Page 33 of Doubts of the Egoist (Egoist #3)

Sensing movement behind his back, Kuon minimized all windows on the monitors.

Still, the sounds of sex and combat continued to emanate from the speakers, igniting his face with embarrassment.

It was pointless to search for the volume menu, especially since his eyes were too tired to distinguish details.

So, he sat there, staring at his clasped hands.

The breath-cutting scent of menthol aftershave made the chilly air in the room feel frosty, informing him of the identity of his visitor.

Kuon sneered. His present was beginning to resemble the past too much.

“What did you do to get demoted to be my jailer again?”

A low huff made Kuon imagine a ghost of a smile on a brutish face. “Not a jailer, more like a babysitter.”

Kuon’s head whipped toward the man. Yugo sending his right-hand man clearly meant Kuon’s position in this house had changed. So why was Greg messing with him? He cut to the chase, “Am I a prisoner now?”

“Do you want to be?” Greg leaned against the door frame, his head and shoulder resting casually against the jamb as the black, tranquil eyes watched Kuon intently. Though his muscular arms were crossed over his chest, he looked overconfident rather than defensive.

“Why would I want that?” Kuon’s brow furrowed in confusion, for there was no hint of emotion in Greg’s voice.

“Boss said you don’t know what you want. I’m just checking.” A twinkle appeared in Greg’s eyes, followed by a nonchalant shrug. The tiny movement broke the tension in the room.

Kuon scoffed, but his shoulders relaxed. “I know what I want.”

“Good to know. I hope it’s food, because I’m starving.”

Kuon wasn’t hungry and didn’t want to leave this room in case he wouldn’t be allowed to return, but fighting Greg would be stupid. The man was broader, stronger, and more skilled as a fighter. He glanced at the rack where he’d left the pistol, then back at his guard.

His thoughts must have been written across his face because Greg sighed.

“Lad, I don’t have to use force to smoke you out of here.

I can turn off the power. Whatever you’re doing in here can wait until morning.

” When Kuon narrowed his eyes, Greg added, “Come on, keep me company, or the food will get cold. By the way, you look like shit. I’ll lose my head if you lose your sight. ”

A faint smile tugged at Kuon’s lips. Just like that, with a few words, Greg loosened the knot of anxiety around his heart. “Why do you work for Yugo? With your manipulation skills, you could surely find yourself a better job.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, a kindergarten teacher?” Kuon shrugged, mimicking Greg’s deadpan expression.

“Yugo pays better, and I still get to deal with toddlers.” Greg’s bushy brows wiggled.

It was such an odd expression, one that didn’t tally with the man, that Kuon’s jaw dropped.

They stared at each other for a second, and then laughter broke out.

When the laughter died, Greg beckoned him out. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Not wanting to argue, Kuon got up.

For the next few days, artificial tears and headaches became Kuon’s constant companions.

He ate without tasting a thing, took his meds, and even made a few attempts to sleep.

Without Yugo by his side, nightmares plagued his nights.

He tossed and turned, unable to sleep, but in those rare moments when sticky dreams swallowed him, he saw blood, pain, and death.

Still, he forced himself to crawl into bed every few hours, hoping his eyes would get enough rest even if he didn’t follow the doctor’s orders to the letter.

The more he watched his past through Yugo’s eyes, the darker his mood became.

Every scene sharpened the contrast between the man who embraced Lena Vogel and the one who spread his legs for the Black Duke.

It wasn’t the bruises and scars on Kuon’s body, nor the blankness in his eyes, that shattered the last shreds of his naivety, but the desperate way his former self clung to the man who had abused him, as if he were the only thing left to hold onto in this world.

Kuon’s anger gradually morphed into a dull, colorless melancholy because, even though his body responded as if made to enjoy male company, all evidence screamed that his attraction to Yugo couldn’t be real.

For something false, the thought hurt too damn much.

Like a snowball rolling down a mountain, Kuon doomscrolled through his past. Scenes of passion drifted into unnecessary cruelty, followed by excessive tenderness that, in another context, could easily be mistaken for affection.

Then it all repeated. And repeated. And repeated.

Until his former self finally gave in. Then, it was just sex; sometimes sensual, sometimes rough and animalistic, but always laced with depravity.

He had many questions, but Yugo wasn’t there to answer them. His shock dulled, and even the most perverse scenes lost their sting. He thought nothing could surprise him anymore until one film changed everything.

Emotions coiled in his chest, blood boiling, as his heart thrashed against his ribs.

The image of a disheveled, drenched Yugo watching him with the feverish gaze of a madman etched itself into his memory.

His pale, trembling lips muttered death threats that sounded more like the confessions of a five-year-old who’d rather break his favorite toy than share it.

As if to add to his misery, Yugo’s words boomed in his head, mocking his attempts to understand the Black Duke.

“If I have to hurt you to keep you from hurting yourself, I’ll do it again.

You died in the river. Your heart stopped beating.

Your choice of death over my touch made me so livid that I considered finishing you off myself, but …

couldn’t. Still, I had to do something to ensure you’d never try anything like that again. ”

Knowing that if he kept watching, he’d see the whipping scene, Kuon locked up the small surveillance room and left the mansion for the first time in days.

The image of Yugo’s pale face, his burning, haunted gaze, and his head resting on Kuon’s motionless hand confirmed his words.

If you cared so much, why didn’t you say anything? Bastard…

Or was it Kuon’s wishful thinking? After all, children were also upset when their favorite toy got broken.

But Kuon was tired of guessing. He wanted to look into those cold gray eyes and ask whether Yugo was in love with him. Deep down, he knew that if Yugo said “yes,” he would try to forget the sounds of the cracking whip, the rape, and his screams. He would no longer hesitate.

But Yugo didn’t return. Not that day, nor the next.

Progressing through the folder didn’t take Kuon as long as he expected.

He skipped most of the sex scenes, tired of watching himself squirm and moan, but slowed whenever the footage showed him sleeping.

He never knew that Yugo pulled him into an embrace and whispered nothings into his ear, chasing away his nightmares.

He had never noticed the way Yugo looked at him.

Kuon couldn’t help wondering how things might have changed if either of them had been more honest or perceptive.

On the fifth day, Kuon swallowed his pride and called “Sweetheart”, but Yugo didn’t pick up. He asked Greg about Yugo’s whereabouts but received a noncommittal answer—a business trip.

His walks grew longer, his eyesight keener, and his observations more astute.

He couldn’t help noticing that Yugo’s mansion, though beautifully built, lacked individuality.

Amid the constant bustle and underlying white noise, it was easy to overlook how the expensive furnishings did little more than make the place merely livable and functional.

Except for a few rooms, most of the mansion felt bland, like a hotel or temporary accommodation, as if Yugo had neither the time nor the desire to make it cozy.

Very little art or decor brightened the walls of the clinical environment. Even the nicely furnished dining room on the second floor looked unused. The china-blue porcelain dishes in the cupboard still had stickers on their undersides.

Kuon wandered through the mansion, opening door after door. Some rooms were locked, others were not, but apart from the master bedroom, only one room down the hall on the second floor bore any personality. Judging by the size of the clothes in the walk-in closet, it belonged to Mio.

Feeling like an intruder, he left and descended into the basement. But the flickering light and the wasp-like buzzing of the lamps triggered a rush of unpleasant memories that drove him out of the mansion

The thought that the Black Duke might leave at any moment without looking back struck him halfway between the front gate and porch, resurrecting Yugo’s words about Sicily in his memory.

Could this place be a hideout, a temporary home, even though Yugo has stayed here for years? Has it always been his plan to move back to Sicily?

The notion made sense. Unlike other crime lords who settled on the outskirts of Vienna, Yugo chose a place hidden deep in the woods, far away from any city or airport yet safely protected from intrusion.

In comparison, Gray’s mansion boasted wealth. The gardens were lush, rooms abounded with collectibles, and no strangers lived there—only the household staff. Gray never mixed business with personal life.

Yugo’s mansion, however, resembled a private military training camp. Less than a mile away lay an obstacle course, a helipad with a small helicopter, and a shooting range.

Losing himself in his thoughts, Kuon made one final tour of the grounds before returning to the master bedroom.

As another night drew a curtain of silence over the mansion, Kuon sank into the cold leather chair. Wrapping his arms around himself, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.