HIS BROKEN SAINT

CHAPTER 12: JEALOUSY

Cross Corp boardroom. 38th floor. Glass walls, Nairobi skyline, and the kind of tension that made Elias want to disappear.

Month 4. Day 92.

“Elias, sit in. You need to learn the business side.” Damien’s voice was flat when he said it this morning. But his hand on Elias’s lower back when he guided him to the seat at the table? That wasn’t flat. That was _mine_.

Elias tugged at the collar of the dress shirt Damien picked. Black. Too fitted. Rule 9: _You wear what I choose._

He didn’t belong here. Not with the investors in their 50k suits. Not with the board members who looked at him like he was furniture Damien dragged in.

Then he saw him.

Mr. Alton. Investor. 42. Money in his voice and hands that touched too long.

“Mr. Cross,” Alton smiled, but his eyes were already on Elias. “Didn’t know you kept such... young talent close.”

Damien didn’t react. 29 years old. Ice in a suit. “Mr. Alton. Quarterly projections.”

But Alton wasn’t looking at projections. He was looking at Elias’s mouth. At the way Elias tucked hair behind his ear. At the way the shirt fit him.

“Elias, right? The name’s Richard. You can call me Richard.” He slid into the seat next to Elias. Too close. “You’re what, 19? Fresh face. Cross Corp could use fresh perspective.”

His hand brushed Elias’s wrist when he passed him a pen.

Elias flinched. Not because of the touch. Because Damien’s pen stopped moving.

One second.

The whole room felt it. Temperature drop.

Damien looked up from his laptop. 29 years old. CEO. But right now he wasn’t CEO. He was 17-year-old boy with missing fingers, watching someone touch what was his.

“Mr. Alton,” Damien said softly. Too softly. “Rule 8.”

Alton laughed. “Relax, Cross. I’m just being friendly with the boy. He’s old enough to—”

“Old enough for what?” Damien closed his laptop. Click.

The sound cut through the boardroom. Everyone stopped breathing.

Elias opened his mouth. “Mr. Alton, I—”

“Elias doesn’t speak unless spoken to,” Damien interrupted. Still soft. Still smiling. That was worse than yelling. “Rule 6.”

Alton’s smile faltered. “I didn’t realize he was—”

“Yours?” Damien stood. 6’2. All 29 years of controlled power. “He is. Completely. Utterly. Mine.”

He walked around the table. Slow. Deliberate. Stopped behind Elias’s chair. One hand came down on Elias’s shoulder. Heavy. Possessive. Thumb brushing the side of his neck where Alton’s eyes had been.

“See this?” Damien tilted Elias’s head back slightly, exposing his throat. No mark there yet. But his thumb promised one later. “This is mine. This mouth is mine. These hands are mine. This 19-year-old boy who still flinches in his sleep is mine.”

Alton stood too, face red. “Cross, you can’t talk to me like—”

“I can talk to you however I want.” Damien’s hand slid from Elias’s shoulder to his lower back. Fingers spread wide. Claiming. “Because I own 51% of this company. And I own 100% of him.”

Elias’s face burned. 19 and mortified and... something else. Something hot coiling in his stomach. Damien had never said it like that in public. Never _claimed_ him like that.

Month 4. And Elias didn’t flinch.

Damien leaned down, mouth right at Elias’s ear. Only Elias heard it. “If he touches you again, I’m buying his shares and bankrupting him before lunch. Understand?”

Elias nodded. Barely.

Damien straightened. Smile back on, but his eyes were feral. “Meeting’s over. Mr. Alton, my assistant will buy you out. 3x market value. You have until 5 PM to sign.”

“You can’t—”

“I just did.” Damien’s hand never left Elias’s back. “Elias. Stand.”

Elias stood. Shaky legs. Damien’s hand moved to his lower back, guiding him to the door. Past Alton. Past the whole board who suddenly remembered they had emails to check.

In the elevator, silence.

Then the doors closed.

Damien turned. Caged him against the glass with one arm. Not touching. Just... there. 29 years of rage and possession and something softer underneath.

“Did you like it?” His voice was rough. “When he looked at you?”

“No.” Elias shook his head. 19 and honest. “I hated it.”

“Good boy.” The words hit like a brand. Damien’s thumb brushed Elias’s jaw. “Because if you had liked it, I would’ve burned this building down.”

The elevator dinged. Penthouse floor.

Damien didn’t let go until they were inside the apartment. Door locked. Then his hands were everywhere. Not cruel. Not punishment. Just _checking_. Like Alton’s touch had contaminated him and Damien needed to scrub it off with his own.

“Face up,” Damien ordered. Elias obeyed. 19 years old and his knees weak. “Look at me.”

Elias looked up. Damien was 29, towering, jaw tight like he was holding back something violent.

“Rule 8, Elias. What’s mine stays mine.” His thumb pressed to Elias’s lower lip. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Elias whispered. “Only yours.”

Damien exhaled like he’d been drowning. Then he kissed him. Not gentle. Not patient. Jealous. 12 years of waiting for Dad’s son, and some 42-year-old thought he could have a taste?

His mouth was demanding. His hands were in Elias’s hair, holding him still. When he pulled back, Elias was gasping.

“From now on,” Damien said against his lips, “no one touches you. No one talks to you without my permission. No one even looks at you too long.”

Elias nodded. Dazed. 19 and completely claimed.

Damien’s hand dropped to Elias’s lower back again. “For balance,” he murmured. Lie. It was for possession. Always possession.

That night, Elias slept without nightmares for the first time. Because Damien didn’t stand in the doorway. He climbed into bed. Wrapped his whole 29-year-old body around Elias’s 19-year-old one like a vow.

And at 2 AM, when Elias stirred, Damien’s voice was rough in his ear: “Still mine.”

“Still yours,” Elias whispered back.

_Month 4, Day 92. Damien goes feral. Elias learns what 12 years of waiting looks like._