Silas stepped inside carrying two large paper bags filled with fresh, hot food from a restaurant he had stopped by. The rich aroma of creamy porridge, grilled vegetables, and warm bread filled the air.

He paused in the entrance, his eyes trailing on the figure in the room.

Sylvain was still sitting on the kitchen floor exactly where he had left him hours ago — knees drawn to his chest. His phone clutched tightly in both hands, staring at the blank screen as if willing it to light up with news about Leon. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his face pale and empty.

Silas’s jaw tightened for a brief second.

Without a word, he walked to the dining table and placed the bags down. The scent of warm food spread through the cold house.

He moved toward Sylvain, bent down, and grabbed his arm but not roughly."Get up."

Sylvain didn’t resist. He allowed himself to be pulled to his feet like a ragdoll. Silas took the phone from his limp fingers and slipped it into his own pocket.

"Come," Silas said, voice low and commanding. He dragged Sylvain gently but insistently toward the dining table and pushed him down into a chair. "Eat."

Sylvain stared blankly at the table. His voice came out hoarse and broken. "Is my brother... back home yet? Did you find him?"

Silas ignored the question. He opened one of the containers, revealing a bowl of hot creamy porridge with a light sprinkle of herbs on top. Steam rose gently from it.

He placed it in front of Sylvain along with a spoon. "Eat," he repeated.

Sylvain picked up the spoon mechanically. Without waiting for it to cool, he scooped a full spoonful of the steaming porridge and brought it to his mouth. The moment it touched his tongue, he winced from the heat but kept eating.

Silas’s eyes narrowed. "Stop."

He snatched the spoon from Sylvain’s hand. "Are you trying to burn yourself? Must you be this pathetic even when I bring you food?"

Sylvain looked up at him with dead eyes. "What does it matter? Leon is gone... because of me."

Silas sat down beside him, dipped the spoon into the porridge, and blew on it gently until the steam lessened. He held it to Sylvain’s lips. "Open."

Sylvain obeyed. Silas fed him slowly, carefully, one spoonful at a time.

"You must not die in my hands," Silas said quietly, almost to himself, as he prepared another spoonful. "Not yet, especially not like this."

He continued feeding him in silence for several minutes. Each time Sylvain hesitated, Silas would blow on the spoon again, his movements surprisingly patient.

"Eat properly," Silas murmured when Sylvain tried to turn his head away. "You haven’t eaten all day. Your body is weak. If you collapse, you’ll be useless to me — and to your brother."

Tears slipped down Sylvain’s cheeks as he swallowed another spoonful. "Why are you doing this...? You don’t care about me. You walked away when I begged you to save Leon..."

Silas’s hand paused mid-air. He looked at Sylvain for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"I care about what belongs to me," he finally said. "And right now, you are falling apart. I need you functional."

When the bowl was finally empty, Silas set the spoon down. Without warning, he stood up, slid one arm under Sylvain’s knees and the other behind his back, and lifted him in a princess carry.

Sylvain stiffened in surprise. "Silas...?"

He thought he knew what was coming, another night of being used. Another reminder of his place. He didn’t fight as Silas carried him toward the master bathroom.

Silas set him down gently on the marble floor. "Undress."

Sylvain’s hands shook as he removed his clothes with Silas’s assistance. When he was fully naked, he stood there waiting, eyes downcast.

But instead of pushing him against the wall or ordering him to his knees, Silas turned on the shower, adjusting the water temperature carefully. He guided Sylvain under the warm spray. "Stand still."

Silas rolled up his sleeves and began washing him thoroughly. His hands moved with surprising gentleness — soaping Sylvain’s shoulders, back, arms, and chest.

He cleaned the dried tears from his face and the tension from his muscles. No words were spoken. Only the sound of running water and Sylvain’s occasional shaky breaths filled the bathroom.

When he was done, Silas dried him with a large, soft towel, then lifted him again in the princess carry and took him to the master bedroom.

He laid Sylvain down carefully on the huge bed, pulling the covers over his exhausted body. He placed Sylvain’s phone on the table and adjusted the cover once more.

Sylvain looked up at him, confused and broken. "Silas...?"

Silas stared at him for a moment, then turned and walked toward the door.

"Sleep," he said quietly. "You’ll need your strength."

He left the room, closing the door softly behind him, and headed straight to his study.

Sylvain lay alone in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling as fresh tears fell silently. For the first time in a long while, Silas had shown something close to care.

The gentle way he had washed him, the patience while feeding him, the way he carried him like something fragile — it confused Sylvain more than it comforted him.

In the silence of the dark room, he whispered to the empty space beside him.

"Why did you do that, Silas? Why pretend to care when you walked away from me earlier? Is this another game? Another way to own me?"

He turned on his side, curling into a small ball under the heavy duvet. His body still ached from everything — the emotional exhaustion, the fear for Leon, the confusing gentleness from the man who had ruined his life.

Sleep felt impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Leon’s terrified face from the earlier photos.

After several long minutes of restless tossing, Sylvain reached for his phone on the bedside table. His hands trembled as he unlocked it and began scrolling aimlessly through old photos — pictures of him and Leon as children, smiling, carefree. The memories only made the pain sharper.

A new message notification suddenly popped up.

Sylvain’s heart seized. With shaking fingers, he opened it. The photo hit him like a hammer to the chest.

Leon — tied to a chair, face covered in fresh blood, eyes swollen almost shut, a deep cut across his cheek. Another photo followed: Leon’s shirt torn open, showing dark bruises blooming across his ribs and stomach. A third image showed a knife pressed against his throat.

Sylvain let out a choked sob. "No... Leon... oh God, no..."

Tears poured down his face faster now. He clutched the phone tighter, body shaking violently as more photos loaded — Leon crying, bleeding, looking utterly broken.

A new message appeared below the images:

"Bring the COD 164 document your father kept. You have 3 days. Deliver it or your brother dies slowly. We will send proof of life every 12 hours until you comply."

Sylvain stared at the screen through blurred vision. "COD 164...? What is that? I don’t even know what that is!"

He typed back frantically with trembling fingers: "Please don’t hurt him anymore. I don’t know what COD 164 is. My father’s properties were all confiscated after he disappeared. I have nothing left. Please, I’m begging you. Let Leon go, I’ll do anything else."

The reply came almost instantly:

"You have 2 days, 23 hours, 59 minutes. Find the document. We know it exists. Fail, and the next video will show your brother’s fingers being cut off one by one."

Sylvain dropped the phone onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow, sobbing loudly now. "I don’t know where it is! How am I supposed to find something I’ve never even heard of? Leon... I’m so sorry... I’m failing you again. Please hold on. Please don’t die because of me..."

He cried harder, voice breaking into ugly, desperate sobs. "Silas... even you can’t help me now. No one can. I’m all alone in this..."

Meanwhile, in his private study down the hall, Silas sat behind his desk with his laptop open, reviewing encrypted files. His expression was cold and focused as he cross-referenced data on the kidnapping.

His laptop suddenly chimed with an incoming video call. The screen showed no name, no image — just a blank black square.

Silas narrowed his eyes and accepted the call.

A distorted, mechanically altered voice spoke immediately. "Silas Vane. I have everything you need on Santiago. Full background and family connection. Even his real purpose of been here. If you want it, we should meet tonight."

Silas leaned back in his chair."Who is this? And why should I trust a faceless coward hiding behind a blank screen?"

The voice chuckled lowly. "Trust is irrelevant. Results matter. I know you’re hunting for the boy. I know Santiago is involved. I can give you the leverage to destroy him completely. All I ask for is a meeting on neutral ground."

Silas’s fingers drummed on the desk. "You expect me to walk into an obvious trap?"

"Trap or opportunity — your choice," the voice replied smoothly. "But time is running out for the younger brother. Leon doesn’t have long. Meet me and I’ll give you the files. Refuse... and you’ll keep chasing shadows while the boy slowly dies."

Silas was silent for a long moment, calculating.

The voice continued, almost taunting. "You’re a smart man, Vane. You know when to take risks. I’ll send the location. Come alone or don’t come at all."

The call ended abruptly.

Seconds later, a new message popped up on Silas’s laptop screen. A set of coordinates and a simple line. "Midnight. The old warehouse district. Pier 17. Come alone."

Silas stared at the message, eyes deep in thought. He closed the laptop slowly and stood up. "I will have to try my luck."