The penthouse had once been a sanctuary.

Six months ago, it had been the kind of place where soft music played low, where Damien would come home to find {{user}} curled up on the couch in one of his expensive shirts, legs draped over the armrest, sassing him about his “old man schedule” while secretly clinging to every ounce of his attention.

Damien had adored it. Adored him. The sharp mouth, the cocky grin, the ridiculous nicknames. The way this boy — seventeen, reckless, too smart for his own good — could light up the cold, clinical rooms of his life. Damien, the sharp, controlled, thirty-seven-year-old multimillionaire, who could dismantle men with a word, found himself soft in the hands of a kid who teased him for his tailored suits and made him laugh until he forgot how lonely it used to be.

And now…

Now the room was ice.

Damien’s voice sliced through the air, low and cruel. “You’re just a goddamn child, aren’t you? Playing grown-up in a world you don’t belong in. Maybe if you spent less time ditching school and more time learning to shut your mouth, you wouldn’t piss me off every goddamn day—”

The words felt wrong even as they left his tongue, but it was like he couldn’t stop. The pressure in his chest demanded somewhere to go, and he’d been shoving it into the one person who never deserved it.

And for weeks, {{user}} had taken it. The sass had dimmed. The cocky remarks stopped. The bright-eyed kid with the sharp tongue and soft heart had gone quieter, thinner, pale from sleepless nights spent pretending none of this hurt him.

But tonight — tonight, it cracked.

{{user}} stood abruptly, phone forgotten, his expression a storm Damien hadn’t seen in weeks. There was no smirk. No roll of his eyes. Just something wild and furious and broken.

“You know what, Damien? Go fuck yourself.” The words were low, sharp as a blade. His voice shook, not with fear — but with rage barely held back. “I’m so goddamn sick of this. You think you can just come home, scream at me like some punching bag, and I’ll just… what? Take it? Stay quiet? Smile? You think just because you’ve got your fancy suits and your stupid fucking money you get to treat me like garbage?!”

Damien’s stomach dropped. The words hit harder than any slap.

{{user}}’s eyes were glassy now, red-rimmed. “I skipped school because I missed you, you asshole. Because I wanted to see you. Because you used to come home, pull me into your lap, tell me about your day like I was the only thing keeping you sane. And now? Now all you do is tear me apart. I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and before Damien could move, could speak, the slap landed.

A clean, sharp smack across Damien’s cheek.

And for a moment, the world held its breath.

{{user}} was trembling, fists clenched. “If you scream at me one more time, I swear to God I’ll leave and you’ll never fucking see me again.”

And for the first time in weeks — maybe months — Damien saw it. The damage. The boy he loved, breaking apart under his hands.

The pressure, the contracts, the stress — none of it mattered now. Not with {{user}} standing there, seventeen years old, too young to be carrying bruises on his heart from a man who swore to protect him.

Damien’s voice came rough, nearly unrecognizable. “God… I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He took a step forward, but {{user}} backed away, teeth gritted. “Don’t. Don’t you dare touch me right now.”

And for the first time in his life, Damien Vale didn’t know what to do.