Chapter 29: Don’t Treat Me Like a Whore

Chapter 29: Chapter 29: Don’t Treat Me Like a Whore

~Frederick’s POV~

I scooped up his shoes with one hand, then stood with his weight pressed securely against my back and carried him the rest of the way through the drizzle.

As we reached the curb, my driver rushed forward and pulled the heavy rear door wide open.

I eased Reynold down, making sure he was steady before letting him slide across the plush leather seat. I climbed in after him, and the driver carefully closed the door before hurrying around to the driver’s side. He got behind the wheel, shifted into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

The interior of the car was dead silent, save for the hum of the engine and the soft patter of rain against the tinted windows.

Reynold immediately pressed himself against the far door, as far away from me as the cabin allowed. He stared blankly out at the dark, rain-streaked streets, his shoulders hunched and his eyes swollen and red from crying.

A sharp, unfamiliar ache twisted in my chest as I looked at him. I felt sick with guilt, a wretched, burning sensation I had no business feeling. I shouldn’t have felt any remorse. This was supposed to be nothing more than a cold, transactional arrangement.

But the more I looked at him, the more his raw, unguarded innocence seemed to crack through the thick armor I had spent years building around myself.

He believed me. He believed every word that came out of my mouth, trusting me even when I had given him every reason to run. He hadn’t done anything to deserve being treated like trash, yet I had reduced him to tears just to satisfy my own selfish desires.

I can’t keep doing this.

The thought hammered against my skull.

I have to be the one to walk away.

Once I got him settled back at the university, once I’d secured his future and cleared my conscience, I would have to keep my distance. He couldn’t handle the crushing weight of my life, nor the relentless, demanding nature of my sexual desires. To him, I was just a monster using him for his body.

But setting aside the harsh truth of the contract, the reality was that my appetite for sex was too dark, too consuming, and he was far too fragile to survive it.

My world was shadowed, complicated, and entirely devoid of the normal warmth he deserved. If I stayed, I would only end up breaking him completely.

It was better to end it now. Cleanly. Before I permanently destroyed someone who was still innocent.

I didn’t try to touch him or break the heavy silence that had settled between us. I gave him the space he had asked for, keeping my distance as the driver drove us back to the estate. He kept his face pressed against the glass, staring blankly out at the dark, rain-streaked streets throughout the entire drive. He didn’t say a single word to me.

As the car glided to a smooth stop in the courtyard, one of my guards rushed to open the door. I stepped out first into the night air, then turned back to gently help Reynold out.

Once he was standing beside me, I looked at him.

"Are you okay?" I asked quietly.

He gave a small, stiff nod.

"Alright. Come on, let’s go inside."

We walked up the wide marble steps toward the mansion. Before we even reached the entrance, the staff were already waiting, and they immediately opened the grand double doors for us.

"Welcome back, sir," they greeted in unison.

I gave them a curt nod in acknowledgment before guiding Reynold past the foyer. Once we were inside the quiet warmth of the house, I turned to him and softened my tone.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink before we head upstairs?"

We walked up the sweeping staircase. But instead of leading him down the familiar hallway toward my master suite, I stopped in front of a guest room just a few doors away—close to mine, but distinctly separate.

I pushed the door open, switched on the soft wall sconces, and gestured inside.

"Come inside," I said gently.

Reynold stepped across the threshold. He looked around the spacious, beautifully decorated room, his brow furrowing before he turned back to me.

"This isn’t your room."

"I know," I replied, forcing a calm facade. "I want you to be comfortable. My room is just close by if you need anything."

He stared at me for a long, painful moment, saying nothing. Without another word, he walked over and sat heavily on the edge of the plush bed.

"The maid will bring up anything you need," I added, lingering in the doorway. "And if there’s an emergency, just call my phone."

Still, he said nothing, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.

"More to the point... I haven’t heard your phone ring once since this morning," I noted, frowning slightly. "Is it not working?"

Reynold slowly looked up, his red-rimmed eyes meeting mine. "I turned it off because of my family."

"Alright," I sighed. I hesitated, adjusting my cuffs as I took a slow breath, carefully choosing my words. "Tomorrow, my driver will take you back to the university. I might not be able to come see you for a while because of pressing business, but once I have a clear window, I’ll visit you. Okay?"

He didn’t answer right away.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but the question carried a trace of hurt.

"Why are you making me sleep in a different room from you?"

"Because I want you to rest and relax properly."

"You’re lying to me," he shot back, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You told me the doctor was coming tomorrow to examine me so we could finally sign the contract. And now you’re telling me to go back to university, while saying you’ll only come to see me whenever you have the time?"

He stood up abruptly, closing the distance between us. His voice trembled with disbelief.

"Why is it so difficult for you to just look me in the eye and tell me you won’t come to me again?"

"I never said I wouldn’t, Reynold. I just have a few urgent—"

Before I could finish, his expression twisted into something desperate and reckless. He reached down with shaking hands, tugging at the zipper of his trousers and dragging them down an inch before his fingers froze.

"Let’s do it, then!" he yelled, tears spilling hot and fast down his cheeks. "Just do it now! Get it over with!"

"Reynold, stop it—!" I reached out, horrified. "This isn’t about—"

He screamed in sheer frustration, quickly pulling his trousers back into place and yanking the zipper up. He backed away from me, his voice breaking into a ragged sob.

"I just don’t want to be treated like a whore!"

His words hit me harder than I expected.

"All my life, I’ve had to listen to my family insult my mother, calling her disgusting names and spreading all kinds of hateful stories about her as if she were nothing," he cried, his whole body shaking as he pointed a finger at his own chest. "I hate it! I despise it! I don’t know what to believe anymore because I don’t know who’s telling the truth or what really happened. But with you, I agreed to sign your contract because I knew what it entailed. I read the rules, I understood the terms, and I agreed to them! But I don’t know what goes on inside your head, Frederick. I don’t know how you actually see me. To you... am I just a whore? A paid-off toy?"

He stepped closer, backing me toward the door, his eyes burning with a desperate, agonizing plea.

"I will answer every single one of your sexual demands. I swear I will. But I just need to know what you take me for. Am I a toy? A gold-digger? A slut? A whore? I understand that outside of this contract, you won’t ever love me, I accept that! But I deserve to know how you actually look at me."

I stood there, completely paralyzed, unable to form a single defense against the brutal mirror he was holding up to my face.

"Let’s talk in the morning when you’ve calmed down," I muttered weakly, turning toward the door and reaching for the doorknob.

"I don’t want you to see me as any of those names!" Reynold shouted, his voice cracking. He lunged forward, grabbed my arm, and spun me back around to face him. "I feel sick to my stomach every time my family calls my mother those things, and then you turn around and do the exact same thing to me! Stop throwing money in my face! Stop trying to pay me off like I’m some cheap convenience! I’m not someone who sells himself for pocket change. I just... I don’t have a choice right now, and I simply don’t want to owe you anything. I have dignity, Frederick!"

He stopped, his chest heaving, his face wet with tears as he looked up at me with an expression so raw that it made my breath catch.

"I don’t mind doing everything you want. In public, behind closed doors, anywhere. But stop looking at me with that cold, empty detachment in your eyes. I can’t bear it."

He took a shaky breath and stepped so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands trembled against my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt.

"I’m not saying you have to love me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a fragile plea. "Just... treat me like a human being. Treat me well. I don’t only see you as someone I sleep with. Deep down, I look at you like you actually matter to me, even if we aren’t in love. Can I... can I at least get that same basic respect from you?"

He stared up at me, his eyes searching my face in the soft light, waiting to see if there was anything human left inside me.

For a long, agonizing moment, neither of us spoke. All the cold walls I had built around myself, all the defensive armor, all my cynical calculations about contracts and money seemed to crumble.

I couldn’t speak. My throat was too tight, choked by a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion I hadn’t felt in a decade.

Slowly, without a word, I reached out. I gently took his trembling hand in mine, my fingers wrapping securely around it, and pulled him closer.

"Let’s go," I murmured, my voice thick and unsteady. "Let’s go to my room."