Chapter 38 SMILE FOR THE CAMERAS
Julian didn’t warn Eli of what exactly he's about to put him through…
He simply walked into the bedroom after sunset, tossed a black set of outfit onto the bed, and said, “Put it on.”
Eli had expected something expensive, elegant maybe. But when he unfolded the fabric his throat closed.
“This isn't clothing. It's a costume. Are we going for a costume party?” Eli asked, wishing he could just opt out of whatever Julian was up to.
Julian didn't respond.
The outfit was a sheer, barely-there mesh shirt that clung to skin like it wanted to whisper secrets. Tight black pants cut just low enough to look indecent. A collar— thin, leather, deceptively delicate— with a silver clasp shaped like a ring.
Eli stared at it, horrified. “Julian… this is—”
“Perfect,” Julian answered, already rolling up his sleeves.
He moved behind Eli, fingers brushing Eli’s waist as he took the mesh shirt from him. He lifted it slowly, deliberately. Forcing Eli’s arms up. Sliding the fabric down over his shoulders with a gentleness that made Eli’s skin prickle.
“This isn’t for me,” Eli whispered shakily. “This is for him. For my father. Why would you want my father to see me in a slutty fit? What difference does it make, or should I say what help does it offer you?”
Julian didn’t deny it.
He adjusted the shirt, smoothing it over Eli’s torso, the soft glide of his palms intimate in a way that made Eli’s breath tremble.
“It’s for the cameras,” Julian murmured near his ear. “And therefore… yes. For Henry.”
Julian’s knuckles ran down Eli’s waist, slow enough to feel like a caress, clinical enough to feel like inspection.
Eli tried to step back.
Julian caught him by the hip.
“No running. Not tonight.”
He turned Eli to face the mirror.
Eli barely recognized himself.
Pale skin glowing through the mesh. Eyes ringed with exhaustion. Lips still slightly swollen from Julian’s rough grip earlier. Bruises painted like art across his neck.
Julian’s hand slid up the back of Eli’s neck, fingers threading through his hair. The touch was firm, possessive.
“You look fragile,” Julian said quietly. “Exactly as you should.”
Eli flinched. “Julian, please—”
Julian held up the collar, cutting Eli’s words short.
Julian lifted it with a terrifying sort of calm, brushing Eli’s jawline with the leather. “Tilt your head.”
Eli hesitated.
Julian’s voice dropped. “Don’t make me force you.”
Shaking, Eli tilted.
The collar clicked into place.
Julian’s fingers lingered a moment too long, thumb stroking the pulse in Eli’s throat as if checking its speed.
“Good boy,” Julian murmured.
Eli’s heart stopped.
Julian turned him again, examining him like a sculptor pleased with his creation.
Then Julian cupped Eli’s jaw, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Tonight, you smile. You follow. You don’t speak unless I tell you to.”
Eli swallowed painfully. “As if I've ever done anything different. All I do is smile and pretend I can't hear or speak, until you speak to me.”
Julian’s expression was cold, beautiful, and unmistakably cruel.
“And you're doing good. Maintain that.”
\---
(At the Event)
Flashbulbs hit Eli the moment they stepped out of the car.
A hundred voices rose, overlapping:
“Julian!”
“Is that your spouse?”
“What happened to his neck?”
“Is he hurt?”
“Why is he dressed like that?”
“Eli, are you consenting to this?”
Eli flinched away instinctively but Julian’s hand gripped his waist, fingers digging hard enough to bruise. Pulling him close. Pinning him against Julian’s side like property being displayed.
The whispers sharpened as they walked.
“He looks terrified.”
“That shirt is practically see-through—what the hell?”
“Julian’s lost it.”
“Is he abusing him?”
“He looks like he’s been crying…”
“Do you think they joined a cult and this is some ritual?”
Julian’s arm wrapped even tighter around Eli’s body.
Eli felt the tension in Julian’s frame, but it wasn’t the tension of guilt or embarrassment.
It was pride.
A dark, triumphant pride.
“Keep your chin up,” Julian whispered, lips grazing Eli’s ear. “Let Henry see your fear.”
They moved through the crowd like a storm.
Julian’s hand never left Eli’s waist.
Sometimes it slid lower.
Sometimes it tightened around his ribs.
Each touch sending a message: Mine.
Eli kept his eyes down, cheeks burning, chest aching with humiliation.
Camera flashes followed them everywhere; capturing every movement, every tremble, every breath.
Anton entered the ballroom elegantly, wearing a black suit that fit him like sin. He spotted Eli instantly, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the collar, the bruises, the sheer shirt.
Then he smiled. A slow, appreciative curl of lips.
He walked over, entirely unbothered by the tension in the room.
“Julian,” Anton said, voice light, smooth. “You brought the boy. And dressed him… boldly.”
Julian’s glare could’ve sliced through steel. “He looks obedient.”
Anton’s eyes slid to Eli, drinking him in. “He looks terrified.”
Julian’s jaw flexed.
Anton stepped closer to Eli, gaze softening. “Are you alright?”
Julian’s fingers dug even harder into Eli’s waist.
Eli gave the only safe answer. “…Yes.”
Anton’s look said he didn’t believe it for a second. “You didn’t answer my question the way you wanted to.”
Julian’s teeth clenched. “Back off,” he warned quietly.
Anton tilted his head, amused. “But you brought him here. For everyone to look at.”
Julian’s eyes sharpened. “Not for you.”
“Mm,” Anton murmured, “I can remember you asking me to come for the show, and I believe this is the day. I just don't know if I'm enjoying it, given that he's in your arms and not mine.”
Eli felt Julian’s anger like static in the air.
“I'm his husband.” Julian stated.
Anton chuckled. “I know that, alright. But you shouldn't overdo this play of yours.”
“Ohh, is that so?” Julian smirked and seized Eli’s chin.
Eli gasped softly.
The cameras turned as Julian captured Eli's lips in a hard, deep, bruising kiss; more of a violent possession than affection. Julian’s hand gripped Eli’s jaw, forcing his mouth open, controlling the angle, dominating every second of it.
Gasps erupted around the room.
“Oh my god—”
“That’s not a normal kiss—”
“Is he okay?”
“He looks like he’s being forced—”
Eli whimpered against Julian’s mouth, but Julian didn’t pull back.
Not until he was sure the entire world had seen.
When he finally released Eli, Eli struggled for breath, lips swollen, eyes watery.
Julian turned to the cameras and smiled.
“Relax,” he said coolly. “He loves it.”
A shiver rippled through the crowd.
Anton watched with unreadable eyes.
Julian then extended his hand toward him with a smirk sitting on his face. “Did you enjoy the show?” Julian asked.
Anton shook his hand, leaning slightly forward. “You overdid it.”
Then, quieter, directly to Julian: “He’s not a stage prop.”
Julian’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “He’s whatever I want him to be.”
Anton’s gaze flashed dark; protective and angry.
But he said nothing else. He just grabbed a glass of drink as the server conveniently walked by just in time.
Julian decided to leave the event early, he made an appearance and put on his show, and that's the whole purpose of tonight.
As Julian and Eli stepped away from the crowd, Julian’s phone vibrated.
“Private Number” lit up the screen.
Julian’s smile stretched; triumphant and vicious.
Finally.
He answered the call.
Before Julian could speak, Henry’s voice snarled through the speaker:
“Why don't you be a man rather than a gay idiot? You touch my son in such manner again, I’ll tear your spine out and feed it to dogs.”
Julian laughed softly, then his tone turned almost gentle as he replied:
“Good evening, Henry.
Enjoying the show?”
The line went silent for a long second.
Then Henry spoke again, voice low but clearly angry: “Return my son to me. If you want to fight me, come fight me. Leave me son out of it.”
“Ohh,
but your son is married to me, father in-law. Why don't you just give us your blessings?” Julian mocked, pulling Eli closer.
“The only thing I'd be giving you is what I gave your father… a bullet into your skull.”