Chapter six: The Unwanted Meal

Chapter 6 – The Unwanted Meal

The silver tray arrived before sunrise.

A silent servant wheeled it in, head bowed, avoiding Levi’s eyes as though looking at him was forbidden. Steam curled up from a porcelain bowl of oatmeal, beside it cut fruit arranged too neatly, like decoration instead of food. A glass of water. A second glass of something red that looked far too much like wine for this hour.

Levi’s stomach growled, but he pushed the tray back across the table.

“No,” he muttered.

The servant froze, as though the word itself were dangerous. She kept her head bowed and whispered, “He’ll know you didn’t touch it.”

Levi’s chest tightened. He always knows.

He shoved the tray farther, until it bumped the wall. The scrape of metal against wood was louder than he expected, almost a challenge. The servant flinched, murmured something too soft to catch, and slipped out of the room without another word.

The silence left behind was worse. Levi could feel it—eyes on him though the curtains were drawn, though the room was empty. He paced. Every corner seemed alive with hidden lenses, every shadow a threat.

By midmorning the lock clicked. He jerked toward the door, half hoping it was Adrian, half fearing it was anyone else.

It was Lucien.

The man filled the doorway without effort, dressed in a dark suit that looked far too sharp for daylight. His presence pulled the air tight around him, like even the walls held still when he entered.

“You didn’t eat,” Lucien said. Not a question. A statement.

Levi folded his arms, trying to keep his voice steady. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Lucien’s gaze flicked to the untouched tray. He didn’t step closer, yet Levi felt invaded all the same. There was no warmth in his eyes, only a clinical interest—like a scientist deciding how long the experiment would last.

“You’ll eat when I tell you,” Lucien murmured. He walked to the tray, set his hand on the silver lid, and closed it with a soft click. “Obedience is health. Disobedience is sickness.”

Levi’s pulse raced. He wanted to shout, to throw the food at him, but his body betrayed him. He stayed frozen, trembling, the words lodged in his throat.

Lucien’s eyes lingered on that tremor. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching, not in amusement but something heavier. “Fear looks good on you,” he said quietly.

Levi swallowed hard. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

Lucien finally turned, stepping closer. The faint scent of his cologne—clean, sharp, unsettling—filled the air between them. He leaned just enough for Levi to feel the weight of his attention pressing down.

“I never have the wrong person,” Lucien whispered. “Remember that.”

Then he brushed past, leaving the room with the same unhurried calm he carried everywhere. The door locked behind him, sealing Levi in again.

Levi collapsed against the wall, chest heaving. His stomach ached with hunger, but the thought of touching that food now made him sick. Because it wasn’t just food—it was another leash, another invisible chain.

And worse… his skin burned where Lucien’s gaze had lingered, as if the man’s eyes alone had left a mark.