chapter 108

Beom sat there alone, the weight of the call, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He curled his knees to his chest, his mind racing. I have to get out of here. I can't let him control me forever. I won't.

But deep down, a small voice whispered the terrifying truth he couldn't ignore: What if I never escape?

Beom sat curled up on the edge of the sofa, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, staring into the distance as a storm of thoughts swirled in his head. His mind was spinning, racing through any and every possible scenario. He needed a way out. The call with his mom had left him shaken—it was a stark reminder of the world outside, the freedom he'd lost, and the life he desperately wanted back. Every beat of his heart thudded with one thought: I can't stay here forever. I need to escape.

He ran a hand through his hair, his breathing unsteady. I can't let him keep me here, like some prisoner. Like I'm his property. Beom bit his lip hard, the bitter sting grounding him as he forced himself to think. Escape wouldn't be easy—Yaroslav was too careful, too calculating. He watched Beom like a hawk, his icy blue eyes always analyzing, always waiting for a slip-up. But Beom wasn't stupid. He could use that, twist the way Yaroslav underestimated him.

"Think, Beom. Think." He whispered the words to himself, his mind whirling. If I play his game... if I pretend everything's fine, maybe he'll let his guard down. Just for a little while. I just need a window. One small opening. That's all it'll take.

Suddenly, an idea sparked in his mind—a small, flickering light of hope. It wasn't much, but it was something. His eyes widened slightly as he sat up straighter. "Yes... I have a plan," he muttered to himself. If I get him out of this house, somewhere away from his fortress of control, I'll have a chance. A lake... fishing... It was ridiculous, almost laughable, but it could work. Beom's pulse quickened. I'll play along. I'll smile. I'll act like I'm excited. He'll think I'm being harmless, and then...

Before he could fully flesh it out, Yaroslav walked back into the room. His presence felt heavier than before, the sheer weight of his calm, confident demeanor pressing down on Beom like a physical force. The faint sound of his footsteps brought Beom back to reality, and he took a deep breath, forcing his expression into one of feigned excitement.

"Hey, um..." Beom started, his tone light, casual, almost playful—like he wasn't plotting his freedom in the back of his mind. "Is there like... a lake around here?"

Yaroslav paused mid-step, his sharp blue eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Beom with suspicion. Beom's stomach twisted under the weight of that skeptical gaze, but he held his ground. He smiled—forced, yes, but passable. Come on. Take the bait.

"Why?" Yaroslav asked slowly, his voice low and laced with doubt.

Beom shrugged, doing his best to look innocent, his shoulders relaxed and nonchalant. "Let's go fishing," he said, injecting an exaggerated excitement into his voice. He grinned, pretending like it was the most thrilling idea in the world. "I'm always stuck here, you know? Nothing to do, nothing interesting on the TV. Let's do something more fun."

Yaroslav arched a brow, his expression unreadable as usual, but Beom saw the faint glint of amusement behind his cold exterior. "Something more fun," Yaroslav echoed, his lips curling into a smirk, "is me fucking you until you pass out, Beom."

The sheer audacity of Yaroslav's words made Beom groan loudly, rolling his eyes like he was exasperated. "Ugh, can you not?" he snapped, though a part of him burned at the memory of how Yaroslav could follow through on such threats—memories that made his face flush unwillingly. He shook the thought away quickly. Focus. Focus on the plan.

"Okay, listen," Beom said, holding up a finger as though making a serious offer. "If you catch more fish than me, fine, you'll have your fun. You can screw me into oblivion or whatever." He saw Yaroslav's smirk widen at that, and Beom's stomach did an involuntary flip. He ignored it. "But," he continued firmly, his voice steady, "if I catch more fish..."

Yaroslav tilted his head, clearly intrigued now, though he still looked skeptical. "And what happens if you catch more fish, malen'kiy?" he asked, his voice calm but slightly mocking.

Beom crossed his arms, meeting Yaroslav's gaze with unwavering determination. "You'll let me go shopping," Beom declared. "Since it's Christmas, you'll let me go out and buy gifts or... or whatever. By myself."

The room fell silent. Beom's heart raced in his chest as he watched Yaroslav's face carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. Yaroslav stared at him, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as though trying to read through the layers of Beom's words. Beom knew what he looked like right now—a desperate man clinging to the smallest scraps of normalcy. And that was exactly what he wanted Yaroslav to see.

Come on. Take the bait. Just say yes.

Yaroslav's expression didn't change at first. He looked at Beom like he was searching for something—any sign of deceit or ulterior motives. Beom's skin prickled under his gaze, but he stayed still, his face resolute. Inside, his thoughts were spiraling. If this works, I can escape. If I get out of this house, I'll find a way to run. Even if it's just for a few minutes—anything is better than being trapped here forever.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yaroslav let out a quiet hum, a dark chuckle slipping past his lips. "You're ridiculous," he said, though the smirk hadn't left his face. "You really think you can win against me, krasivyy?"

Beom forced a grin. "You scared you'll lose?" he shot back, feigning confidence. He can't resist a challenge. Come on, Yaroslav, you prideful bastard. Take the damn bait.

Yaroslav stared at him a moment longer, and then, finally, he gave a small shrug. "Fine," he said, his tone casual, though his eyes glinted with something darker. "We'll go fishing. But don't say I didn't warn you—I never lose."

Beom's heart leapt, though he worked hard to hide the victory blooming inside him. He kept his smile playful, his tone light. "Yeah, yeah. We'll see about that."

As Yaroslav turned and left the room, Beom let out a small breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his mind already racing with thoughts of escape. This is it, he told himself. This is my chance. I'll get out of here. I'll see my mom again. I'll be free.

But even as he thought it, a tiny voice in the back of his mind whispered a warning. Don't underestimate him. He's dangerous. One wrong move, and you're done.

Beom ignored it. He didn't have a choice anymore. This was the only path forward, and he would take it—no matter what.

Beom trudged through the snow, his boots crunching against the frozen ground as he followed closely behind Yaroslav. The winter air was sharp and biting, stinging his cheeks and turning his breath into visible puffs of mist. Snowflakes drifted down lazily from the gray sky, landing on the heavy hood of his coat and the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. Despite the weight of his clothes, the cold seemed to seep into his bones, making him shiver slightly. It wasn't just the weather, though—it was the uncertainty, the tension that sat heavy in his chest, like a constant weight pressing down.

Ahead of him, Yaroslav walked with that same deliberate calm he always carried, his strides confident and unwavering as though the cold and snow didn't bother him at all. Beom watched him for a moment, his broad back and his tall form cutting through the snowfall like it was nothing. He's so damn composed all the time... like nothing can touch him.

The silence between them stretched on for a while, broken only by the faint crunch of their footsteps in the snow. Beom bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ignore the uneasy gnawing in his gut. Why is it always like this? Why does it feel like he knows everything while I know nothing? Finally, the quiet got to him, and he spoke up, his voice muffled slightly by the scarf.

"So..." Beom began, keeping his tone as casual as he could manage. "You still haven't told me where we are, though."

His words hung in the air, lingering between them. Yaroslav didn't respond right away. He just kept walking, his pace steady, as though he hadn't heard the question at all. Beom frowned, his brows furrowing slightly in irritation. He's always like this—ignoring things he doesn't want to answer. Keeping me in the dark like I'm some helpless idiot.

But then, after what felt like forever, Yaroslav finally spoke, his voice calm and even, but carrying that ever-present edge of something colder. "We are at..."

He paused, and Beom swore he could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears as he waited for the answer. Where? Just tell me where. Some clue. Some hint. Anything. Yaroslav's cryptic nature only fueled Beom's unease, feeding the anxiety that was always lurking just beneath the surface.

"We're at what, huh?" Beom pushed, his tone sharper now, his frustration peeking through. He wanted answers—no, he needed answers. He was sick of feeling like a pawn in someone else's game, like a bird trapped in a cage with no way out.

But Yaroslav didn't stop walking. He didn't look back at Beom. Instead, his voice cut through the cold air again, as cool and unreadable as ever. "Far away enough that no one can find you, krasivyy."

Beom froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the snow crunching underfoot as he came to an abrupt halt. Yaroslav's words echoed in his mind, twisting around his thoughts like a vice. Far enough that no one can find me...