Page 99 of Discordant Cultivation

Vale leaned close to Kieran, voice dropping to a register that commanded immediate obedience: “Eyes forward. Don’t move. Stay here.”

Kieran went rigid, and Vale felt a flicker of satisfaction at how thoroughly his beautiful boy had learned to trust his guidance.

Good. Wait for me exactly where I put you.

Alex’s eyes tracked his approach, his stance shifting from hurt observation to defensive wariness. Vale’s smile remained professional, controlled, giving nothing away to the crowd.

When Vale reached him, his hand found Alex’s wrist, his fingers pressing between the small bones with just enough pressure to cause discomfort without visible aggression.

“Walk with me,” Vale said quietly.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore,” Alex hissed, but he allowed himself to be guided toward a side door, understanding resistance would only draw unwanted attention.

Vale led him into a storage room lined with catering supplies, closing the door behind them. “What are you doing here?” Vale asked without preamble. “Who brought you?”

“Two Suns Studio.” Alex’s chin lifted with defiant pride. “Mr. Nox signed me.”

Of course. Nox always did enjoy collecting my discards.

“How touching. I wasn’t aware Anderson liked being a consolation prize.”

Alex’s face flushed, and Vale caught the telltale signs—dilated pupils, slight tremor in his hands, the way he swayed. He wasn’t just drunk. He was on something harder. Pills, maybe. Coke.

You’re self-medicating. How sad and predictable.

“I kept your secrets, Vale.” Alex’s voice had a manic edge, words coming faster than they should. “Every single basement session, every technique you used on me—I never told anyone. I never reported it, never warned other artists. I thought that loyalty might earn me something. Thought maybe you’d—” He laughed, sharp and broken. “God, I was so fucking stupid.”

“It did earn you something. Industry connections. Introductions to people who could advance your career beyond that shitty garage band I found you in. I was helping you and you repaid me with things I explicitly told you I couldn’t return.”

“Couldn’t return.” Alex’s voice cracked. “You made me feel like I was broken.”

“I didn’t make you feel any—”

“I believed you!” Alex’s laugh was too loud, too raw. “I thought I was the problem. That I’d misread the intimacy of the work, confused artistic vulnerability with something personal. But it wasn’t me, was it?”

He moved closer, and Vale could smell it now—cheap alcohol underneath the cologne, sweat, and something chemical and sharp. “How long have you been holed up with him, Vale? Two months? Three? When’s the last time you left your house before tonight?”

“I work remotely. I always have.”

“Bullshit. You used to at least show up to showcases, studio sessions. Everyone has noticed. Vale Rose, the reclusive genius producer, has gone full fucking hermit. And here you are at this event—first public appearance in months. Withhim.”

“This event is a professional obligation—”

“You never would have appeared with me! You couldn’t wait to get rid of me. And you’re wearing contacts.” Alex laughed. “You hate contacts. You told me they made you feel like your eyes were being violated. But you’re wearing them tonight.”

Vale’s jaw tightened. “You’re high.”

“You told me you didn’t feel that way about anyone. That you were incapable of it. What’s different about him? Why does he get the version of you that can want someone?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation—”

“Are you fucking him?”

The question cut through the air like a blade. Alex’s eyes were wild, hurt and fury bleeding together into something unstable.

“That’s enough, Alex,” Vale snapped.

“Did you suddenly discover you could feel things, but only for a twenty-year-old kid you have complete power over?”