart—that was because of who I am, what I am.

Roy''s throat tightened. I made my own choices.

Did you? Mus''s gaze was intense. Or did I back you into corners where the only choices were the ones I left you?

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications Roy wasn''t ready to examine. He looked away, out at the city lights.

I don''t know, he said finally. I don''t know anything anymore.

Mus''s hand found his again, their fingers intertwining. This time, Roy didn''t pull away. He let the warmth of Mus''s hand seep into his, let the familiar sensation calm the chaos in his mind.

Stay with me tonight, Mus said quietly. Just to sleep. I won''t... I just don''t want to be alone.

Roy looked at him, at the vulnerability in his eyes, the weariness in his posture. The man who commanded armies, who made kings and broke them, was asking for comfort. And Roy found he couldn''t say no.

Okay, he whispered.

They didn''t speak as they walked to Mus''s bedroom. They didn''t speak as they undressed to their underwear and slid under the covers. They didn''t speak as Mus pulled Roy into his arms, holding him close, his chin resting on top of Roy''s head.

And in the darkness, with Mus''s heartbeat steady against his back, Roy finally slept. For the first time in days, he slept without dreams, without fear, without the constant awareness of danger just beyond the walls.

He slept, and for a few hours, he was safe.

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