Page 101 of Discordant Cultivation

But Vale didn’t wait. He heard something breaking inside, and a muffled cry he knew belonged to Kieran that made his vision go white. Without hesitation, he took one step back and drove his shoulder into the door.

Time crawled to a halt.

Kieran was half off the couch, legs still on the seat while his upper back and shoulders pressed against the floor. One leg was pulled back, bare foot connecting with Nox’s ribs in desperate, weakening kicks. Kieran’s face was bright red—tears, sweat, terror all mixing into something that looked like drowning. The gauze around his neck had been yanked loose, hanging in torn strips. The careful wrapping on one hand was completely unraveled, trailing like ghostly ribbons as Kieran’s fingers clawed desperately at Nox’s wrist— at the hand covering his mouth and nose.

He can’t breathe. Christ, he can’t breathe.

A broken vodka bottle lay shattered near Kieran’s head, glass scattered across the carpet now stained with drops of blood. His suit jacket hung open, the button torn off entirely, and the gauze across his torso was twisted and pulled tight. The fabric hadbeen yanked so hard it cut into his skin, leaving angry red marks where it bit into his ribs.

Nox stood braced over Kieran’s body, one knee on the couch, legs bracketing him completely. He absorbed each weak kick with a casual indifference, like someone tolerating a child’s tantrum. His free hand worked at Kieran’s belt while he maintained the suffocating grip.

Worst of all—Nox looked like he was having the time of his life. His expression was one of pure joy.

Time snapped back into place as Flake whispered, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Vale moved like death itself.

He crossed the space and his fist connected with Nox’s nose with a wet, satisfying crack that sent blood spraying across the wall. Nox staggered backward, releasing his hold on Kieran, who immediately gasped for air in desperate, sobbing breaths.

But Vale wasn’t finished.

He grabbed Nox by the front of his shirt, lifting him partially off the ground before driving him backward over the couch’s arm. Nox hit the floor hard, his head bouncing off the carpeted surface.

“You touched him.” Vale’s voice dropped to something subterranean and deadly. “You put your hands on what belongs to me.”

Nox struggled to sit up, blood streaming from his nose, but Vale was already over him, knee pressed against his chest with crushing weight.

“I should kill you. I should break every bone in both your hands so you never touch another artist again.”

“All right, all right,” Nox wheezed, trying to laugh through the blood. “Fine. Poaching is off the table. Message received.”

Vale’s knee pressed harder, cutting off Nox’s ability to expand his lungs before he released the pressure. “This isn’t aboutpoaching anymore. This is about you learning what happens when you touch something that doesn’t belong to you.”

“Vale.” Kieran’s voice came small and broken from the floor, saying his name like a prayer.

Vale looked down at Nox one more time. “If I ever see you near him again—if you so much as look in his direction—I will end you. Not your career. You. Do we understand each other?”

Nox nodded quickly, still gasping.

“Good.” Vale stood, stepping back as Nox scrambled to his feet. “Now get out before I change my mind about letting you leave on two working feet.”

Nox stumbled toward the door, pausing only to wipe blood from his face. “You didn’t have to be so fucking rude about it, Valerian.”

After Nox disappeared, the rage finally began to ebb. Kieran was still on the floor, gasping. Flake kneeled beside him, her voice gentle but urgent.

“Hey, sweetie, are you okay? Do you need an ambulance?” Her hands hovered over him, like she was afraid to touch him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t help sooner. I’m five-foot-four and couldn’t do much against him, especially in those platforms. I went to find your manager as fast as I could.”

“It’s okay,” Kieran repeated automatically, the words slurred and mechanical. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

But his eyes—his eyes were fixed on Vale with an expression that made Vale’s chest tighten.

Worship. Absolute, desperate worship mixed with relief so profound it looked like religious revelation.

That look. I want to see that exact look until the end of time.

Vale dropped to his knees on Kieran’s other side, hands hovering the same way Flake’s were—desperate to comfort but afraid of causing more damage.

“You came,” Kieran whimpered. “You came for me.”