Chapter 40 STRINGS AND PUPPETS
Eli sat curled up on the living room couch, arms wrapped around his knees, staring numbly at the TV. The news anchor’s voice droned on, crisp and bright, a painful contrast to the sick feeling in his stomach.
“Speculations continue to rise about billionaire Julian Thorne’s sudden marriage to an unknown young man. The public is raising questions about the boy’s condition, photos suggest signs of psychological manipulation—”
The screen flashed with an image of Eli in that awful outfit from the event, lips bruised, eyes unfocused. Beside him, Julian wore a perfect suit and a colder, more vicious smile than the camera was prepared for.
“…cult-like dynamics… potential grooming… the authorities—”
The TV suddenly snapped off, making Eli flinch.
Julian stood near the doorway, coat still on, expression unreadable. Not angry. Just… calm.
“Stop watching garbage,” Julian said smoothly, walking toward him.
Eli swallowed. “It wasn’t— I didn’t turn it on to—”
“You don’t need excuses.” Julian’s hand brushed Eli’s cheek, almost tender. “You only need to remember that none of them matter.”
Eli didn’t answer. He couldn’t come up with a single word.
Julian’s thumb traced the place where the news photo had circled his bruises.
“Get up,” Julian murmured. “We’re going somewhere.”
Eli’s stomach dropped. “Where?”
Julian smiled. “Somewhere your father will see you. I think he misses you.”
\---
The car descended beneath a private building, past layers of security gates manned by armed men. Eli pressed into the leather seat, pulse thumping.
Julian looked completely at ease, as though this place belonged to him.
The underground hall was dim, smoky, filled with expensive cologne, expensive alcohol, and even more expensive men. Not mafia— not exactly. But the kind of people who dealt in secrets the way normal people dealt in money.
Eli stepped behind Julian automatically, heart pounding.
And every head turned.
Whispers fluttered like blades.
“That’s him—”
“Julian’s little toy—”
“He looks so breakable. Porcelain.”
Julian didn’t correct them or at least glare at them.
He didn’t shield Eli.
He didn’t even pretend to care.
Instead, he placed a hand at the back of Eli’s neck and guided him forward like one might steer a pet.
Eli kept his eyes on the floor.
They reached a sectioned-off sitting area, where soft couches circled a low table stacked with cigars and crystal glasses. A few elites sat lounging like predators waiting to be entertained.
Julian pushed Eli forward. “Sit.”
Eli sat stiffly.
One of the men leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Pretty thing. Julian, may I?”
Julian reclined with a relaxed, amused posture. “Go ahead.”
Eli’s heart slammed into his ribs.
The man’s hand reached out. Not sexual, not violent, but invasive. Fingers brushing Eli’s jaw, tracing his chin like he was inspecting a display object.
Julian watched.
Another man came closer and tugged lightly at Eli’s hair, chuckling. “Soft. Delicate. No wonder Julian hides him.”
Eli’s throat tightened. Shame crawled up his skin like fire.
Julian said nothing…
He actually enjoyed this.
His eyes were sharp, cold, and hungry— not for Eli, but for what Eli represented. A weapon against Henry. A living message of humiliation and bruise on ego.
“Look up,” Julian murmured.
Eli obeyed.
A third man took Eli’s chin between his fingers, lifting, tilting, studying him like a product on auction.
Julian drank from his glass, smirking.
“Good,” Julian said softly. “Just stay still.”
Eli wanted to disappear.
He didn’t cry, but only because he refused to give Julian the satisfaction.
One man reached for Eli’s shirt collar, fingers brushing too low, too familiar…
A hand shot out and slapped his wrist away.
Eli flinched but relaxed the next second, he couldn't have been more thankful for that defense.
He looked up to see his defender was Anton.
Anton stood over them, smiling brightly.
He looked like sin disguised as sunshine; a tailored cream suit, hair tied loosely back, dimples flashing with a sweetness that didn’t match the sharpness in his eyes.
“Touching is allowed,” Anton said lightly, “but groping is sloppy. And boring.”
The man scoffed. “You have no say, Anton.”
“Oh, I have plenty of say,” Anton chirped. “And you don’t want to piss me off. Julian can't save you from my wrath. I'd mess up.”
His fingers brushed Eli’s shoulder in a calm, steadying way.
Julian’s gaze flicked to them. Cold, possessive, and clearly jealous.
But he didn’t intervene.
Anton leaned down, whispering softly to Eli, “Relax. Don’t let them see you panic.”
Eli tried.
Anton straightened, giving the men a deceptively sweet smile. “If you want to touch something mindlessly, get yourself a pet. This one is… complicated.”
Julian’s jaw flexed at the word “mine,” even when Anton didn’t say it… because he knew that word existed between, vocalized or not.
Anton just smiled wider, enjoying the silent war he was provoking.
\---
When Julian decided he’d had enough, he simply rose to his feet.
“Eli,” he said.
Eli immediately stood and went to him.
Not because he wanted to. But because the alternative was worse.
Julian’s hand settled on the small of his back as they left the hall, Anton following behind with lazy amusement.
They stepped outside into the cool night air—
A sharp crack split the silence.
A sound Eli recognized too well…
A gunshot.
One of Julian’s men, who had stepped out with them, jerked violently. Blood sprayed the pavement as he collapsed forward, dead before he hit the ground.
Eli stumbled back, breath choking in his throat.
Julian grabbed him instantly, pulling him close, shielding him with his body.
Anton exhaled slowly. “Ohhh, someone’s pissed.”
No one else fired.
No one else appeared.
It was a single shot.
A very clear message.
Julian stared down at the dead man with an emotionless expression.
Then his phone rang.
He answered it without moving a muscle.
Henry’s voice slid through the speaker like a serpent.
“That could have been you,” Henry said softly. “Still want to toy with me?”
Eli’s stomach twisted.
Henry knew where they were… He was watching.
Watching the exact second they stepped outside.
Julian’s expression didn’t change. “You missed.”
Henry chuckled. “I didn’t miss. I chose. Next time, I just won’t.”
The line went dead.
Julian lowered the phone.
Then he turned to Eli.
His hand cupped the back of Eli’s neck, firm, cold, possessive.
“See?” Julian murmured. “This is what your father does.”
Eli’s breath hitched.
Julian leaned close, voice soft yet threatening.
“And this is why you stay with me.”