Chapter 2: When Boundaries Break

But only a bit. The sadness lingered, heavy and unspoken. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come.

His cold hand touched the back of my head, not gently, and pulled my hair, making me look up. I winced, but let him guide me. His fingers tangled in my hair, holding me in place.

Water dripped from his hair onto my lips. The droplets were icy, making me shiver. I tasted salt and whiskey on my tongue.

Then Julian’s cold lips and tongue pressed against mine. His kiss was rough, desperate. I froze, not sure if I should push him away or pull him closer.

He tasted like whiskey. The burn lingered, sweet and sharp. My head spun.

Soft, sweet. There was a tenderness beneath the hunger, a softness that made my chest ache.

I felt like I’d been struck by lightning—my mind went blank. My knees nearly buckled. For a moment, the world fell away, and all I could feel was him.

He must have been drinking. That much was obvious. His movements were sloppy, less controlled than usual.

And I get tipsy the moment I drink. Just the smell of whiskey was enough to make me dizzy. I clung to the wall, trying to steady myself.

While I was dazed, Julian kept going, pressing closer, one hand holding my head, the other slipping into my shirt, kneading me. His palm was cold, but his touch burned. I gasped, fingers curling into his shoulders.

His hand was icy, running from my chest to my stomach, raising goosebumps all over. Every nerve ending lit up. I shivered, caught between pleasure and panic.

My heart was about to jump out of my chest. I could hear it pounding in my ears, loud and frantic.

Julian sucked on my lips, kissed my ear, pressed even closer, and sighed contentedly. His breath was warm against my skin. I closed my eyes, letting myself get lost for a second.

"You’re so warm." His voice was soft, almost vulnerable. I felt a pang of sympathy, mixed with something else I couldn’t name.

"Melting." He said it like a confession, voice barely above a whisper.

"Your mouth is warm, your body’s warm too." He traced circles on my skin, fingers trembling.

"If I go in, will you burn me?" The words made my breath hitch. I stared at him, not sure what he meant.

Go in? Go in where? My mind raced, trying to make sense of it. I swallowed hard, suddenly nervous.

When Julian reached into my pants, I got scared and shoved him away with all my strength. I acted on instinct, pushing him back before I could think. My hands shook.

Kissing is one thing. But why is he grabbing my ass? I’d never had anyone touch me like that—not even in high school, when things got a little wild behind the bleachers.

Julian wasn’t expecting it and stumbled back. He landed hard, eyes wide with surprise. For a second, I thought I’d really hurt him.

His hand landed on broken glass and got cut. Blood welled up, bright red against his pale skin. My stomach twisted.

Julian’s hands are precious—he plays piano and paints. He usually takes great care of them. He kept his hands soft with lotion, wore gloves when he painted. Seeing them bloodied made my chest ache.

I was so scared my face went white. It felt like I’d just broken the one rule that mattered. My job, my future—it all flashed before my eyes.

It was like watching ten grand a month grow wings and fly away. I pictured the check slipping through my fingers, Dad’s disappointed face, the farm falling apart.

"Caleb." Hearing Julian’s low voice snapped me out of it. I quickly squatted down to help him.

He sounded hurt, almost childlike. I grabbed a towel, pressing it to his palm. I tried to make it up to him. "I know how to bandage it. Let me do it."

My voice shook, but I meant it. I’d patched up plenty of cuts back home—barbed wire, kitchen knives, you name it.

Julian glared at me darkly, then suddenly lunged at me, pinning me down and biting my lips. His eyes flashed with anger, but there was something else there too—something raw and desperate.

"What are you? You dare to push me away?" He bit down harder, leaving a mark. I winced, but didn’t fight back.

He tore my old tank top. The fabric ripped easily, exposing my skin to the cool air. I felt naked, vulnerable.

"You pushed me?" His voice was incredulous, like he couldn’t believe I’d defied him.

"You actually dared to push me?" He shook me a little, demanding an answer. I just stared back, too stunned to speak.

"I touch you, so what? Can’t I touch you?" His words were sharp, almost accusing. I bit my lip, not sure how to respond.

He pinched my chest hard. Pain shot through me. I gasped, grabbing his wrist.

"Can’t touch? Then why do you show off in front of me every day? You just need a good fuck." The accusation stung. I shook my head, trying to protest, but he wouldn’t let me.

As he said this, his eyes turned red. Tears welled up, but he blinked them away, jaw clenched tight.

"Why don’t you like me? I’m so good-looking." He sounded almost like a little kid, desperate for approval. My heart twisted.

I answered honestly, "It’s not that I don’t like you." I tried to keep my voice steady, meeting his gaze.

Julian is good-looking, even better than Cole back home. Cole was the heartbreaker back in my town, the one all the girls and half the boys swooned over. But Julian? He made Cole look plain.

Who wouldn’t like Cole? I used to think Cole was the standard. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

Julian froze, then slowly buried his face in my neck and bit me there. His teeth grazed my skin, leaving a mark. I shivered, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.

His tone softened a lot, and he let out a quiet, bitter laugh. It was a sound full of pain, like he was laughing at his own misery.

"What’s the use if you like me?" He sounded defeated, voice muffled against my skin.

"You’re just a big dummy who doesn’t know anything." The words stung, but I could hear the affection beneath them. I squeezed his shoulder, unsure what else to do.

I felt a little angry—Julian was looking down on me. I wasn’t dumb, just different. I clenched my fists, vowing not to let him get to me.

I decided I wouldn’t wear his stupid apron to mop the floor tomorrow. It was a small rebellion, but it made me feel better. Maybe I’d even wear my favorite t-shirt, the one with the faded rodeo logo.

When Alex barged in, Julian was still lying on top of me, kneading my chest. Alex didn’t knock—just stormed in like he owned the place. Julian didn’t even flinch, just kept rubbing my chest like it was his personal stress ball.

He said he was cold. He shivered dramatically, pressing closer. I rolled my eyes, but let him.

My chest was warm. Apparently, I make a better heater than any fancy thermostat.

He warmed his hands there. His fingers were like ice cubes, but he didn’t seem to care.

I told him to take a hot shower if he was cold. "You ever heard of central heating?" I grumbled, trying to wriggle free.

Julian scolded me for talking too much. He shot me a glare. "I tell you to warm me, you just warm me. If you say another word—"

I shut up. Sometimes, it’s safer that way.

Julian’s hand was warm now. The chill had finally faded, replaced by a slow burn that spread through my whole body.

I was about to catch fire. If he kept it up, I was liable to combust right there on the carpet.

My chest was rubbed so much it burned and went numb. I wondered if I’d have a bruise tomorrow. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Working for rich folks is really tough. They don’t put that in the job description. If they did, nobody would apply.

The one who saved me was Alex. Alex was Julian’s older brother, all muscle and menace. He looked like he belonged on a football field, not in a mansion.

He kicked the door open with a bang, strode over, grabbed Julian, and punched him into the wall. The sound echoed through the house. Julian’s head snapped back, but he didn’t cry out.

Julian’s pretty face instantly swelled with a bruise. Purple bloomed across his cheekbone, marring his perfect features. I winced, but he just spat blood onto the floor.

But Julian isn’t one to take a beating—he jumped up and punched Alex right back. He moved fast, landing a solid right hook to Alex’s jaw. The two of them went at it, fists flying, furniture toppling.

The two brothers didn’t say a word, just fought like mortal enemies. No shouting, no insults—just raw, silent rage. It was terrifying to watch.

In the end, Alex pinned Julian to the wall. He used his full weight, holding Julian in place with one arm. Julian struggled, but couldn’t break free.

"Julian, if you go nuts again, I’m sending you to the hospital." Alex’s voice was low, dangerous. Julian glared at him, breathing hard.

Julian’s hair hung over his dark eyes. He sneered, "If you want me dead, just say it. Why pretend?" His words dripped with venom. I shivered, suddenly cold all over.

Alex nodded. "Fine." He didn’t hesitate. Just reached into his pocket, eyes flat.

He pulled a syringe from his pocket, jabbed it into Julian’s neck, and only let go after watching him close his eyes and quiet down. Julian’s body went limp, sliding to the floor like a rag doll. My stomach lurched.

Julian’s body slid to the floor like he was dead. For a second, I thought he really was. I dropped to my knees, checking for a pulse.

I rushed over to check if he was breathing. My hands shook as I pressed two fingers to his neck. Relief flooded me when I felt a heartbeat.

"Don’t worry, he’s not dead." Alex’s voice was calm, almost bored. He knelt beside me, lighting a cigarette.

"He just hasn’t slept in too long. He needs to rest." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching me with sharp, assessing eyes.

He lit a cigarette and squinted at me, like he was sizing me up. I felt exposed, like he could see right through me. I squared my shoulders, refusing to flinch.

I noticed his gaze lingered on my neck and asked, "You’re Caleb, right?" He said my name slow, like he was tasting it. I nodded, unsure what he wanted.

It was the first time anyone had called me so politely. Usually, it was "hey, you" or "boy." Hearing my name made me stand up a little straighter.

Caleb—so formal. I’d always gone by Cal, but the way Alex said it made it sound important.

I scratched my head, feeling shy. My ears burned. I ducked my head, hoping he didn’t notice.

Alex took a drag on his cigarette, exhaled, and said, "I have a favor to ask." He didn’t beat around the bush. Just got straight to the point, eyes never leaving mine.

"The pay’s good." He knew exactly how to hook me. I tried not to look too interested.

"But you have to keep it from Julian. Are you in?" His voice dropped, conspiratorial. I hesitated, glancing at Julian’s limp form.

A servant can’t serve two masters, and Alex and Julian clearly hate each other, so I refused, "No." My gut told me it was a bad idea. I shook my head, trying to look firm.

Alex flicked his ash. "Ten grand a month." He said it like it was nothing. My resolve crumbled in an instant.

"Deal." I barely heard myself say it. Ten grand was too much to pass up.

A soft laugh came from the doorway. It was a low, musical sound—almost mocking. I turned to see who it was.

A long-haired man in a white designer outfit leaned against the doorframe, cigarette between his fingers, squinting at me. He looked like he’d stepped off a runway, all sharp lines and effortless cool. His eyes glittered with mischief.

He was wet too. Rainwater dripped from his hair, soaking the collar of his crisp shirt. He didn’t seem to care.

There were bite marks on his neck, red marks on his wrist, like he’d been strangled. Even the skin was broken. The marks stood out stark against his pale skin. I tried not to stare, but it was hard to look away.

For some reason, I felt he was the one who called Julian earlier. There was a familiarity in the way he looked at me, like we shared a secret.

I knew his name. I’d heard it whispered in the halls, seen it on magazine covers.

He was Mason Lane. The Mason Lane—pop star, heartthrob, tabloid regular. I felt a little starstruck, even if I’d never admit it out loud.

I’d seen him on TV—a pop star. Julian always watched his shows.

He’d binge every episode, humming along to the songs. Sometimes, he’d fall asleep with Mason’s music playing in the background.

Watched nothing else, just his. It used to drive me crazy. Now, I wondered what it meant.

What Alex wanted from me was simple. He laid it out in plain terms, like a business deal.

First, find a way to get Julian to take his meds. He handed me a bottle of pills, eyes hard. “Make sure he swallows. No exceptions.”

Second, keep an eye on Julian and report back. He wanted updates—daily, if possible. I felt like a spy in my own home.

The struggles of the rich are terrifying. Their problems were nothing like the ones I grew up with. Money didn’t buy peace—it just bought bigger secrets.

Julian is no match for his brother. Alex was ruthless, calculating. Julian didn’t stand a chance.

After Alex finished, he grabbed Mason by the collar at the door, trying to drag him away. Mason didn’t resist, just smiled like he was in on the joke. The two of them looked like trouble incarnate.

Mason turned back and smiled at me. "Be careful, chocolate. Don’t let Julian find out you’re working for Alex." He winked, lips curling into a grin. I blushed, unsure how to respond.

He made a scary face. He scrunched up his nose, baring his teeth like a cartoon villain. I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

"What Julian hates most is betrayal—and Alex. If he finds out, you’re toast." His words sent a chill down my spine. I nodded, swallowing hard.

Alex lost patience, grabbed Mason by the hair and dragged him out, threatening, "Say one more word and I’ll cut your tongue out." Mason just laughed, blowing smoke in Alex’s face. He didn’t seem scared at all.

Mason wasn’t scared at all. He blew smoke in Alex’s face and smiled, "If you cut it out, how are you gonna have any fun?"

Alex rolled his eyes, muttering curses under his breath as he hauled Mason down the hall.

I carried Julian upstairs, took off his wet clothes, knelt by the bed, bandaged his hand, tucked him in, and stared at him for a while, deciding to treat him better from now on to make up for the guilt of betraying him. He looked so small, curled up under the covers. I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, feeling a pang of guilt.