Page 174 of Discordant Cultivation

“Sloppy?”

“In love.” Nox said it like a diagnosis. “The great Valerian Rose, who lectured me for years about emotional distance and professional boundaries, has gone and fallen for one of his projects. Congratulations. Mazel Tov. Whatever. “ He leaned forward, something almost like concern flickering beneath thepredatory amusement. “Love makes people stupid, Valerian. And stupid gets noticed.”

He’s not wrong. I’ve been obvious. Consumed. Unable to maintain any pretense of professional distance because I don’t want distance.

“I know what I’m doing,” Vale said, though he wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

“Do you?” Nox stood, adjusting his jacket. “Because from where I’m sitting, you look like a man who’d burn down everything he’s built for a boy with a pretty voice and prettier tears. That’s not a criticism—I’d do the same, in your position. I’m just saying... be careful. Not everyone will understand what you two have.”

The words carried weight—a warning wrapped in their complicated history. They were rivals, yes. But Nox was also the only person who truly understood what Vale was capable of, because Nox was capable of the same things.

After he left, Vale sat in the empty conference room, the ring a small weight in his pocket.

He’s right. I would burn it all down for you. I’d destroy anyone who tried to take you from me. Is that love or obsession? Does it matter, if the result is the same?

His phone buzzed with a calendar reminder:book post-concert plans. Vale pulled up coastal property rentals, searching for something private and romantic. Big Sur had options—cliffside houses with ocean views, places where they could exist without scrutiny or bitter failures trying to interfere.

I’ll take you to see the ocean. You said you’ve never seen it. We’ll watch it together, and maybe—maybe that’s where I’ll ask you.

He started to book a week at a private rental, then paused. His usual approach would be to decide and inform, present it as a fait accompli. But this had to be special.

I want you to choose the location.

He saved the listing instead of booking it, making a mental note to show Kieran the photos tonight. To ask if he’d like to go, and mean it as a real question with the possibility of saying no.

4:30 PM found Vale wrapping up final signatures, barely restraining himself from leaving early. The drive home felt endless, traffic moving with deliberate malice designed specifically to keep him from where he needed to be.

His mind drifted to tonight’s plans—they’d have dinner, maybe watch something that made them both laugh. He’d show Kieran the Big Sur listing, ask what he thought about the ocean. And later, after Kieran was relaxed and happy, Vale would take him apart slowly and thoroughly, savoring every gasp and shiver.

Not because you need breaking anymore. Just because I love the sounds you make. Because your pleasure has become as necessary to me as your pain once was.

But as he approached the house, something felt wrong. An unfamiliar car was parked down the road—a dark sedan with rental plates. Vale’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. It was probably a neighbor’s guest that had broken down, probably nothing, but unease prickled at the base of his skull.

Then he found the front door was unlocked.

Vale’s hand froze on the handle. The only way this door could be open was if someone had entered with a key, or if Kieran had deliberately opened it to let someone inside.

No. He wouldn’t. He knows better than to answer the door when I’m not home.

“Kieran?” His voice echoed through the empty house. “I’m home.”

Silence.

Vale’s mind immediately went to the worst possibility—Kieran had left. Someone had convinced him to leave. The unlocked door, the strange car, the empty house. After everything they’d built together, someone had finally made him run.

No. He loves me. He chose me. He wouldn’t—

But panic was already building as Vale moved through familiar rooms, cataloging evidence that screamed wrongness. Kitchen chair pulled out at an odd angle, as if someone had stood abruptly. Kieran’s laptop abandoned on the couch. His medicine still sat on the counter.

And the basement door was ajar.

Kieran was meticulous about keeping it shut unless they were recording because the sight of the stairs still made him shake. He would never leave it open. Unless—

Vale’s hand touched the doorknob, and that’s when he heard it.

Shouting. Muffled by the soundproofing but unmistakable. A man’s voice, desperate and panicked, screaming words Vale couldn’t quite make out.

Vale froze, every muscle locked, as his brain tried to process what he was hearing.