Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was something about waking up with Jonathan in his arms that Teddy would never get used to. The warmth of him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his presence filled the space around them—it was both familiar and unsettling.

Familiar because Teddy had spent countless mornings like this, wrapped around him, breathing in the scent of his skin. Unsettling because Jonathan wasn’t who Teddy had thought he was, and yet here they were, tangled together as if nothing had changed.

After all, before a few days ago, it was 'Matthew' he would wake up to. Teddy snorted softly at the thought, the sound bitter but tinged with something softer. He reached out, knuckles grazing the shell of Jonathan’s ear, fingers brushing a strand of hair from Jonathan’s forehead.

A bird trilled outside the window.

The sunlight streaming through the window caught the sharp angles of his face, softening the lines of tension that seemed permanently etched there. Even in sleep, Jonathan looked troubled, his brow furrowed as if he were chasing ghosts in his dreams.

It always bothered Teddy, this restlessness that clung to him, this unease that spoke of something deeper than alcohol, addiction, or the ache of missing his family. It felt like a constant tremor beneath the surface, a hum of disquiet Teddy could sometimes almost hear.

It was another piece of the puzzle Teddy had ignored for too long, another red flag he’d brushed aside because facing the truth would have meant losing him, losing this. How many mornings had he traced the worry lines with his fingertips, dismissing them as stress or fatigue?

Looking back now, everything fit into place with a clarity that was almost painful.

The way Jonathan had been winning that tennis game until Teddy showed up, then suddenly started losing—just enough to pique Teddy’s curiosity without raising outright suspicion. Then there was way he’d had the exact amount of money they needed at the exact right moment. His weaknesses, so carefully laid bare, so easy to exploit.

After that came the dance, slow and breathless. The way Jonathan had moved with him, their bodies drawn together as if by some invisible, magnetic force, and the way he’d looked at Teddy, his eyes holding a desperate intensity, as if he couldn’t draw breath without Teddy’s touch, as if that single moment was the culmination of a lifetime spent waiting.

It was everything Teddy had ever wished for, everything his lonely heart had been starved for. Someone who mirrored his deepest desires, his raw need, who craved him with the same reckless, consuming hunger that threatened to devour them both.

Teddy’s chest tightened as the memories washed over him, each one a reminder of how thoroughly he’d been played. The lingering brush of Jonathan’s fingers against his wrist, the whispered promises in the dark—all of it had been scripted, rehearsed. And yet, even now, with a hollowness in between his ribs at the truth laid bare between them, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

He hated it, hated how much he still wanted this, hated how the warmth of Jonathan’s body against his own felt like home. But most of all, he hated the weak, desperate part of himself that didn’t care about the lies, that would willingly trade the bitter truth for just one more stolen moment like this.

Teddy watched Jonathan stir, the slow flutter of his dark lashes against pale skin. Morning light, thin and golden, spilled across the pillow, gilding the tousled edges of his hair and making him seem ethereal. He looked like something fragile and impossibly fleeting, like if Teddy dared to blink or look away for too long, he might simply dissolve into the sunlight. 

Jonathan, on the other hand, scrunched his nose against the invading brightness, a small, unconscious gesture of irritation that made Teddy’s chest constrict painfully.

Cute.

The word slipped into his thoughts before he could stop it. He couldn't stand how easily Jonathan disarmed him after everything he had done, all the lies and fake touches. Even when he knew better.

"Sleep well, Jonathan?" Teddy kept his voice low, watching as those blue eyes—God, those eyes—focused blearily on him.

A dark, possessive urge curled in his gut: the need to cage that gaze, to ensure it never strayed, to be the only thing Jonathan ever saw or acknowledged. He crushed the thought before it could take root, murmuring a quick prayer under his breath.

Jonathan hummed, voice rough with sleep. "As well as I could."

Of course. The weight of yesterday and what lay ahead was probably a lot to process. He couldn’t blame him.

"Nervous?" Teddy reached out, brushing his thumb along Jonathan’s cheek.

He was in love with this, with Jonathan melting into his touch, surrendering to the simple intimacy, with his breath hitching just slightly, a tiny, vulnerable sound that betrayed him completely. He’d thought it was all part of the act before, something Matthew did expertly to disarm him.

But this… this was undeniably real. It told him that although it had probably started off as lies, as deception woven into something beautiful, it had turned true at some point—some quiet, unmarked moment Teddy wasn’t sure he wanted to pinpoint.

Jonathan exhaled, his lashes dipping for a second before he met Teddy’s gaze again. "I know you don’t believe me, Teddy, but I know Roper. He won’t…" A flicker of hesitation. His eyes darted away, then back, gesturing between them. "This. He will not take this well."

Teddy almost laughed. As if he didn’t already know that. Yes, he didn't believe Jonathan about his father using him. Roper could be many things, cold and ruthless among them, but they were family. And sure, Roper might have left him years ago, a wound that still ached, but hadn't he ultimately come back? Hadn't he chosen Teddy in the end? That was what truly mattered.

But he didn't need to believe Jonathan to be certain his father wouldn't like him keeping Jonathan as his partner. Jonathan had systematically dismantled his father's empire, humiliated him publicly, and now Teddy wanted to… what? Keep him? Cherish him? As a lover? An equal?

No, Roper wouldn’t like that. Which was why—

"He won’t," Teddy agreed softly. His thumb stilled on Jonathan’s skin. "Which is why… we need to pretend."

Jonathan’s brow furrowed. "Pretend?"

Teddy hesitated. He knew how this would land, but there was no other way. "… Yes, Johnny." He traced the curve of Jonathan’s face, reluctant to pull away. "I need my father to believe the only reason I kept you alive is for you to warm my bed."

The reaction was instant. Jonathan’s body tensed beneath Teddy’s touch. Teddy had expected anger, defiance, the sharp edge of a retort. But what he hadn’t expected was the intensity of the hurt. It flickered in Jonathan’s eyes before he could smother it. A wound laid bare, just for a second, long enough for Teddy to feel it like a knife between his ribs.

Part of him screamed that it wasn't fair. Jonathan had pushed a blade right into Teddy's soul, had left him broken and bleeding in ways no one else ever had. He’d been the one to find out the truth about "Matthew," to stand there in the wreckage of his own trust, crying and carving fresh scars into his arm because the pain inside had been too much to contain.

He had no idea what it was like to be betrayed by the only person you thought could love you one day, and how much Teddy painfully ignored that part of himself.

Jonathan turned his face away, jaw tightening. Teddy watched the muscle flex beneath his skin, his throat work.

"You got mad at me for thinking I was your whore, and now you tell me to act like one for your father?" Jonathan’s laugh was hollow, brittle, the kind that scraped against Teddy’s bones like broken glass.

And yeah, fair enough. It was humiliating. If someone had demanded that of him, he would’ve reacted worse. But this wasn’t about pride. Roper wouldn’t tolerate sentimentality, wouldn’t allow Teddy to keep Jonathan close if he thought it was anything more than possession.

And Teddy needed to keep him close, to be the one Jonathan could always crawl to, to be the one thing Jonathan couldn't live without.

"It’s just for him, amor." Teddy reached out, fingers brushing Jonathan’s chin, guiding him back until their eyes met. "But to everyone else, you’re my partner."

Jonathan’s gaze flickered, something raw and wounded flashing through the blue before it shuttered again. "As if that makes it any better." He pulled away, the warmth of his body leaving Teddy’s touch cold as he slid out of bed.

The arm Roxy had draped loosely over Jonathan’s waist fell limply against the rumpled sheets as he disentangled himself with a jerk. Teddy propped himself up on his elbows, watching the lean lines of Jonathan’s back, how his shoulders tensed as he stood there, bare and beautiful and angry.

Frustration coiled in Teddy’s chest at the sudden distance.

"So you can pretend for everyone," Teddy snapped, the words escaping before he could bite them back, "but not for me?" The sneer in his own voice surprised him, sharp enough to cut.

He knew Jonathan had a point, knew this wasn’t the same as the lies he’d spun to get close to Teddy. But damn it all, Jonathan had played the charming, whorish playboy so effortlessly before, hadn’t he? Laughing and flirting his way through rooms full of enemies without so much as a flicker of hesitation.

So why was this the line he wouldn’t cross? Why couldn't he do the same thing, but for Teddy?

Hadn't he done enough? He hadn’t killed him, hadn’t tortured him, hadn’t put his friend down, even when those were all the things Teddy should’ve been doing to a traitor, things he had done to countless traitors before Jonathan. He’d been ruthless, efficient, and merciless. But now? Now he couldn’t even bring himself to raise a hand against him. The betrayal burned, yes, but the ache in his chest was something far worse.

Jonathan’s head whipped toward him, eyes blazing. "It’s not the same. You know that."

There it was: the vulnerability Teddy couldn’t resist prying open.

"I don’t," Teddy said, tilting his head. "Enlighten me."

Jonathan exhaled, a bitter, humorless sound. "I…" He shook his head, jaw working again before he bit out, "I thought you wanted Jonathan. Me. Not another role, not another lie."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

Teddy was moving before he could think, crossing the space between them in three strides. His hand cradled the back of Jonathan’s head, fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair. He knew this could still be an act, knew those wounded eyes, that trembling anger, could all be another layer of deception.

But honestly… he didn’t care enough to stop himself from following the instinct to comfort Jonathan.

"Hey," he murmured, "That’s what I want still." Jonathan didn’t pull away, but he didn’t lean in either. His breath was uneven, his body rigid under Teddy’s touch. Teddy pressed his forehead against Jonathan’s, forcing him to hold his gaze. "Look, it’s temporary. I swear. Roper wants to see you suffering, so that’s what I’m gonna pretend to give him. Later, I'll make sure he knows you're my partner."

Time. It was all he needed. Time for Roper to process Jonathan's presence, time for Teddy to gather more power, enough so that Roper wouldn't even question his commitment to their business because of his relationship with Jonathan.

Jonathan nodded, but then asked, "Is this punishment?"

It was Teddy's turn to frown, the question catching him off guard. What was he talking about?

"What?" Teddy echoed.

Jonathan sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "I get it. I manipulated you. I used you, Eduardo." His jaw tightened, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "But if this is punishment for that, then don’t pretend you actually want me by your side as something more than a toy." He shook his head sharply, as if physically trying to dislodge the thought, disgust etching lines around his eyes. "I know it’s hypocritical of me to demand that, but please… don’t."

Teddy felt a sting deep in his chest, a sharp ache that left him momentarily breathless. How could Jonathan believe Teddy would reduce him to something so disposable, so small? Yes, the resentment for the lies still burned, a low ember he couldn’t quite extinguish, and he despised the weakness in himself that had fallen for them.

But the image of Jonathan lowering the gun, the raw anguish in his eyes, flashed before him again. He saw, at the moment, that Jonathan had fallen for him just as much as he had fallen for Jonathan. 

Teddy stepped closer, his hands rising to cradle Jonathan’s face like fractured porcelain. "I meant every word I said to you, Jonathan." He declared, "You’re mine, my partner, my equal. Pretending to him won’t change that." His grip tightened, possessive yet reverent.

Jonathan scowled, "Then why did you claim your father didn’t have a say in who you keep as company?"

Teddy’s hands dropped from Jonathan’s face as he turned away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

"He doesn’t," Teddy said, his voice tight with built-up anger and frustration.

Roper couldn't actually force him to get rid of Jonathan, couldn't strip that choice from him, not really. Teddy was in charge of the army, after all. He had built all of this for them, brick by bloody brick, with his own hands and his own determination.

Still, despite the power he wielded, despite the independence he had fought so hard to claim, there was a part of Teddy, small but insistent, that hesitated. The boy who had grown up believing he disappointed God in every breath, every step, every decision, and didn’t want to lose his father just yet.

Jonathan asked from behind him, "What is it then? You’re afraid to disappoint him, or something?" There was a challenge in his tone, something that dared Teddy to deny it. "Or are you afraid he’s gonna kill you?"

Teddy froze, his body going rigid. Kill him? The idea was almost funny. Teddy had seen the way his father cared for Danny, the lengths he’d gone to protect him, and knew he would do the same for him. No, Roper wouldn’t kill Teddy—not physically—but he would destroy anything or anyone he saw as a threat to his son. And that was the problem.

Teddy turned to face Jonathan again, his expression softening despite the tension between them. "My father wouldn’t hurt me." The words were simple, a statement of fact. But the truth was more complicated than that. "But he would hurt you," Teddy continued, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "Kill you, thinking he’s doing some good for me."

Because that was the terrifying core of it. That was what Roper would do if he ever thought Jonathan was a weakness, a vulnerability Teddy couldn't afford. He’d kill Jonathan to save his son from suffering the way Roper himself had suffered over that same man.

Protect him, that was what he would think he would be doing. Teddy knew his father better than anyone, knew his twisted logic, the way he viewed the world through the lens of control and manipulation. And he knew, deep in his core, that if Roper took Jonathan away from him…

He couldn’t bear it, couldn’t fathom a world where Jonathan wasn’t by his side, where Roper’s cold, calculated hands had stripped him of the one person who truly understood him. He would commit an unforgivable sin before God if that ever happened.

Jonathan’s expression softened, "And you can’t protect me."

Teddy exhaled, a frustrated sound that bordered on defeat. How could he explain this to Jonathan?

"I can protect you," Teddy said, stepping closer and invading Jonathan’s space, "But…" His hand lifted, tentative at first, fingers brushing against Jonathan’s cheek, his touch impossibly soft. "I would rather not have to."

Jonathan took a deep breath and, this time, leaned against Teddy’s touch. Teddy could feel the tension in Jonathan’s body, how he held himself just slightly apart even as he allowed the contact.

"I don’t have a choice, do I?" The words were quiet, resigned. Not a challenge, not defiance.

Just acceptance.

Teddy’s fingers flexed against Jonathan’s jaw, a possessive pressure that softened as his thumb traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, a touch almost reverent. "I could order you to do it," Teddy murmured, and Jonathan didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just held his gaze, blue eyes steady, waiting.

He could order him. Could remind him that he could physically force him to anything. Could whisper Sally’s name and watch the fight drain from his eyes all over again. But he didn’t, because he cared too much to. He didn't want a puppet, a broken toy for him to play with.

The very idea tasted like ash.

No, the hunger inside him was for something far more terrifying, something infinitely more precious. He wanted what he had never truly possessed. He craved someone to stand beside him, to share the empire he had conquered. Someone who saw him, not just the power, not just the darkness, but the man beneath it all.

Someone who was worth his soul, worth the fragile, trembling part of him he’d buried deep and pretended didn’t exist.

"But I won’t force you to this." Teddy exhaled through his nose.

It would make everything infinitely messier, tangling threads he’d spent years weaving. It risked a chasm opening between him and his father, a rift he wasn't sure he possessed the tools or the desire to bridge. But, for Jonathan, he realized he was willing to do more than he ever thought.

For this one man, he would risk the foundations of his carefully controlled world.

Jonathan stared at him for a long moment, searching. Then, finally replied so softly Teddy almost missed it: "I’ll pretend."

Relief hit him like a wave, sudden and overwhelming.

"Thank you," Teddy murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of Jonathan’s lips. Chaste, fleeting, a promise more than a claim.

He wanted more. Of course, he did. Ached for it with a fierceness that startled him.

Teddy was nothing but ambition, a restless yearning for a warmth that pushed the coldness of his sins away. He wanted to kiss Jonathan properly, deeply, to lose himself in the taste of him, to chase the lingering bitterness from his mouth and replace it with something infinitely sweeter, that tasted clean and pure, that tasted like forgiveness he hadn't dared hope for.

But he knew now wasn’t the time.

"Now that you two are done waking me up…" Roxy’s voice cut through the moment.

They turned as one, startled. Roxy sat propped up in the rumpled bed, her dark hair a wild halo around her face, the sheets slipping to pool around her waist. She stretched then, a slow, sinuous unfurling, arms arching high above her head, the movement lazy and unselfconscious.

Beautiful.

A faint, knowing smile touched her lips as she lowered her arms. "Can we get ready?" she added, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in a look that was part amusement, part command.

Teddy should feel shame. Should recoil from the way his body reacted to the sight of them both—Jonathan’s lean frame still half-turned toward him, Roxy’s bare shoulders gleaming in the morning light.

He knew what this was, knew the way his hands lingered on Jonathan’s skin with the reverence of a man touching something holy, the way his pulse quickened at the barest touch, was a transgression. A slow, sweet damnation. He had spent years punishing himself for lesser desires, carving repentance into his flesh with blades and prayer.

This? This was lust, gluttony, greed all wrapped in pretty, dangerous skin. A sin he had confessed a hundred times on his knees, only to commit it a thousand more in the dark corners of his thoughts.

But here, now, with Jonathan warm against him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. No, for once, the guilt didn’t come. Instead, there was only warmth. Only the quiet certainty that, for all the lies and blood between them, this—them—was the closest to peace he’d ever been.

Teddy stepped out of the bathroom, the steam curling around him as the cool air hit his damp skin. The towel around his waist hung low, clinging to his hips as water droplets trailed down his torso, catching the morning light. He ran a hand through his damp hair, shaking off the excess water, and glanced up just as Roxy brushed past him.

Her fingers trailed over his damp skin as she smirked. "He's all yours," she murmured, winking before slipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

The soft click of the latch left the room in silence, save for the rustle of fabric. Teddy’s gaze landed on Jonathan. He was partly dressed in the formal clothes Teddy had laid out for him—dark tailored pants, socks, and polished shoes—but the shirt hung open, a window revealing the smooth expanse of his chest that Teddy had traced with his lips more times than he could count.

Jonathan stood by the bed, his fingers fumbling with the stubborn mother-of-pearl buttons, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Teddy couldn’t help but linger on the way the pants hugged Jonathan’s legs, accentuating the lean strength Teddy had always admired. The sight stirred something warm and possessive in him, a quiet ache he’d grown accustomed to but never tired of.

Teddy crossed the room, his bare feet silent against the floor. He paused just behind Jonathan, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the clean, damp freshness of the shower.

"Want help?" he asked, coming up behind Jonathan. His tone was light, almost playful.

Jonathan turned to face him, his blue eyes lifting to meet Teddy’s for a brief, searching moment before he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "If you have time," His hands dropped to his sides, making room for Teddy to step in.

Teddy smirked, his lips curling with a mix of affection and mischief. "Always have time for you, Johnny." He caught the fabric of Jonathan’s shirt, tugging him forward until Jonathan stumbled into him, chests colliding with a soft thump of breath, their bodies flush. Without breaking eye contact, Teddy guided him backward until Teddy sat down gracefully, pulling Jonathan with him until he perched on his lap, their faces inches apart.

The sudden closeness sent a jolt of electricity through Teddy. A familiar position. One that had always made Jonathan melt, his defenses crumbling under the weight of Teddy’s touch. But now, even seated, his body was rigid, his fingers flexing against his thighs like he was fighting the urge to reach out.

Teddy’s fingers worked slowly, deliberately, savoring the simple act of buttoning Jonathan’s shirt as if it were some sacred ritual. Teddy’s fingers brushed lightly against Jonathan’s abdomen, starting from the bottom and working their way up, each button sliding into place with a quiet click. He lingered longer than necessary, his fingertips brushing against the warm skin beneath.

The soft cotton slid beneath his fingertips, the heat of Jonathan’s skin seeping through the fabric. He lingered on each button, his knuckles brushing against Jonathan’s abdomen, tracing the faint outline of muscle hidden just beneath the surface in a way that was almost accidental. Almost.

Teddy knew what he was doing. He always did.

Jonathan’s breath hitched, a small, betraying sound that Teddy felt more than heard. He glanced up through his lashes, catching Jonathan’s gaze. Jonathan sat stiffly on Teddy’s lap, his hands resting awkwardly on his thighs, his fingers twitching as if unsure where to go. His breathing was shallow, his blue eyes darting down to Teddy’s hands and then away, as if he were afraid to look too long.

Teddy could feel the tension radiating from him in palpable waves, the way his body held itself taut, rigid as a bowstring stretched agonizingly to its absolute limit. It wasn’t pure fear, Teddy thought. Not exactly. It was something deeper, knotted and visceral—raw desire warring with sharp, corrosive guilt, desperate longing battling ingrained self-loathing.

Teddy knew that internal battle well, knew the trenches and the scars. He’d fought it himself, tooth and nail, fought it every single time he pressed Jonathan into yielding sheets and felt the way he shuddered beneath him.

It made Teddy ache to smooth it away, to coax him into softening, into trusting him.

Teddy exhaled through his nose, "Relax," he murmured, leaning in until his lips brushed the shell of Jonathan’s ear, lingering just long enough to feel the minute shiver that followed. "I’m not gonna bite you."

A lie. He would bite, given half the chance. Would leave possessive marks like punctures along the sharp line of Jonathan’s collarbone, would press his teeth into the softness of his inner thigh just to hear his breath hitch and catch, a sound like silk tearing.

"You say that like it’s reassuring." Jonathan pointed out, but didn’t pull away.

"You’re wound tighter than a rosary before confession." Teddy chuckled, his fingers brushing against the smooth skin just above Jonathan’s navel, feeling the faint tremor that ran through him at the contact.

Jonathan scoffed, but the tension in his shoulders eased, just a fraction. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?"

Teddy grinned, unrepentant. "Oh, amor, if I confessed half the things I’d like to do with you, the priest would need a stiff drink." He slid another button through its hole, "Maybe two."

A faint flush crept up Jonathan’s neck, staining his cheeks pink. Teddy wanted to chase the color with his tongue, to see how far down it went, to map the heat like a pilgrim tracing the path of something holy.

Jonathan quickly recovered, though, his lips curled into a sly smirk. "And here I thought you were a good Catholic boy."

Teddy laughed, low and rich, the sound vibrating through Jonathan’s chest where they were pressed together. "I’m no saint."

Not even close. Even before he’d built an empire on the bones of others' disgrace, he’d been far from a good Catholic boy. Always fighting for more, always desiring. His hands knew the slick grip of blood as well as they knew the soft warmth of Jonathan’s skin. He’d spent nights on his knees in prayer and days clawing for power, his soul a battlefield of sin and penance.

With Jonathan, though, he regretted nothing.

He finished buttoning Jonathan’s shirt, his fingers brushing the hollow of his throat before he leaned back slightly to admire his handiwork. The crisp white cotton hugged Jonathan’s frame perfectly, accentuating the lean lines of his body Teddy had mapped so thoroughly.

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably, his hands flexing against his thighs. "You’re staring," he muttered.

"Can you blame me?" Teddy asked, tilting his head as a faint, knowing smile played at the corners of his lips, drinking in the sight before him.

Jonathan was beautiful, and Teddy couldn’t stop glancing at him every chance he got, couldn’t stop marveling at the way the morning light caught the curve of his cheekbone, the way his lips parted slightly as he exhaled, the way his eyes flickered with something raw and unguarded before he shuttered them again.

“You’re beautiful,” Teddy said softly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

He didn’t mean to say it—didn’t mean to give Jonathan that power, that vulnerability—but it was the truth.

Jonathan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple dipping sharply as though the words had lodged themselves there, too much to bear. “Don’t.”

Teddy's smile was lazy but his gaze intent. “Don’t what? Don’t tell you the truth?” His thumb brushed over Jonathan’s heart, feeling the rapid beat beneath the fabric. “You are beautiful, Jonathan. I don’t say that to flatter you. It’s a fact.”

Jonathan’s lips twisted, a flicker of bitterness flashing across his face. “Don’t,” he repeated, softer this time, “Don’t make this—” He gestured between them, his hand trembling slightly, “—into something it isn’t.”

Teddy leaned in, his forehead resting against Jonathan’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. “It already is something,” he murmured, “You know that.” His hand lingered on Jonathan’s chest, fingers splaying possessively, as if claiming the heartbeat that raced beneath his palm.

Jonathan sighed heavily, his eyes never leaving Teddy’s. Teddy didn’t look away. He never did when it came to Jonathan. Those blue eyes were like a mirror, reflecting everything Teddy tried to hide—his hunger, his desperation, his guilt.

"You’re keeping me here," Jonathan said, his voice low, steady, but there was an edge to it, a sharpness that cut through the quiet of the room. "And threatening my friend."

Teddy didn’t deny it. Why would he? That was exactly what he was doing.

He held Jonathan’s gaze, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. "I am," Teddy said, his voice tender, a contrast to the admission. His fingers traced idle patterns along Jonathan’s waist, just above the line of his pants. The fabric was smooth beneath his touch, but the warmth of Jonathan’s skin beneath it was what he craved.

"And you still want me, don’t you, Jonathan?" Teddy leaned closer, his lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath Jonathan’s ear, a whisper of contact that sent a visible tremor through the other man.

His other hand slid up beneath his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle he knew so well. Jonathan exhaled sharply, a sound that was half protest, half surrender.

Teddy smiled against his skin.

"You love—" Me? The question burned in Teddy’s throat, but he swallowed it down. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer, wasn’t sure he could handle the honesty of it. Instead, he pulled back just enough to murmur, "This?" as he tightened his grip on Jonathan’s waist, dragging him closer until their bodies were flush.

Teddy pressed his lips to Jonathan’s neck, trailing kisses along his jawline, each one lingering, deliberate as a prayer whispered against his skin, while his palm was warm against Jonathan’s ribs. He could sense the steady thrum of Jonathan’s pulse beneath his mouth, quickening with every touch, every breath.

Jonathan made another sound, low and bitten-off, and when Teddy glanced up, he found Jonathan’s eyes closed, his lashes dark against his cheeks, his lips parted just slightly. The sight of him like this—trying to hold back, trying to resist—sent a thrill through Teddy’s veins.

Saintly restraint, Teddy thought with dark amusement. He couldn’t help but smile wider, a smug, predatory thing that made his chest swell with pride. This was his. Jonathan was his.

Teddy straightened slowly, his hand leaving the heated plane of Jonathan’s waist to cup his cheek instead, fingers brushing the damp hair at his temple. "Look at me, Jonathan."

Jonathan’s eyes opened, and Teddy’s breath caught. They were wet with unshed tears, glistening in the morning light, reflecting a vulnerability that stripped everything else away. Teddy had always loved him like this: raw, unguarded, teetering on the edge of something too vast to name. It was the same look Jonathan wore when Teddy had him pinned beneath him, when he was so far gone he couldn’t remember his own name, let alone his lies.

Teddy brushed his thumb over Jonathan’s cheekbone, "Ask me not to touch you, and I won’t touch you anymore."

And he meant it. If Jonathan told him to stop, he would. Even if it carved him hollow, even if it left him bleeding out on the altar of his own longing, he would never lay a hand on Jonathan again.

Jonathan didn’t respond, didn’t push Teddy away or pull him closer. He just stayed there, trembling beneath Teddy’s touch, his eyes locked on Teddy’s as if searching for something, some sign, some truth that Teddy couldn’t give him.

"Tell me," Teddy insisted, "and I’ll stop."

He waited. The seconds passed by, each one heavier than the last, and he only stared at Jonathan, continuing to stroke his cheek, memorizing the warmth of his skin and his lashes trembling with every blink.

Finally, Jonathan moved. His hands rose slowly, one cupping Teddy’s cheek, the other brushing through his damp hair, smoothing it back. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if Jonathan were handling something scared, something holy. Teddy leaned into it immediately, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the warmth of Jonathan’s palm against his skin.

He felt cherished. It was a dangerous feeling, one he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge in before. Teddy had fought against this vulnerability for so long, buried it beneath layers of control and ambition, but now, with Jonathan’s hands on him, he let it all go. He didn’t need to be in charge here, didn’t need to hold onto his walls.

And when Jonathan finally kissed him, it was slow and deliberate, a kiss that felt like a confession. Teddy melted into it instantly, his hands moving instinctively to cradle Jonathan’s face, his fingers trembling slightly as they tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The kiss was achingly soft, no urgency, no desperation—just pure, enveloping warmth and a tenderness that seeped into Teddy’s very bones,

Jonathan kissed him like he needed him, gripping tight as if he were afraid Teddy might pull away. As if he could ever pull away from him. It unraveled Teddy completely, stripping away every defense he had left, leaving him bare and trembling in Jonathan’s arms. He wondered if Jonathan could feel it, the devotion that burned in his chest just for him.

Teddy’s hands drifted lower, tracing the curve of Jonathan’s spine, his touch desperate now that he had an answer, as if he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to memorize every inch of him all over again, wanted to drown in the heat of Jonathan’s skin, in how his body pressed so perfectly against his own as if they were made to fit together. Jonathan’s lips parted slightly, and Teddy deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against his in a slow, searching rhythm.

It was intoxicating, addictive, the way Jonathan responded, the way his hands tightened against Teddy’s neck, pulling him closer, as if he couldn’t bear even the slightest distance between them. Teddy knew he’d never get enough, that he'd never be able to let go.

In the haze of desire, Teddy’s thoughts wandered, slipping into metaphors he hadn’t dared to think before. Jonathan was his altar, his confession, the thing he knelt before in quiet moments when the weight of his sins pressed too heavily on his shoulders. Teddy had spent years praying for absolution, for forgiveness, but he’d never found it in the cold stone walls of a church.

No, forgiveness had always been right here with Jonathan.

When they finally broke apart, Teddy’s breath ragged, Jonathan leaned back slightly, “Is that a good enough answer?” Jonathan whispered, his eyes searching Teddy’s face, a small smile on his lips.

He had missed seeing him smile.

Teddy chuckled, a low, breathless sound. “More than enough,” he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along Jonathan’s jawline, committing the feel of him to memory once more.

God, he felt happy, truly, deeply happy, a lightness filling his chest in a way he hadn’t experienced in years, a tightness in his throat that was pure joy. For a suspended moment, he forgot about the looming meeting with Roper, forgot about the tangled mess of lies and betrayals that still lingered between him and Jonathan.

All he craved was to stay here, anchored in this room, with his Jonathan safe in his arms, focused solely on making him feel good, and cherished.

But then, like a cold splash of water, the thought hit him, sharp and unbidden. Roper hadn’t told him everything. He’d mentioned Jonathan’s affair with Jed, a bitter pill, but he’d carefully omitted how Jonathan had infiltrated Roper’s empire, the precise methods he’d used to burrow so deep, to get so terrifyingly close to the man himself. The uncertainty coiled in Teddy’s chest, tightening like a vice.

Had Jonathan used this—this tenderness, this devastating intimacy—to manipulate Roper too? Had he made Roper feel how Teddy felt like, as if Jonathan were the only thing that mattered, the only thing worth holding onto? That thought burned through him, a searing mix of jealousy and suspicion he couldn’t shake.

“Is this how you fooled Roper?” Teddy asked abruptly with a jealousy he couldn’t quite suppress. “Making him feel like this? Like he needed you more than anything?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

Jonathan froze, his body going rigid against Teddy’s, the warmth between them suddenly replaced by a chilling distance. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if the question had struck him like a physical blow.

Then he scoffed, pulling away abruptly, his hands falling from Teddy’s face as he stood. “What the fuck, Teddy?” Jonathan snapped with disbelief and anger.

Teddy immediately regretted the question. He hadn’t meant it to sound harsh or accusing, but the thought had clawed its way out before he could stop it. He watched as Jonathan paced away, his back tense, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "Is that what you think? That I seduce everyone I spy on?"

Teddy exhaled through his nose. No, he didn’t think that. Jonathan wasn’t some honeypot operative. But he didn't doubt that everyone Jonathan spied on fell in love with him. How couldn't they? Even if it was weird to even think of his Father liking Jonathan like that, who wouldn't fall in love with Jonathan?

Even now, with anger darkening his features, Jonathan was magnetic. The way his lips curled in frustration, the way his blue eyes burned with defiance—everything about him was designed to pull people in, to make them want something they never knew they desired. Teddy had seen it firsthand, had felt it himself. How Jonathan’s presence could fill a room, how his attention could make you feel like the only person that mattered, like you were the center of his world, even if only for a moment.

It was infuriating.

It was intoxicating.

"You seduced his wife," Teddy pointed out, shrugging as he pushed off the bed and stood. "I wouldn’t judge you if you had done the same with Roper."

He wouldn't pretend like that wouldn't make him more possessive of Jonathan with his father near. But if Jonathan had used his body, that undeniable magnetism, to get close to Roper, Teddy wouldn’t hold it against him. He understood the ugly game they all played, the cold sacrifices it demanded.

Still, the thought of Roper, his father, touching Jonathan like he had, kissing him, tasting him—

Teddy’s jaw clenched.

Jonathan turned sharply, exasperation written in every line of his body. "No, Teddy, I didn’t seduce your father. He thought of me as his apprentice, that’s all."

Apprentice.

The word hit Teddy like a bullet between the ribs. Roper had never mentioned that. Not once. Not through hours of venomous tirades about Teddy's stupidity for letting Jonathan into his life, not during his furious rants detailing Jonathan’s betrayals. That crucial detail, that intimate connection, had been deliberately buried.

"Apprentice?" Teddy repeated slowly, his voice dangerously calm. "As in… a successor?"

That didn’t make sense. Roper had him. Had Danny. Why would he need some random to take his place?

Jonathan’s expression softened, just slightly. "Yes."

And then he told Teddy everything.

How he’d first met Roper, how he’d infiltrated his empire, how Roper had seen something in him and decided to mold him into his own image. How Jonathan had played along, letting Roper believe he was shaping him into something worthy of standing in his shadow.

And how, in the brutal end, Jonathan had used that hard-won trust, that intimate knowledge granted by the apprenticeship, to tear Roper apart from the inside.

Teddy listened, his fingers flexing at his sides. He understood now. Understood why Jonathan had done it, why he’d gone after Roper with such single-minded determination. If Roper had done to him what he’d done to Jonathan—if he’d taken everything from him, twisted him into something unrecognizable—Teddy would have burned the world down to get revenge, too.

But there was a strange relief in knowing Jonathan hadn’t seduced Roper. That whatever intimacy they’d shared had been transactional, cold, a means to an end. That this, Jonathan’s hands moving over him, him whispering Teddy’s name like an echo of a prayer, was something only he had.

Something Roper could never touch, never claim, never even comprehend.

Then Jonathan had to ruin it. "You see?" he said, stepping closer, "He never meant you to be his successor. He doesn’t care about you."

Of course, Jonathan would use that to try to turn him against Roper. Jonathan was still Jonathan, after all.

Teddy rolled his eyes, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Don’t even start. It’s not gonna work."

He turned away before Jonathan could respond, striding toward the closet to dress up. He didn’t need to hear this, didn’t need Jonathan digging into his head, planting seeds of doubt that had no business taking root.

But Jonathan wasn’t done.

"You really think he wouldn’t replace you if he could?" Jonathan pressed, following him. "You think he wouldn’t toss you aside the second someone better came along?"

Teddy yanked a shirt off its hanger, his fingers tightening around the fabric. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to think about this. Roper was his father. Yes, he could be harsh, but that was just the way he was. He loved him. He came back to him and trusted him to follow his footsteps.

He couldn't just dismiss all of that.

"He doesn’t need you, Teddy." Jonathan's voice rose, "Not in the way you think he does. And the sooner you realize that, the better."

"Enough," he snapped, whirling to face Jonathan. His pulse thundered in his ears. "You don’t know him like I do."

Jonathan’s gaze didn’t waver. "I know him better than you ever will."

How?  Teddy wanted to ask. Jonathan wasn't Roper's son. Teddy had no illusions about the kind of man his father was, he knew the exact reason why he gained the title of worst man alive. But he wasn't that man with him. Roper cared. He could feel he did, in the way his hand lingered on his shoulder, in the rare, approving nods he gave when no one else was looking.

Before he could tell that to Jonathan, though, the bathroom door opened, and Roxy stepped out, towel wrapped around her body, her hair damp, her eyes flicking between them. "Everything okay?"

Teddy and Jonathan locked stares for one last, loaded second.

Then Teddy forced a smile, smooth and easy as always. "Perfect."

Jonathan didn’t argue.

Teddy arrived with one arm wrapped around Roxy’s waist, her arm draped lazily around his waist, and the other around Jonathan’s, whose discomfort he didn't know whether was an act or not. He strode forward with deliberate ease, his steps confident, his head held high.

It was something he'd learned soon in this business, the art of presentation, the power of appearing untouchable.

The late morning sun cast long shadows across their path, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass. Teddy had spared no expense in ensuring his father’s comfort here, though it was a far cry from the opulence he’d once known, but soon that would change.

Soon, they would own this country, and Roper wouldn't have to hide anymore.

Richard Roper lounged on an outdoor sofa, a drink in hand, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. Always sharp. Two men flanked him, their hands resting lightly on the weapons concealed beneath their tailored jackets. One of them was new, Teddy noted, recently promoted to the perilous honor of Roper's inner circle, now entrusted with guarding Roper himself. Teddy recognized him, but the name didn’t matter.

What mattered was Roper’s eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of Teddy, Roxy, and Jonathan approaching.

Teddy felt Jonathan stiffen further, the subtle shift in his breathing, his fingers twitching against Teddy’s side. He didn’t need to look at Jonathan to know his eyes had gone cold. Teddy leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of Jonathan’s ear as he murmured, “I’m here.” The words were soft, meant only for Jonathan, a quiet reassurance.

Jonathan glanced at him, a fleeting look that held more trust than Teddy probably deserved, but he took it anyway, greedy, and tucked it away.

“Father,” Teddy greeted, smooth and confident as they reached the seating area, his voice carrying just the right balance of warmth and detachment.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sank onto the plush sofa directly opposite of Roper, deliberately placing Roxy to his left and Jonathan to his right. His arms draped casually around their shoulders, fingers curling possessively—a deliberate show of control, of unity, meant for Roper.

Always the perfect actress, Roxy crossed her legs elegantly, the slit in her dress revealing just enough to be distracting without crossing into vulgarity. There was a small, practiced smile playing on her lips as she inclined her head, “Mr. Roper.”

Jonathan, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. Teddy could feel the subtle tremor of suppressed anger in his frame.

Teddy's fingers squeezed his shoulder gently. “Be polite, Jonathan,” Teddy ordered, the words soft but edged with command, the first step in their act.

Jonathan’s jaw clenched, his throat working as he swallowed whatever bitter retort had risen to his tongue. But he complied, facing Roper, “Roper.”

Roper's eyes flickered between the three of them, lingering a moment too long on Jonathan. His expression was unreadable, but Teddy knew his father’s tells—the slight narrowing of his eyes, the faint curl of his lip. Roper leaned back, his drink still in hand, “Explain yourself, Eduardo.”

Just a few words, but they hit Teddy like a punch to the gut. He felt the familiar itch beneath his skin, the urge to dig his nails into his palms or twist the ring on his finger until it left a mark.

Instead, he forced his body to stay relaxed, his smirk not faltering as he leaned back, projecting an ease he didn’t feel. “There’s nothing to explain,” Teddy said, his tone light, almost mocking. “You told me to handle Pine. He’s handled, as you can see.”

Roper raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He gestured toward Jonathan with his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass. “No. What I can see is that he isn’t dead or being tortured. Actually, I don’t even see a bruise on him.” He paused, his gaze hardening as it settled on Teddy. “So if that’s your concept of handled, son, I see I have more to teach you yet.”

Teddy inhaled a controlled breath, the sting of Roper’s words settling like a lead weight in his chest. He hated that part of him still craved his father’s approval, still felt the sharp pang of shame when he failed to meet Roper’s impossible expectations. The pressure coiled inside him, a silent scream begging for release.

He imagined the sharp edge of a blade, the way it would slice through skin, the momentary relief it would bring, the crimson spill of proof that he could still feel something, anything, beneath the numbness. But he couldn’t afford to show weakness, not here, not now.

So he focused on how he hated Roper’s condescension even more, him speaking as though Teddy were a foolish child perpetually in need of correction, as though the empire Teddy had clawed from the dirt with his own hands meant nothing.

He pushed the feelings aside, letting his smirk widen as he leaned back, his fingers idly tracing patterns on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I found those options to be… a waste of Jonathan’s potential,” Teddy drawled, the words dripping with feigned nonchalance.

Roper’s expression didn’t change, his face a mask of cold detachment. "And what, precisely, do you think Pine’s potential is?”

Teddy’s mind raced, scrambling to find the right words, the right tone. He couldn’t afford to falter, couldn’t let Roper see even a flicker of doubt. His thoughts momentarily drifted to the knife he kept hidden in his pocket, the one he used to carve reminders into his skin when the pressure became too much.

“I find him to be…" Teddy said, leaning forward slightly, his smirk widening into something deliberately cruel. He glanced at Jonathan, a deliberate pause, before adding, “Quite entertaining.”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue. Jonathan was entertaining, but not like that, and Teddy definitely wasn’t keeping him for that reason. Still, seeing Jonathan look down, tense, wasn't easy. Teddy had warned him, hadn’t he? Told him he would lie, pretend, and that what he said would never be true.

But he wondered if Jonathan would ever wonder whether that was real, if the doubt would creep in and fester like a wound left untreated.

Roper took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving Teddy’s face. “Entertaining,” he echoed, flat. “So this is about your… tastes?”

Tastes. As if what he felt for Jonathan could be reduced to something so trivial, so shallow. At first, yes, he had told himself that was all it was—an indulgence, a fleeting weakness he would confess and pray away in the quiet hours of the night. But after their first night together, something had shifted, something he couldn’t quite name or control. His need for 'Matthew' had grown, consuming him like a hunger that no amount of penance could sate.

It had become a craving, a compulsion, until being with Jonathan felt better than the cuts he left on his own skin, better than the fleeting relief of pain.

He had never felt anything like that with anyone, even with Roxy, and she had been his only constant for five years. So no, this wasn't about his taste, but it was easier if Roper thought it was.

Teddy forced a laugh, the sound hollow even to his own ears. “Call it a perk,” he said, shrugging casually. “He's the most fun I had in years." Teddy’s hand slid down Jonathan’s arm, a deliberate gesture of possession, before resting on his thigh.

The contact was grounding, a reminder that Jonathan was still here, still his, even if every word he spoke was a lie. Teddy’s thumb pressed into Jonathan’s leg, a silent apology for another truth distorted into a simple lie.

Roper stared at Teddy for a few moments, his expression a mask of cold calculation. Then, his gaze shifted to Jonathan, “And how do you feel about that, my boy?” Roper asked, his tone soft, almost paternal.

My boy.

The words cut deeper than they should have. Roper had never called Teddy my boy. The few times his father had deigned to call him son, it had been laced with disappointment, a reminder of how Teddy had failed to measure up. But here he was, addressing Jonathan with something almost like fondness, a grotesque parody of affection, after everything Jonathan did to him.

Something ugly and corrosive twisted in Teddy’s chest. He knew this was just Roper being Roper, manipulating the situation, but that didn’t make it sting any less. The knife in his pocket called to him again, a whispered promise of relief. One cut, just one, and the tension would ease.

Jonathan’s response was calm as he stared straight at Roper. “I’m here to serve Teddy.”

Roper hummed skeptically, taking a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Jonathan. “You don’t look happy,” he observed.

Teddy snorted, cutting in before Jonathan could respond. “If he was happy, what would be the point of this?” He patted Jonathan’s thigh lightly, the gesture possessive and dismissive all at once.

As if he only didn't kill Sally, hurt Jonathan the same way he hurt him, because deep down he just wanted Jonathan happy. Just wanted to hear his laugh, see his smile, make him feel good.

Roper’s expression didn’t change. "So this is his punishment, then?"

He still wasn’t looking at Teddy.

Irritation prickled under Teddy’s skin, hot and insistent. His father’s dismissal, the way he spoke around him instead of to him, made his jaw tighten. His fingers twitched toward his pocket, the urge to cut growing stronger, but he forced himself to keep his hand still.

Teddy tilted his head, "What else would it be?"

Roper’s fingers tapped once against his glass. "Weakness. Sentimentality. Attachment." He set his drink down on the coffee table between them, the ice clinking softly against the glass, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, "Jonathan here excels at preying on people’s susceptibility to catch feelings." A pause, then the knife twist, "Were you susceptible, Eduardo?"

Yes.

From the first moment, he had been defenseless against Jonathan—against the startling, deceptive depth of those blue eyes looking right through him, against the way he responded when Teddy touched him, against how his body felt against his. He had fallen, hard and fast, and Jonathan had played him perfectly.

But then the tables had turned. Jonathan had gotten just as tangled up in him, just as ruined, just as lost.

And Teddy couldn’t lie, not outright. Roper would see through it in an instant. So he did what he did best: he redirected.

"Were you, Father?"

The room went still.

Then Roper’s expression darkened, "What did you just say?"

Teddy didn’t back down. As much as he wanted to, as much as a part of him ached to kneel before Roper and ask for forgiveness, carve his arms with a blade and show him he didn't mean it, but Roxy and Jonathan's presence gave him strength.

Teddy leaned forward, mirroring Roper’s posture, his elbows resting on his knees. He met his father’s gaze head-on, his smirk firmly in place. "Jonathan told me about his time with you." He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "I was… fascinated by how both of us missed the game the same man was playing with us." His gaze flicked briefly to Jonathan, then back to Roper. "And your past trust in him, enough to make him your apprentice, makes me wonder. Were you susceptible?"

Roper’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Teddy thought he might lash out. He wasn't sure he was ready for it. The closest his father had gotten to lashing out at him was when he found out about Jonathan.

But then, slowly, Roper leaned back on the sofa, his expression unreadable once more. “Enough,” he said, crisp and final. “This isn’t about me. I'm not the one risking our business over some preference.”

"Neither am I." Teddy shrugged and leaned back, too, his movements calculated to mirror his father’s. "Jonathan’s under control."

Roper’s eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking to Jonathan, then back to Teddy. “What he knows is dangerous,” he said, his voice low, each word deliberate. “What he is is dangerous.”

A chill snaked down Teddy’s spine. Roper wasn’t wrong. Jonathan was more dangerous than anyone who had ever approached Teddy, not because of the secrets he carried or the skills he possessed, but because, in a few weeks, he had made himself someone Teddy couldn’t live without, someone Teddy couldn’t untangle himself from him, couldn’t bring himself to destroy, and that made Jonathan dangerous.

The knowledge that he should was a dull, constant ache, drowned out by his sheer, terrifying sense of need. Jonathan had crawled under his skin, burrowed into his thoughts, and Teddy wasn’t sure he ever wanted to carve him out.

"Again, father, he’s under control," Teddy said with a forced smile.

He could see the exact moment Roper realized he wouldn’t be able to break him over this. Teddy had won this round.

But Roper wasn’t done. He shifted tactics, his gaze sliding to Roxy, his lips curling into a disdainful smirk. “What about Ms. Bolaños here? Wasn’t she the bridge between you and ‘Matthew’?” He spat out the alias 'Matthew' as if it were a personal offense, a piece of grit in his mouth.

Teddy chuckled, something forced. "Roxy wasn’t involved with Jonathan. I made sure of that." The lie came easily, though it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The truth was, it had hurt, a deep, visceral ache, when he’d discovered Roxy had worked with Jonathan behind his back. Betrayal always did, no matter how many times he’d experienced it.

But Teddy couldn’t blame her. Not entirely. She’d been scared of him, a fear he’d meticulously cultivated with every ruthless decision, every calculated display of power. He’d given her ample reason to seek protection elsewhere.

His resentment would bubble up sometimes, but it never lasted long. Roxy was his oldest friend, his constant in a life that had been anything but stable. She was the one person who had always been there, even when he’d pushed her away, even when he’d made it impossible for her to stay. And now, more than ever, he couldn’t afford to lose her.

Roper looked at Roxy, his eyes narrowing in scrutiny, and scoffed, "So she was only stupid enough to lie with the enemy?" The words dripped with disdain.

Teddy felt the jab like a stab in his gut. He knew it wasn’t meant for Roxy—it was meant for him. Roper was trying to offend him without saying it outright, a reminder of Teddy’s failures, a lesson wrapped in veiled insults.

But Roxy, as always, knew how to handle herself. Her smile widened as she countered, "I guess it’s easy to moralize when your own financial dependencies are being written off."

Teddy pressed his lips into a thin line to keep from snorting.

Roper, however, wasn’t amused. His expression hardened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as he raised a single, challenging eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

Roxy settled her hands atop her crossed legs, her posture poised. "I mean that since all three of us have lain with this specific enemy, each in our own ways…" She tilted her head, a sly glint in her eye. "How about we accept that although he is good at what he does, we caught him. He is ours to do whatever we wish of him. And isn’t that the ultimate victory?"

Teddy glanced at Jonathan out of the corner of his eye. Throughout the exchange, Jonathan had remained silent, his face a mask of indifference, but Teddy knew him better than that. It was about his fingers twitching against his thigh, the subtle tightening of his jaw, the careful avoidance of eye contact with anyone. He was playing his part, holding his tongue, trusting Teddy to handle this.

For a moment, Teddy marveled at this trust, clinging to it.

Roper opened his mouth with the promise of another cutting remark, but before he could speak, a shrill ring cut through. Roper’s hand went to his pocket, pulling out his phone. He glanced at the screen, his lips thinning as he stood.

“We’ll continue this when I’m back,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He strode toward the house, leaving Teddy, Jonathan, and Roxy in awkward silence.

Teddy watched his father disappear through the doorway, and a cold knot tightened in his chest. This was bad. Roper wasn’t convinced. He should be by now, dammit. Teddy had played his part perfectly: the man who kept his enemies close for his own amusement. It was a lie, but it was a good lie, one Roper should have swallowed without hesitation.

But he hadn’t.

Which meant Teddy had miscalculated.

His pulse thrummed under his skin, too fast, too loud. He could feel the weight of Jonathan’s presence beside him, the warmth of Roxy’s leg pressed against his. He needed to think, needed to breathe, but the air felt too thick, almost suffocating. If Roper didn’t believe him, if he saw Jonathan as a threat, he’d immediately launch into action. Swift and brutual. Teddy knew his father's ability to eliminate anyone or anything he saw as a liability.

And Jonathan? Jonathan was the ultimate liability. Teddy had made sure of that by keeping him alive, by binding him close, by marking him as his. His hands twitched at his sides, the urge to dig his fingernails into his palms almost overwhelming. He needed to feel something, anything, to ground himself, to distract himself from the spiraling thoughts.

In the last weeks, that anchor had been Jonathan. His kisses, his touches, his taste. But he couldn’t have that here. So he needed pain instead. Sharp. Immediate. Something to cut through the noise in his head before it drowned him.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Teddy announced abruptly, his voice too loud, too forced. He adjusted his formal shirt, smoothing the fabric with trembling fingers as he stood. The collar felt tighter than it had a moment ago, as though it were closing in around his throat. He turned to Jonathan and Roxy, forcing a smirk he didn’t feel. “You two stay here.”

Jonathan frowned, his gaze flicking across Teddy’s face, searching. Teddy cowered beneath that look, beneath how Jonathan could see through him so easily, making him feel exposed. Please, let go. Just now, let go, he repeated in his mind.

In the end, Jonathan nodded, his expression neutral, and Teddy felt a flicker of relief.

Roxy raised an eyebrow, her tone light but laced with warning. “Don’t take long.”

Teddy’s gaze lingered on Jonathan, his chest aching with a visceral need to touch him, to reassure himself that Jonathan was still here, still his. He settled for a wink, “I won’t.” He turned away before he could second-guess himself, his steps quickening as he headed to the entrance.

Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. He moved quickly, his pulse racing as he walked straight for the bathroom. He pushed the door shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the small room.

For a moment, he just stood there, breathing in the silence, the stillness. Then the panic returned, sharper this time, clawing at his chest.Teddy pulled out the knife, the metal cool against his palm. The old routine started, muscle memory taking over. He rolled up his sleeve, exposing the skin of his forearm, crisscrossed with faint scars.

The first cut was always the hardest, the hesitation, the split-second doubt—should I?—but it didn’t last long.

The blade sliced through skin, sharp and clean, and Teddy exhaled, the tension in his chest loosening just slightly. He watched the blood well up, dark and vivid against his skin, and cut again. And again. Each slice was a release, a dose of pain to drown out the chaos in his head. The ritual was familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. Cut, bleed, breathe. Repeat. It was a temporary fix, but it worked.

He needed this. Needed the clarity, the control. Needed to remind himself that he was still in charge, that he could still handle this.

But even as the pain dulled the panic, a thought stayed: What if it’s not enough? What if Roper didn’t believe him? What if he tried something? Teddy’s hand trembled, the blade slipping slightly as he cut again, deeper this time. He hissed through his teeth, the pain sharper, more immediate.

He couldn’t lose Jonathan. He couldn’t. He would come back to this, but all the time, and after tasting a bit of happiness, genuine happiness, he didn't want to let go of it. He wouldn't let go.

So he pressed the cool metal down once more, harder, and surrendered, letting the immediate, all consuming pain swallow him whole for a few precious, obliterating minutes.

Jonathan was worried about Teddy, even when he knew he should be more worried about himself.

He glanced around the room, his senses on high alert. The two bodyguards who had been flanking Roper earlier now stood at the entrance to the house, their eyes locked on him like hawks tracking prey. Their hands rested on their holstered guns, their fingers twitching occasionally, as if itching for an excuse to draw.

It reminded him he was a prisoner here, no matter how much Teddy tried to spin it otherwise.

Roxy sat beside him, her posture relaxed, her legs crossed elegantly, but Jonathan could see through it. Her fingers tapping against her knee, the slight tension in her jaw—she was nervous too.

She was skilled at the performance, projecting an air of bored detachment, but not skilled enough to fool him entirely. She knew as well as he did that Roper wasn’t convinced. That this fragile facade could shatter at any moment.

Roper also hadn’t returned yet, but Jonathan knew it was only a matter of time. Watching Roper talk to Teddy ignited a familiar, corrosive fire in his gut, reminding him of everything he despised about the man. The arrogance, the condescension, the way he treated everyone, even Teddy, like they were insects beneath his polished boots. It had taken every ounce of Jonathan's self-control not to lunge at him right then, to make him pay for every life he'd ruined, every wound he'd inflicted without a second thought.

It helped, in a twisted, hollow way, that part of him was too busy nursing its own raw wound, flayed open by Teddy speaking of him as if he were nothing. And the funny part was, it shouldn't hurt. Teddy had told him beforehand that he would have to pretend too. And yet, doubt slithered through Jonathan’s mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, the softness had been the lie all along.

If the soft, possessive touches, if the kisses, if the caring words, were actually the mask.

Jonathan inhaled, pushing those thoughts away. Teddy. He was worried about Teddy, who had left abruptly, his eyes shadowed with something Jonathan couldn’t quite place. Anger? Fear? It didn’t matter. What mattered was that something was wrong.

He knew the cracks beneath Teddy’s polished exterior all too well now: the way his hands would tremble when he thought no one was looking, the way he’d disappear into the bathroom for longer than necessary, the scars he hid beneath long sleeves near 'Matthew'.

And now? Now, Teddy was taking too long.

Jonathan should stay seated. He should play the part of the obedient prisoner, the one who didn’t dare step out of line. But he couldn’t. Not when Teddy was out of sight. He had to check on him. He didn’t know why, didn’t know what he could do if something was wrong, but he had to.

“I’m gonna check on Teddy,” Jonathan said, standing before Roxy could protest.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Jonathan—” she started, but he was already moving toward the house.

He didn’t get far. The two bodyguards stepped in front of him, blocking his path. The first, a man with dark skin and a hardened expression, tilted his head slightly, his hand tightening on his gun. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Jonathan met his gaze, raising his arms in surrender, palms open. “I’m gonna check on Teddy.”

It was stupid, really. Profoundly, dangerously stupid. Teddy was his captor, the architect of this suffocating prison, so he shouldn't care. He shouldn’t feel anything for the man who had orchestrated this twisted game. But he did. He cared enough to kiss him, to let Teddy’s hands roam over his skin, to pretend again, but this time for Teddy, just so he could keep his father on his side for a little longer.

Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop caring about Teddy. And that, more than anything, terrified him.

The second guard, a pale man with a sneer permanently etched onto his face, scoffed loudly, his lips curling as though the very sight of Jonathan was an affront. His eyes raked over Jonathan with unmistakable disdain. “No, you’re not,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “Go back to your place and keep your mouth shut.”

Jonathan’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay composed. Yes, he should listen. He should sit back down, fold his hands in his lap, and wait for Teddy to return like a good little prisoner. That was the reasonable thing to do, the smart thing, the thing that would keep him alive.

But the thought of Teddy alone in the house, vulnerable because he loved his father too much, too blindly, made his stomach churn, a sickening twist of dread that clawed its way up his throat.

What if Roper found Teddy there and decided to act before Teddy could stop him? Teddy might not believe him that Roper would put him down given the chance, but Jonathan knew the truth. That man didn't give a shit about Teddy, and never would. If he saw the opportunity to take his son out of the game now, he would take it.

And Teddy deserved many things, but not to be put down like a dog by his own father.

“Look,” Jonathan gestured to inside the house, “I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

The second guard's sneer deepened as he leaned in slightly, “You think he needs you to check on him? You?” He shook his head with a derisive chuckle. “You’re nothing but his whore, Pine. You’re not here to protect him."

Jonathan clenched his fists at his sides, the sting of the guard’s words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. He could handle humiliation, he prepared for it the moment Teddy asked to pretend, but there was this insidious voice in his head now, whispering: what if he was right? What if Teddy was playing him, working with Roper on some elaborate scheme to break him?

It would only be fair, right? He’d played with Teddy's feelings, twisted them for his own ends, and now the other man was just returning the favor, making Jonathan believe he cared for him in any distorted, fucked-up way when he was just using him. If that was the case, if Teddy was doing all of this to see him miserable, Jonathan didn't know what he would do because he couldn't see himself aiming a gun at Teddy again.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about his pride or his heart or whatever fragile thing Teddy had managed to break inside him. It was about Teddy's life possibly being in danger. He needed to make sure Teddy was okay.

“Look,” Jonathan said, “I’m just trying to help. I don’t think he needs me. I think he might want some… stress relief. That’s all.” He kept his tone neutral, hoping the guard would back off.

After all, as disgusting as saying that made him feel, that was why he was supposedly there, right? They should let him pass.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

The second guard barked out a laugh. He stepped closer, his breath hot and reeking of stale coffee, “Stress relief?” he repeated, “I think the boss's got better things to do than waste his time on some washed-up MI6 agent turned whore.” His eyes raked over Jonathan with undisguised contempt.

Jonathan’s jaw tightened. Alright, so he was that kind of guy, the kind who got off on humiliation, on power plays, on grinding someone else into the dirt just because he could. Great. Just great.

The first guard, the one with the hardened expression, spoke sharply in Spanish. “Basta, Carlos. Déjalo.” Enough, Carlos, let him be. His voice was low, a warning laced with frustration. He glanced at Jonathan, his eyes flickering with something that might have been sympathy—or maybe just pity, the clinical pity reserved for cornered animals.

He could take pity. Even if he was the one putting himself in this situation by falling for Teddy, it was good to know that someone here didn't feel something entirely negative about him. Because Jonathan might be weak, but he wasn't stupid. Teddy definitely still resented him, given his question about Roper a few hours before, alongside the possibility that he was manipulating him, And Roxy—

Well, Roxy had made her feelings about his lies crystal clear.

The second guard, Carlos, waved a dismissive hand, his tone mocking as he replied in Spanish, “Relájate, hermano. Solo estoy jugando.” Chill, brother. I'm just joking. He turned back to Jonathan, “You don’t mind a little joke, do you, Pine? It's not like someone who is usually face down and ass up can afford not to take a joke."

The crude image slammed into Jonathan, freezing him for a split second, his mind barely having time to process what Carlos had just said when Roxy stepped forward to stand beside him. “Enough,” she spat, her tone icy. She glared at Carlos, her dark eyes flashing with anger. “You’re out of line.”

He glanced at her. He didn't need her to defend him, he could actually take some insults, but the fact that she stepped in, that she didn’t hate him enough to let it slide, meant something.

Carlos turned to her, his smirk twisting into something nastier. “And what about you, señorita?” he gestured between her and Jonathan. “What makes you think you have any say here?”

Jonathan glared at Carlos. Was this guy serious? Hadn't Teddy just given Roxy a bigger share of his business? Maybe Roper didn't know about it yet judging by the way he'd dismissed her earlie but it wasn't like a random guard could act the same and treat a Teddy's business partner like he treated Jonathan. The disrespect was staggering, and Jonathan could feel the heat of irritation crawling up his neck.

Roxy raised her chin, her dark eyes narrowing as she squared her shoulders. “I’m his business partner, and have been for what? Five years by now?” She scoffed, looking Carlos up and down with disgust. “You just got a lucky promotion, and are about to lose it when Teddy comes back.”

Carlos let out a mocking sound, his smirk widening as he leaned back on his heels. “Business partner?” he drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “C’mon, we all know why the boss really keeps a pretty woman like you around.” He stepped closer, this time his gaze raking over Roxy with deliberate lewdness. “Someone has to do the kneeling when a deal is struck.”

Jonathan made a face. It was one thing was to come after him for the role Teddy had put him into, Jonathan could handle that. But Roxy? None of that was true. This guy was just being an asshole for the sake of it, throwing insults like cheap shots to assert his newfound power.

Carlos moved toward Roxy, his posture aggressive, but Jonathan stepped between them before he could get too close. His body acted on instinct, shielding Roxy. He had no clear idea what Carlos intended – a shove, a grab, just intimidation – but he wouldn't let him lay a finger on her.

Maybe he should, for her betrayal, for the way she acted like everything was normal when it wasn't, but protecting others ran deeper in Jonathan.

Carlos paused, his smirk twisting into something uglier as he glanced at the other guard. “Las putas se defienden, ¿eh, Luís?” The whores protect each other, huh?

Okay, that was enough.

Before Luís could say anything back, Jonathan snapped, “Stop now, and we won’t tell Teddy,” he said, his eyes locked on Carlos.

He hoped it would be enough to defuse the situation, reminding him who the real boss was here and that he wouldn't like this. A warning, a last thin chance to back down before things spiraled completely out of control.

He was wrong. Utterly wrong.

“What?” Carlos leaned even closer, “You’ll cry to him? Beg? That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?” His eyes flickered with a cruel amusement.

The first guard snapped something sharp in Spanish, his hand shooting out to grab Carlos’ arm. “Cállate, imbécil! No sabes lo que estás haciendo.” Shut up, idiot! You don’t know what you’re doing.

Carlos shook him off, shoving Luís back with a rough jerk of his shoulder. “What? Are you seriously defending him now?” he spat, his eyes darting between the first guard and Jonathan. “What’s the matter? You want a turn with him too?”

Jonathan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. Every instinct in him screamed to punch Carlos in the face, to wipe that smug smirk off with a well-placed hit. But he held himself back, forcing his breathing to stay even. If he attacked, it would all go down.

Roper would either realize what was really happening, or want Teddy to put him down for not being under control. And the truth was, Jonathan wasn't sure if between him and Roper, Teddy would choose him. He wanted to believe he would, believe what Teddy told him by how his fingers brushed against his skin and his lips sought his as if he couldn't breathe without that.

But with a choice between a new lover who had already betrayed him and his father, who he still believed loved him…

The answer was painfully clear.

Roxy’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing into slits, “You’re embarrassing yourself,” she said coolly.

"At least I'm not the one being passed around." Carlos licked his lips, staring straight at Roxy's chest.

Jonathan's fist itched to hit Carlos, knuckles aching with the need to crack against bone. Roxy’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped closer to Jonathan, her hand brushing against his arm in a silent gesture of solidarity. “Jonathan,” she said softly, “Let’s go.”

Before Jonathan could consider her suggestion, Carlos’s hand shot out with startling speed, grabbing Jonathan’s arm with bruising force. “Oh, now you’re leaving, maricón?” he laughed, shaking Jonathan slightly.

His grip was vice-like, his fingers digging into Jonathan’s skin. Jonathan could get off it. He could take Carlos down, force him to respect them both through sheer, brutal force. But the thought curdled in his gut, sour and familiar. It sounded too much like Roper’s teachings, like the kind of violence that had been drilled into him until it became second nature.

And that realization made him sick.

Luís grabbed Carlos’s shoulder. “Déjalo, idiota! No ves que está buscando problemas?” Leave him alone, idiot! Don't you see you're seeking problems? His fingers dug into Carlos’s jacket, trying to pull him back.

Jonathan froze. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to do something, anything, to protect himself and Roxy, but Every option felt like a trap. As if noticing his conflict, Roxy moved between them, her palm pressed to Luis’s chest. "Back. Off."

Carlos sneered, shoving her and Luís' hands away. He twisted Jonathan's arm, the pain lancing up to his shoulder like fire, but he didn’t react, didn’t give Carlos the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. Instead, he met Carlos’ gaze head-on, his blue eyes cold and steady.

“You'd better listen to them," Jonathan said through clenched teeth. He was holding back, every muscle in his body coiled tight, teetering on the edge of control.

“Why?" Carlos scoffed. He stepped closer, his chest nearly bumping against Jonathan’s. "What’re you gonna do, puta—"

The click of a gun cut Carlos off.

Everyone stilled.

Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat as the cold, metallic sound echoed in the tense silence. His gaze snapped past Carlos to where Teddy stood, his gun raised, the barrel aimed towards Carlos' head.

Oh no. This wasn't going to end well.

“¿Qué coño crees que estás haciendo?” Teddy’s expression was ice. What the fuck do you think you are doing?

No smirk, no playful glint in his dark eyes—just a flat, lethal calm that sent a shiver down Jonathan’s spine. He knew that look. He’d seen it before, in the split second before Teddy pulled the trigger on men who had crossed him, men who had underestimated the cold efficiency of Teddy Roper.

It never failed to scare him, how seamlessly Teddy could shed his humanity and slip into that persona, becoming the living, breathing embodiment of the Roper legacy: ruthless, unflinching, and utterly merciless.

Carlos froze, his grip on Jonathan’s arm slackening. Slowly, he turned his head toward Teddy, his sneer faltering as he met the unwavering black eye of Teddy’s gun. “Jefe, ya volviste.” Boss, you're back. He raised his hands, the bravado from moments ago evaporating.

Teddy didn’t answer. His gaze flicked down to Jonathan’s bruised arm, his jaw tightening as he took in the mottled purple and blue marks marring the skin. For a moment, his expression hardened further, the coldness in his eyes deepening. Jonathan couldn't believe that a part of him—the neglected, weak part desperate for Teddy's care—warmed traitorously at the thought of the other man's palpable fury over his pain. It was a sickening comfort.

What was wrong with him?

Jonathan stepped forward, rubbing his arm as if to dismiss the pain. “Teddy,” he said quickly, “I’m fine. It was just a discussion. Nothing more.”

He needed to diffuse this, now. A few insults weren't worth a man's life, even if that man had been seconds away from probably doing worse than just leaving bruises.

“¿Serio?" Really? Teddy’s voice was flat, deadly. He pressed the gun harder against Carlos’ forehead, the barrel digging into his skin. "Porque me parece que le faltaste el respeto a lo que es mío." Because to me, it looks like you were disrespecting what’s mine.

Luís took a cautious, shuffling step back, his posture submissive, while Roxy crossed her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on Carlos. “He was."

Jonathan’s pulse spiked. No, no, no. This was exactly what Roper wanted—Teddy losing control, proving he was too volatile, too attached. Jonathan’s mind raced, scrambling for a way to de-escalate the situation before it spiraled beyond repair.

“No, he wasn’t,” he insisted, “It was just talk. Everyone’s fine. Let’s just move on.”

But Teddy wasn’t listening, pressing his finger to the trigger. Carlos’ eyes widened, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “C'mon, boss,” he stammered, “I didn’t say anything but the truth. Your whores had to be put in their place.”

He didn’t need to look at Teddy to know the damage had been done. A slow, sharp smile spread across Teddy’s face, something twisted and cruel. Jonathan's stomach dropped. He had seen that smile only a few times, but every time he did, someone got hurt.

Teddy tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving Carlos. “Whores?” Teddy said, deceptively calm. “I don’t see any whores here. What I see… is someone who dared to fuck with my partners.”

Carlos blinked, horror etched across his face. “P-partners?” he echoed.

Jonathan raised his hands in a plea. “Teddy, don’t. Please, don’t.” His voice cracked, desperation bleeding into every word. “This isn’t worth it.”

Teddy’s gaze shifted to Jonathan, and for a moment, Jonathan hoped he saw the man he’d kissed earlier. But there was nothing soft in Teddy’s eyes now. Only Teddy De Santos, Roper's successor. Only his father's son.

“You should have listened to them,” Teddy murmured, almost gentle in its finality.

BANG.

The gunshot echoed, deafening.

Carlos’s body crumpled to the ground.

Jonathan flinched, his breath catching in his throat. The gunshot sound seemed to reverberate in the silence that followed, ringing in Jonathan’s ears as Roxy gasped. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and spreading, staining the floor with its grim permanence. Jonathan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body, his chest tightening with a mix of horror and guilt.

Another death. Another life lost because of him. Because he wasn't fast enough, good enough, to stop it.

Why did this keep happening? Why him? What fatal flaw did he carry that drew this violence, this endless parade of bloodshed? What was so inherently wrong with him that this wouldn't stop happening—

A clap. Then another. Then another.

All their heads snapped towards the sound.

Roper walked unhurriedly from the shadowed interior of the house, stopping framed in the entranceway. He looked between each of them and the corpse, then his eyes met Jonathan's as he stopped clapping.

A grin opened on his lips. He didn't have to say anything.

He knew.

Hey, dear readers! Thank you so much for all the love for this story. Your comments meant a lot to me, and motivated me to finish this chapter quickly for you guys! So please, if you want, tell me in the comments what you liked about this second chapter, what you think of Teddy's pov, of the relationships, of what happens, and what you think might happen. Comments motivate me a lot, and I'm open to ideas!