⚠️ Warning: This Chapter contains graphic violence and abuse!

The next day.

All night, Nero let Milo stay on his bed. But the young man barely slept as his body pounded all night.

When Milo finally had time to sleep, it didn’t last long. When he woke up, he found his body already spread wide.

He stirred but couldn’t move. The room was so quiet, empty.

Milo looked around and at his body. Nero had used leather straps to secure his wrists and ankles to the four posts of the bed. He was spread-eagle, his body completely exposed and vulnerable.

The silk sheets felt cold against his back, a sharp contrast to the heat rising in his face from the sheer shame of his position.

Then he heard the door open. Two sets of footsteps entered the room.

"He’s already prepped for you," Nero’s voice said. He sounded cheerful, almost like a child showing off a new toy.

Milo squeezed his eyes shut. He knew what was waiting for him. He heard the sound of a heavy bag being placed on the table near the bed. Then, the footsteps came closer.

"Open your eyes, Milo," Nero commanded. "It’s rude to ignore guests."

Milo opened his eyes. Nero was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a clean charcoal suit. Standing next to him was a man in his late thirties with black gloves and a face full of piercings.

This must be Victor. He looked at Milo with a clinical, detached expression. He didn’t look at Milo’s face; he looked at his chest.

"The skin is very pale," Victor noted, his voice raspy. "It will show the gold well. Are we doing the heavy gauge or the standard?"

Nero walked around to the side of the bed. He reached down and pinched Milo’s left nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

Milo flinched, his body jerking against the leather straps.

"Heavy," Nero said, looking at Victor. "I want him to feel the weight of them every time he moves. I want them to remind him who put them there."

Victor nodded and began to lay out his tools on a sterilized tray. The clinking of metal against metal made Milo’s stomach churn. He saw long, thick needles, clamps, and two gold rings.

"Nero, please," Milo whispered, his voice cracking. "I don’t want this. Please don’t do this."

Nero didn’t even look at him. He was busy adjusting the lighting in the room so Victor could see better. "You heard him, Victor? He’s always so vocal. It’s one of the things I like about him. He thinks his opinion matters."

Victor approached the bed. He pulled a small bottle of antiseptic from his bag. He soaked a cotton pad and began to rub it over Milo’s chest. The liquid was freezing cold. Victor’s gloved hands were firm and uncaring as he prepped the skin.

"Stay still," Victor said. It wasn’t a request; it was a professional instruction.

"He’ll stay still," Nero said, sitting in an armchair he had moved right next to the bed. He crossed his legs and leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand. "He knows what happens when he struggles. Don’t you, Milo?"

Milo didn’t answer. He bit his lip, watching Victor pick up a surgical marker.

Victor leaned over him, his breath smelling of coffee. He carefully marked two dots on Milo’s sensitive flesh.

The touch was so casual that it made the humiliation feel ten times worse. To these men, Milo wasn’t a person. He was a piece of meat being prepared for a brand.

"Ready?" Victor asked, holding up a large, terrifyingly thick needle.

"Wait," Nero said. He stood up and walked to the headboard. He grabbed Milo’s chin, forcing him to look directly at the tray of needles. "I want you to watch the whole thing. If you close your eyes, I’ll make Victor do it again. Do you understand?"

Milo nodded, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. "Y-yes..."

Victor didn’t say anything. His face was neutral, as if he didn’t care or had grown accustomed to not caring.

He picked up a metal clamp. He reached down and latched it onto Milo’s left nipple. The pressure was immediate and sharp. The clamp squeezed the flesh flat, cutting off the blood flow.

Milo let out a choked gasp, his chest heaving.

"Deep breath," Victor muttered.

Nero watched with wide, excited eyes. He didn’t look away for a second.

Victor picked up the needle. He didn’t hesitate. He pushed the thick tip into the side of the clamped flesh. Milo felt the skin tear. It was a slow, grinding sensation as the heavy-gauge needle forced its way through the center of the nipple.

Milo’s back arched off the bed. A high-pitched scream tore from his throat, echoing off the high ceilings. The pain was searing and intense, like a bolt of electricity pressed against his chest.

"Beautiful," Nero whispered.

Victor pulled the needle through, leaving a hollow tube in its place. He picked up the first gold ring. It was thick and heavy. He threaded the end of the gold through the tube and then pulled the tube out, leaving the metal behind.

Blood began to seep from the wound, a bright red streak running down Milo’s pale ribs. Victor wiped it away with a gauze pad as if he were cleaning a spill on a counter.

"One down," Victor said. He snapped the gold ring shut. The weight of it was immediate. It tugged at the fresh wound, making the pain throb in time with Milo’s heartbeat.

Milo was sobbing now, his breath coming in jagged gasps. His body was covered in a thin layer of sweat. The leather restraints creaked as he tried to pull his arms free, a hopeless reflex.

"Stop crying," Nero snapped, though his voice was still light.

Victor moved to the right side. He applied the clamp again. Milo’s body went rigid. He knew what was coming now, and the anticipation was almost as bad as the pain.

"Please... no more," Milo begged, his voice a broken whimper.

Nero ignored him. He was talking to Victor again. "How long until the swelling goes down? I want to hook a chain between them by tonight."

"At least forty-eight hours for the initial swelling," Victor replied, his focus entirely on the second needle. "If you pull on them too soon, the skin will tear. Gold is soft, but the gauge is thick enough that it should hold if he doesn’t fight it."

Victor pushed the second needle through. This time, Milo didn’t scream. He ran out of air. He just made a wet, gurgling sound in the back of his throat. His eyes rolled back for a second before Nero lightly slapped his cheek.

"Don’t faint," Nero said.

Milo watched through a blur of tears as the second ring was threaded through his flesh. The sensation of the cold metal sliding through the raw, internal wound made him feel faint. He heard the final click as the second ring was locked.

Victor stepped back. He began packing his tools, wiping the blood off his tray. He didn’t offer Milo any words of comfort. He just looked at Nero. "Keep them clean with the solution I left. Don’t let him touch them. The sweat will cause an infection if he isn’t washed twice a day."

"I’ll wash him myself," Nero said, his eyes fixed on Milo’s chest.

Nero stood up and walked over to the table. He picked up a stack of cash and handed it to Victor without counting it.

"Thanks a lot. And when will the collar be ready?"

Victor took the money. "You can get it by tomorrow. I’ve already measured his neck."

"Good, then."

Victor left the room. The door clicked shut, leaving Milo alone with Nero.

The silence was heavy. Milo lay there, his chest burning. The two gold rings glinted under the bedroom lights. Every time he took a breath, the rings shifted, the weight of the metal dragging against the fresh, bleeding holes in his body.

Nero walked to the side of the bed. He reached down and flicked the right ring with his fingernail. The sudden movement sent a fresh jolt of agony through Milo’s chest.

"Argh! H-Hurts!" Milo cried out, his body flinching.

"They look perfect," Nero said. He didn’t seem to care that Milo was in pain. He looked at the rings like a jeweler looking at a masterpiece. "They suit you. They make you look like the expensive pet you are."

Nero leaned down, his face hovering over Milo’s. He licked a drop of blood from Milo’s skin, right below the new piercing. "Do you feel them, Milo? Do you feel how heavy they are?"

"Y-yes," Milo sobbed.

"Good. That weight is me. Every time you walk, every time you sleep, you will feel me pulling on you," Nero whispered. He reached up and untied the restraints on Milo’s wrists, but he left the ankles tied.

Milo’s arms fell limp at his sides. He didn’t even have the strength to move.

Nero kissed his lips deeply, possessively.

"Now," Nero said, his voice turning cold and demanding. "Sit up. I want to see how they hang when you’re upright."

Milo tried to move, but the pain in his chest made it almost impossible. He groaned, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. The rings swung forward, the gold dragging through the raw wounds. Milo let out a low whimper, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Nero grabbed Milo’s hair and pulled his head back. "Look at me when I’m talking to you."

Milo looked up, his face wet with tears.

"I’ll remind you again. You belong to me, Milo. Anyone could have looked at you, but nobody marked you. I did. This is just the beginning. By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be an inch of your skin that doesn’t have my name on it."

Nero pushed Milo back down onto the bed. He climbed over him, his knees pinning Milo’s arms down. He looked at the two gold rings and smiled.

"I think I’ll keep you tied up for the rest of the day," Nero said. "I want to watch the blood dry around the gold. It’s a very beautiful color on you."

Milo lay there, staring at the ceiling. The humiliation was total. He was branded, tied down, and broken. He looked at Nero’s face, searching for any sign of the death he had hoped for. But there was nothing. Nero looked healthy.

Even if he tried to kill him, he wouldn’t succeed.

Nero looked annoyingly powerful. And Milo hated every second of Nero’s life.

Nero reached down and began to unbutton his trousers. "Since you’re already open for me, we might as well celebrate your new jewelry."

Milo closed his eyes as Nero’s weight settled over him.