Reverse handcuffs : Teach me how to love

The city, under the shroud of night, resembled a graveyard; the flickering lights were nothing more than the eyes of predators waiting for their prey. In this world, there was only one law: The Blood of the Dynasty. Hunter was a crown prince baptized in this very blood. His father had raised him not with a lullaby, but with a dagger in his cradle. The old man was still alive; and with every breath he took, he tightened the noose around Hunter’s neck. Hunter had never wanted this empire, this stench of a power struggle that reeked of rot. He was a prisoner in a golden cage, trying to drown the scent of the blood on his hands with expensive perfumes. Every night, he woke up to the screams of those silenced by his father’s command, loathing the life he was forced to lead.

But his father hadn't assigned him a "bodyguard." He had assigned him a shackle: Rex.

Rex was the sharpest, coldest weapon of this dark kingdom. An executioner who wouldn't even blink while tearing a man’s soul out... a loyal hound to his father. To Hunter, Rex wasn't just a guard; he was his father’s breath, cold and constant against the back of his neck. Rex had no past and no future. He was merely the hangman of the present.

Every time Hunter struck Rex, he was actually attacking that unshakable authority, the monster his father had created. And Rex stood before him like a monolith. He didn't hit back, he didn't speak, he didn't feel pain. He was too dead to feel hurt, and too proud to abandon his loyalty.

A king would burn the world for his throne; but a protector would throw his own soul into the fire just to stay in its shadow.

The interior of the warehouse was thick with the scent of mold, rust, and an approaching storm. The flickering overhead lights cast jagged shadows across Hunter’s face. Standing before him were the men who controlled the city's most dangerous docks. Hunter had buttoned his coat, wearing the cold, detached mask his father had forced upon him.

"Once the goods hit the pier, you’ll receive half the payment," Hunter said. His voice was smooth but commanding. "The rest follows once the shipment is safely secured."

The scarred man across from him smirked, playing with a switchblade. "Our little prince has learned how to run plays behind his father’s back," he said with a low chuckle. "But the rules of this game don’t look like the ones in your palace, Hunter."

Just as Hunter opened his mouth to put the man in his place, the heavy metal door of the warehouse slammed open, screeching against its tracks. Along with the sudden rush of wind came a familiar, suffocating presence. Rex.

Rex walked into the center of the warehouse with heavy, deliberate steps. His long black coat swept the grime off the floor, his eyes locked solely on Hunter. He didn't care about the armed men or the tension hanging in the air.

"The game is over, Hunter," Rex said. His voice echoed through the hollow space like a gunshot. "Sitting at this table without your father’s knowledge was a massive mistake. You’re leaving. Now."

Hunter clenched his fists on the table. He was humiliated. He loathed how this man treated him like a child in front of everyone. "Know your place, Rex! This is my deal, my business. No one moves until I say so!"

Rex responded with only a momentary silence, closing the distance until he was standing right over Hunter. He didn't even flinch as the other men reached for their holsters; it was as if everyone else were mere ghosts, and only the two of them existed in the world.

"The only thing you’re doing here," Rex whispered, leaning down toward Hunter’s ear, "is signing your own death warrant. I don’t want to be the one to tell your father you're dead. So... we are going."

Hunter exploded with rage, leaping to his feet and shoving the table aside. "You don't give me orders!" he roared, driving his right fist into Rex’s face with everything he had. Rex’s head snapped to the side, a thin trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. But Rex didn't take a single step back. He simply spat out the blood and fixed his void-like eyes back on Hunter.

When Hunter’s fist exploded against Rex’s face, a lethal silence filled the warehouse. The men at the table froze in the face of this sudden violence. A crown prince had just struck his father’s most trusted man, yet Rex didn't move an inch.

Rex slowly straightened his head, which had snapped to the side from the blow. He didn't even wipe the blood trickling from his lip. He didn't lock eyes with Hunter; instead, he fixed his gaze a few inches lower, at neck level, as he always did. There was no threat, no anger in his voice—only that unshakable, professional coldness.

"If you are finished, we may leave, sir," Rex said. His voice was so low and measured, he didn't sound like a man who had just taken a punch to the face. "Your father is expecting you at the residence. Your safety is my responsibility, and this location is no longer secure."

Hunter grounded his teeth, his hand throbbing. He had struck him, but the "wall-like" demeanor of the man before him was driving him even crazier. "Who told you we were leaving?" Hunter hissed, grabbing Rex by the collar. "I am making a deal here. You are to wait at the door!"

Rex kept his arms hanging by his sides even as Hunter’s hands gripped his collar. He didn't fight back; he didn't push. He simply took a half-step back to maintain a respectful distance. "The deal is compromised, Mr. Hunter," he said, gesturing toward the tension of the men at the table. "If you do not come with me, the team outside will be forced to enter. Your father’s orders are absolute: To the residence, or to safety."

Rex stepped slightly aside, gesturing toward the exit. He had cleared the path, yet his presence remained a massive obstacle blocking the way. "Please," he said simply. It wasn't a command, but a request—though the underlying message of "there is no escape" was crystal clear.

Hunter brushed past Rex, slamming his shoulder into him in fury. Rex didn't even flinch. He simply began to follow him, silent as a shadow..

The car ride was consumed by a deafening silence. Hunter’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth as he watched the torrential rain blur the world outside. Rex’s presence in the passenger seat made the air inside the vehicle feel leaden. The moment they arrived at the estate, Hunter flung himself out of the car before it had even come to a full stop.

He ignored the questioning gaze of his father waiting in the hall, bypasssing the heavy lecture that was undoubtedly coming. He looked at no one; he answered no one. He simply headed straight for the stairs, toward his only sanctuary.

The moment he entered his room, he slammed the door with such violence that the paintings in the hallway shuddered. He knew Rex had already taken his usual post just outside the door.

Hunter stripped off his expensive jacket—a garment that felt as heavy as a shroud—and tossed it aside. He ripped open the buttons of his shirt as if they were suffocating him. Shoes, trousers... everything was flung into a corner of the room. He caught his reflection in the mirror; his face was flushed with rage, and his knuckles still throbbed from the blow he’d landed on Rex.

He burst into the bathroom and cranked the shower to the max. He didn't choose warmth; he chose the ice.

The moment the freezing water hit his skin, the breath hitched in his lungs, but he didn't flinch. He stepped under the stream, leaning his head back, letting the sharp cold extinguish the fire in his mind. The stench of the warehouse, the echo of his father’s voice, and Rex’s infuriating, expressionless face... he wanted it all to wash away.

He ran his fingers through his wet hair. As the water cascaded down his body, the only thing he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the rhythmic drumming of the water against the tiles.Hunter watched Rex through the droplets of water clinging to his hair. After a momentary pause, he swung the door wide and stepped back. It wasn’t an invitation; it was a surrender. But for Rex, it meant his area of duty had just expanded.

"Close the window," Hunter muttered, his voice still edged with exhaustion and spite.

Rex didn’t hesitate. He walked to the window, cut off the icy draft of the torrential rain, and turned the lock. Then, he moved toward the wardrobe in the corner. He seemed to know what Hunter would wear, what he preferred, better than Hunter himself. He pulled a dark navy silk robe from its hanger and approached.

Instead of just tossing the robe over Hunter’s shoulders, Rex waited with the meticulousness of a high-born servant. "Allow me to dry you, sir," Rex said, his voice so low it felt like a whisper dissolving into the silence of the room.

Hunter looked up with a mocking smile. "Have you moved on to being a valet now, Rex?"

Rex didn't answer. He took a fresh towel and began to dry Hunter’s wet hair with a gentle yet professional touch. Hunter had never imagined this man’s hands could be so soft; despite the punch that had just landed on his face, there was no tremor or hesitation in Rex’s fingers.

As Rex dried the droplets from Hunter’s shoulders, the distance between them vanished entirely. Hunter could smell the crisp scent of Rex’s shirt and feel the adrenaline-fueled warmth lingering from their earlier confrontation.

"Why?" Hunter whispered, fixing his gaze on Rex’s chest. "Why do you just stand here and... serve me, after every blow I land, every insult I hurl?"

Rex paused. His hands, gripping the towel, tensed for a fraction of a second. He slowly tilted Hunter’s chin up to lock eyes with him. "Because," Rex said, his voice darker and deeper this time. "Everyone outside wants to see how strong you are. But I... I am the only one who knows how easily you can break. And my job is to make sure no one ever sees those cracks."The fury in the room had consumed all the oxygen. Before the sound of the shattering crystals had even faded, there was a soft knock at the door. Rex opened it without waiting for an order. Three female staff members entered; their faces showed not a hint of surprise. They were accustomed to the storms in this house.

With practiced silence, the staff began to pick up the shards of glass and straighten the discarded clothes. Hunter sat on the edge of the bed, still clad only in a towel, breathing like a cornered lion. Two of the women approached him with a fresh robe and clothes.

But Rex... Rex was no servant.

Rex leaned against the wall by the door. He folded his arms across his chest and watched Hunter without saying a word. His gaze wasn't the submissive look of a valet; it was the cold, supervisory stare of a keeper. The frantic preparations in the room felt like mere theater against the backdrop of Rex’s unshakable, frozen stance.

As Hunter allowed the staff to dress him in trousers and a shirt like a puppet, he didn't take his eyes off Rex for a single second. Rex’s posture—the silent declaration of "I am here, and I am going nowhere"—loomed over Hunter like a darkening shadow.

After a moment, Rex broke the silence with his deep, resonant voice. He didn't care about the staff's presence. "The men outside wouldn't dare step foot in this room, Mr. Hunter," Rex said, his voice echoing off the walls. "But I... I know your every breath, your every rage by heart. These women will leave, this room will be cleaned... but I will still be here."

Hunter shoved the hand of the woman buttoning his shirt and finished the last one himself. "Get out!" he roared at the staff.

When the women vacated the room within seconds, only Hunter’s ragged breathing and Rex’s infuriating calm against the wall remained.When the staff vacated the room, only a heavy silence and a tension as sharp as the scent of gunpowder remained. Hunter straightened up on the edge of his bed. He adjusted his collar with a surge of frustration, yet against Rex’s wall-like silhouette, he still felt exposed and vulnerable.

Rex slowly detached himself from the wall he had been leaning against. His steps were heavy and measured. When he stood directly in front of Hunter, the height difference between them intensified the pressure bearing down on him.

"You want to get rid of me, I know," Rex said. His voice was now as low as a whisper, yet as hard as an oath. "You hate your father’s orders, you hate this life, and most of all... you hate the reflection you see every time you look in the mirror."

Hunter snapped his head up, his eyes burning with fury. "You have no right to speak about me!"

Rex slowly raised his hand. For a second, Hunter tensed, thinking Rex might strike him, but Rex merely smoothed a small wrinkle on Hunter’s shoulder. It wasn't the politeness of a servant; it was the absolute dominance of a guard over his prisoner.

"My 'right', Mr. Hunter, is to protect you," Rex said, looking into the deepest depths of Hunter’s eyes. "Before that fire inside you turns you to ash... I will be here. Outside your door, inside your mind, and a fraction of an inch behind every step you take."

Rex turned and walked toward the door. Just as he was about to exit, he paused and looked back over his shoulder one last time. "Sleep well, sir. Don't forget to turn out the lights; because in the dark, no one can see you but me."

The door closed behind Rex—not with a loud bang, but with a terrifying silence. Hunter was left utterly alone in the middle of the room.