MY BESTFRIEND'S BROTHER, MY RUIN

"You can’t stay there, Raffy. Not after they broke the door."

Ignatius stood in the center of my ruined living room, his presence making the walls feel even closer together. He didn't ask. He spoke like the weather—unavoidable and absolute.

I looked at the shattered ceramic on the floor. My hands made small, jerky movements. I have nowhere else. Leo will come back.

Ignatius stepped over a broken chair, his hand landing on my shoulder. The weight of it was grounding, a heavy anchor in a storm. "Leo isn't coming back for a long time. He owes people far worse than the thugs I just chased out. My guest house is secure. Keyless entry. Private security. You won’t have to jump every time the wind rattles a window."

I let out a breath I’d been holding since Miller first kicked the door. A guest house. Security. It sounded like a dream. It sounded like a life where I didn't have to sleep with a kitchen knife under my pillow.

"Pack a bag," he commanded, his voice softening just enough to make me ache. "Just the essentials. I’ll buy you anything else you need."

I was a ghost in my own apartment, throwing old t-shirts into a duffel bag while Ignatius watched from the doorway. Every time I glanced at him, he was there—tall, steady, and looking at me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever bought. I felt a flush creep up my neck. No one had ever looked at me like that. To Leo, I was a burden. To the world, I was the "broken" kid who couldn't talk back. To Ignatius? I felt like a person.

The guest house was a glass and steel sanctuary tucked behind the iron gates of his estate. It smelled of expensive cedar and lemon polish.

"This is all for me?" I signed, my fingers clumsy with awe.

Ignatius leaned against the doorframe, his suit jacket draped over one arm. "For as long as you need it. But Raffy..." He paused, his gaze darkening. "You need to understand why you're here. Leo didn't just forget the rent. He gambled away your safety. He knew Miller was coming for you, and he left anyway."

My heart did a slow, sickening roll in my chest. No. Leo wouldn't.

"He’s my best friend, Raffy. It kills me to say it." Ignatius stepped closer, his shadow swallowing mine. "But he’s using you as a shield. He thinks because you’re... quiet, you’re an easy target for his debts. You’re safer here, away from his influence. Away from everyone."

The gratitude I felt earlier curdled into something sharper. Isolation. He was saying it was for my own good, but the word echoed in the high ceilings of the guest house. Away from everyone.

"Don't look so sad," he murmured, lifting my chin with a single finger. "You have me now. I’m the only one who won’t sell you out for a poker hand."

He left me then, the heavy oak door clicking shut with a finality that made the "sanctuary" feel a little more like a vault.

I spent the next hour pacing. Everything was too perfect. The bed sheets had a thread count higher than my monthly income. The fridge was stocked with things I couldn't pronounce. I felt like an intruder in a museum.

I reached for the light switch by the bed, my fingers brushing against a small, black plastic ridge tucked into the crown molding. It was tiny. Smaller than a shirt button.

I froze.

I pulled a chair over, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I stood on the cushion, leaning in until my nose almost touched the wall.

A lens.

A pinhole camera, angled directly at the bed.

My stomach dropped. I scrambled down, my eyes darting around the room. Another one in the corner. Another in the vent. I wasn't in a guest house. I was in a cage with a view.

The door handle turned.

I didn't have time to move the chair. I stood there, paralyzed, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

Ignatius walked in. He’d changed into a silk robe, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look like a savior anymore. He looked like a wolf who had finally cornered his lunch.

He stopped, his eyes moving from the chair to my face, then back to the chair.

"Raffy," he said, his voice dropping an octave. The warmth was gone. Only the razor blade remained. "You look nervous. You're shaking."

He took a step toward me, his hand reaching out.

"Are you hiding something from me? After everything I've done to keep you safe?"