Chapter Three: The Candy Shop

Morning rain glazed the bakery windows, soft drizzles dripping like tiny pearls down the glass. Inside, golden light warmed the shelves where sugared buns and candies glimmered under display cases.

Eirian sat at his usual corner seat, feet barely brushing the wooden stool’s rung. Mr. Honey dangled in his lap, ears worn thin from years of affection. Eirian hummed to himself, the melody uneven, childlike. His gaze flickered toward the rainbow jars stacked behind the counter—lollipops, lemon drops, little sugar cubes.

He pressed his chin against the teddy’s head with a dreamy sigh.

“Should we get the round candy today, Mr. Honey? Or the pink one that looks like Mama’s ribbon?”

Mr. Honey offered no reply, but Eirian’s silver eyes sparkled as though he had been answered.

Behind the counter, Mrs. Hale wiped trays while glancing back at her son. Her heart squeezed with tenderness and worry. At twenty, he should have been tall, independent, talking about school or work. Instead, he clutched toys, spoke in whispers to bears, face too pure for the cruelties beyond the door. She often feared what would happen if anyone unkind took notice.

That was when the bell chimed.

And a shadow darker than rain itself filled the bakery doorway.

Damian Vorensky entered.

The black coat he wore dripped faint water onto the doormat, the storm sliding off him like he was untouchable. He removed his leather gloves slowly, each finger deliberate, and then his gaze flicked upward.

At once, his eyes locked onto Eirian.

The boy froze for half a breath… then wriggled in delight against his chair. His silver eyes widened, and he tugged at Mr. Honey’s worn ear with excitement. “Mister Tower! Dragon eyes!” He beamed.

The words hit Damian like gunfire to the chest.

For days he had endured blood-soaked meetings, smoking silence, and impatient prowls outside the bakery window just to glimpse this angel again. Now those delicate lips called out to him with open shining adoration—as if no one had ever warned the boy to fear monsters.

A muscle jumped in Damian’s jaw, tightening around the hunger his possessive heart could not mask. He calls me dragon… The boy’s world had already welcomed him, given him a place inside his storybook kingdom.

Damian would make it real.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Hale’s cheerful voice wavered slightly, trying to mask unease. “How may I help you, sir?”

Damian walked forward. His body filled the tiny bakery, scarlet gaze heavy on nothing but the porcelain boy. But when he spoke, his voice was even, deep, velvet edged with command.

“…Candy.”

Mrs. Hale blinked. “C-Candy?”

He inclined his head faintly. His eyes flicked to the jars stacked behind her. “What’s sweet today?”

Eirian gasped, bouncing slightly where he sat. “Mama, he wants candy too! Just like me!”

His small joy made Damian’s lips twitch, the faintest curve, dangerous and soft at once. He shifted his stare back to the boy, lowering his voice as if the words were a vow spoken only for him.

“Which one do you like, angel?”

Eirian startled, cheeks tinted pale pink under his snowy hair. Nobody called him angel. Not even his parents—not like that, not so soft, like worship. He fiddled with Mr. Honey’s bow tie nervously before pointing to a jar stacked with rainbow lollipops.

“That one… round ones. Sweet.”

Damian’s gaze seared the jar into memory. “I’ll take them all,” he ordered. His tone allowed no refusal.

Mrs. Hale stiffened. “A-all of them?”

“Yes.” He pulled a crisp billfold from his coat and placed it on the counter with fingers that once pulled triggers as easily as breathing. Yet his stare was not on the money—it was fixed to the fragile boy clutching a bear, smiling at him without fear.

“Eirian,” Damian said suddenly, voice low, intimate. “Come here.”

Mrs. Hale’s face hardened, half moving toward her son. “He doesn’t—”

But Eirian had already slipped down from his chair, curious. His limbs were small, awkward, but he padded forward shyly, teddy tucked under an arm. He tilted his head up—up, up—until his gaze reached Damian’s crimson eyes. His expression glowed as though he looked at a story come alive.

Damian crouched down to his level. For the first time in years, the mafia king bent knees to anyone. He reached into the jar and pulled out a single lollipop, stripping the wrapper.

“Open your mouth,” he said gently.

Eirian blinked, then, trusting without hesitation, parted his lips. Damian slid the candy carefully onto his tongue, watching with almost fever devotion as those lips closed around sweetness.

The boy giggled as the taste hit—strawberry. His favorite. His teeth tapped lightly on the candy stick. “Mm! My dragon gave me strawberry!”

Damian’s ears rang with the word. My. My dragon.

Blood roared, both violent and tender in his veins. He wanted to destroy the world outside those walls for daring to exist. He wanted to wrap the boy in chains of silk and keep him locked where no one else could ever touch this sound, this smile.

Eirian clapped his hands with joy, sticky fingers smearing on Mr. Honey. “Now Mr. Honey wants one too!”

Damian actually chuckled—a low sound so foreign his men would never recognize it—before standing again, towering above the others. His voice dropped in command to Mrs. Hale.

“Wrap two dozen.”

Her hands trembled as she obeyed.

As Damian waited, his crimson gaze never left the boy who sucked happily at his lollipop. And for the first time, he did not bother to hide the truth in his expression: hunger, possessiveness, affection sharpened like a blade.

Mrs. Hale noticed. Her chest squeezed with dread. Something about this man’s eyes when they looked at her son was wrong. So wrong.

But Eirian laughed, oblivious, candy stick wiggling from his grin.

“Dragon’s candy is best,” he declared with finality.

And Damian smiled—smiled with the cold certainty that soon, very soon, this angel would be his alone.

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