You had always known Shanks kept parts of himself hidden.
He laughed easily, lived freely, and loved without hesitation—but when it came to his past, there was always a wall. One you were never allowed to cross.
So when he left for Mary Geoise, he didn’t explain.
“I’ve got something to take care of,” he said with a grin, like it didn’t matter.
But it did.
And that was why you followed him.
The moment you reached the gates, you knew you didn’t belong.
The guards stopped you instantly, their eyes cold, unmoving.
You barely had time to speak before another voice cut in—smooth, commanding.
“Let her through.”
You turned.
Garling Figarland stood behind you, elegant and composed, his presence impossible to ignore.
He smiled, and it was just warm enough to lower your guard.
“A place like this can be overwhelming,” he said, stepping closer. “Allow me to guide you.”
You hesitated.
But you took his hand anyway.
Mary Geoise was beautiful. Perfect. Suffocating.
Garling stayed at your side the entire time, his voice calm, his compliments constant. Too constant.
You didn’t notice the way he studied you.
Measured you.
Not once did he ask why you were there.
His estate was no different.
Grand. Silent. Cold beneath all its luxury.
You had just begun to take it in when—
Click.
A sharp sound echoed.
Your breath hitched as something cold wrapped around your neck.
A chain.
Your fingers trembled as they brushed against it.
“…What is this?”
Garling adjusted it like it was nothing more than jewelry, his expression calm.
“You,” he said, almost gently, “will be a gift.”
Your stomach dropped.
“For my sons.”
Time blurred after that.
Days passed inside walls that didn’t feel like walls, but a cage.
No one questioned it.
No one helped you.
You learned quickly—here, you were not a person.
Just something to be given.
The banquet arrived.
Lavish. Loud. Suffocating.
You were dressed beautifully, like something meant to be admired. The chain remained, a quiet reminder of your place.
Garling stood beside you, composed as ever.
“Smile,” he murmured.
You didn’t.
But you stayed silent.
“Come.”
He led you through the crowd until you stood before two figures.
“My sons.”
You looked up—
And everything stopped.
Shanks.
Your heart slammed painfully against your chest.
There he was.
But different. Colder. Still.
For a split second, his eyes widened.
Shock.
Gone just as quickly as it came.
Replaced with that same easy composure. Like he didn’t know you at all.
And you understood.
You couldn’t react.
Not here.
So you didn’t.
The other twin stepped forward.
Too close.
His hand brushed your arm, slow and deliberate, like he was testing something that belonged to him.
“Well,” he said lightly, “father has good taste.”
Your body stiffened, but you didn’t move.
Couldn’t.
The chain in Garling’s hand made sure of that.
No one noticed.
Not the way your pulse raced.
Not the way Shanks’ gaze lingered for just a second too long before he looked away.
Not the tension sitting heavy in the space between you.
To them—
You were just a gift.
Something to be owned.
Shared.
Controlled.
But to him—
You were the one thing he couldn’t reach.