Rody sat at the dining table, staring at the plate of food in front of him. The sight of it alone made his stomach turn, but he couldn’t afford to show even a flicker of disgust. The tender slices of meat, arranged so perfectly, dripped with Vincent’s signature sauce—rich, fragrant, and utterly repulsive to Rody’s senses.
Vincent hovered nearby, as he always did during meals, watching with a soft smile. His hand slid over Rody’s shoulder, his fingers warm through the fabric of Rody’s shirt. “You don’t look like you have much of an appetite tonight,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern. “You’ve been overworking yourself.”
Rody clenched the fork tightly in his hand, forcing himself to look up and meet Vincent’s gaze. That loving gaze. Vincent’s face was serene, his expression nothing short of adoring. It twisted something deep in Rody’s gut, but he masked it with a weak smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all,” he muttered.
Vincent knelt beside him, his hand moving from Rody’s shoulder to cup his face. “You know you don’t have to push yourself for me,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over Rody’s cheek. “If something doesn’t feel right, we can always adjust things. You know I’ll take care of you.” Right, Vincent thought he was frail and sickly.
Rody’s heart thudded in his chest, not from affection but from dread. He couldn’t tell if there was an edge of suspicion behind Vincent’s words or if it was just his own nerves gnawing at him. “I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice a little too sharp. “I just… I need to eat.”
Vincent’s expression softened, his lips pulling into that gentle, almost loving smile. “I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself,” he said. “But if you’re too tired to eat, we can skip dinner. Just say the word.”
Rody hesitated, feeling the weight of Vincent’s offer. It sounded so innocent, so caring, but beneath it was always the same reality. He couldn’t afford to skip meals. He couldn’t afford to show any signs of weakness or hesitation when it came to eating.
“No,” Rody said, a little too quickly. He grabbed his fork, spearing a piece of the meat and bringing it to his mouth. He forced himself to chew, ignoring the bile rising in his throat, swallowing down the metallic taste of human flesh. It took everything in him to keep his expression neutral, to act like it was just another meal.
Vincent stood again, still watching him with that concerned smile. “You’re always trying so hard,” he murmured, placing a kiss on the top of Rody’s head. “I appreciate everything you do.”
Rody didn’t look up, didn’t respond. His fingers tightened around the fork as he shoved another bite of the meat into his mouth. He had to keep up the act. He had to keep going, no matter how much he hated it.
Vincent walked around the table, settling into his own seat. “I was thinking…” he began, his voice casual but still warm. “Maybe we could take some time for ourselves soon. Just the two of us. A little getaway, maybe?”
Rody almost choked on his food. A getaway? The thought of being trapped alone with Vincent, away from any semblance of escape, made his blood run cold. He forced a swallow and glanced at Vincent, who was looking at him with such hope in his eyes.
“That sounds nice,” Rody lied, managing to keep his voice steady. He couldn’t afford to show hesitation. Not now. Not ever.
Vincent’s smile widened, pleased with the response. “Good. I’ll start planning something. You deserve some rest.”
Rody nodded weakly, returning his attention to his plate. Every bite he forced down felt like it was slowly killing him. And yet, he couldn’t stop. He had to keep pretending. He had to keep playing the role of the perfect partner, no matter how much it tore at him from the inside.
