When Sabir awoke, he sat on the edge of Warren’s bed, staring blankly at his surroundings. He hadn’t yet settled into this place of luxury. Everything felt so foreign to him. With no one monitoring him and the paranoia that he’d be in danger if he left the room, Sabir looked towards the windows that lined the bedroom wall.

The view was breathtaking.

Cobblestone lined the roads that spiraled across the Sector. Each building had pulsated with opulence from their towering spires and ornate facades. Grand archways and balconies adorned with iron railings; the entire sight felt like a mirror to another world for Sabir.

Sector 3 had its own charm with its trees and nature that made you feel small, but Sector 5 felt like the place Sabir had dreamed of all his life from even back when he was a child.

The awe that Sabir had when he had first looked through those windows dissipated quickly; replaced with an unease that settled within his gut. Warren had saved him from the iron chair. That was an undeniable fact that Sabir came to terms with as he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

But was this all real freedom? He doubted it.

He knew one thing for certain though: he needed to play along, at least for now. But the moment he saw an opportunity to escape, he would take it, no questions asked.

Amid Sabir’s plotting, the door creaked open. Warren stepped in holding a neatly folded set of clothes.

“I brought you some clothes,” Warren said, his voice tinged with an awkwardness that matched the atmosphere in the room. He hesitated by the door, as if uncertain about approaching Sabir too closely.

“Clothes?” Sabir echoed, suspicion laced in his tone. “Why do I need new clothes?” The sight of clean clothing made Sabir’s brow furrowed in confusion. He hadn’t expected a wardrobe change. He didn’t want to be treated as if he were a pet that they could decorate and dress as they pleased. Yet the idea of new clothes was an opportunity that Sabir knew didn’t come around often for a man like him.

Warren sighed, the sound carrying the weight of an explanation he wished he didn’t have to give. “Because the ones you’re wearing are a mess. Look at them.”

Sabir glanced down at himself, as if only now noticing his appearance. Sabir glanced down at himself and noticed his torn white t-shirt, with burnt edges that crumbled at the slightest touch. Holes dotted the fabric, revealing patches of bruised skin underneath. His cargo pants were in no better condition, stained and ripped from his time in captivity. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He looked every bit the prisoner he had been.

Warren walked over and handed Sabir the clothes he had brought. As Sabir unfolded them, his eyes widened in disbelief. It was a suit. A crisp, black suit, complete with a white dress shirt and a black tie. He held the garments up, inspecting every fiber. Sabir internally screamed, there was no practicality in this. Too tight and far too expensive. What if he had to run from a monster, or someone was trying to grab on to him, so they could stab him to death? Sabir reckoned he was better off with his old clothes.

“A suit?” Sabir said incredulously, turning to Warren. “I can’t wear something else? I’m not exactly in the mood to play dress-up. It’s not practical at all. What if a monster came at me? These clothes would just make me more appetizing.”

Warren tilted his head in confusion. “Why the hell would you be fighting monsters?” Warren, realizing he was being nosy, shook his head. “Anyway, you’re a servant now, Sabir. You need to wear the right attire or you won’t fit in. If you’re going to stay alive here, you need to blend in as much as possible.”

Sabir’s eyes narrowed, his skepticism rising. “And why exactly does being a servant keep me alive? What’s the point of all this?”

Warren rubbed his temples, clearly growing weary of having to explain the same thing over and over. “I’ve already told you this,” he said, his voice strained. “But fine, I’ll say it again. My father wants you dead. As for Elektra and Noah, they don’t care. They know exactly where you are, and they can kill you if they decide you’re a problem. You, being a servant, allow’s us to hide you in plain sight, makes it easier to protect you. You’re less likely to draw attention.”

Sabir’s shoulders felt the weight of the words, the heavy implications settling. It felt as if the entire Voltaire family viewed him as nothing more than a speck, an insignificant nuisance that they could sweep away without a second thought. The realization stung, cutting deeper than any physical wound he had suffered. It hurt his ego to no end.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Unbelievable,” Sabir muttered under his breath, his voice thick with bitterness. “I’m just a nobody to your family. A nuisance that needs to be hidden away.”

Warren said nothing, his silence serving as confirmation. He simply watched as Sabir slowly took off his tattered t-shirt, preparing to change into the suit. But as Sabir pulled the shirt over his head, Warren’s eyes widened in surprise, and he stamped toward Sabir.

“Wait!” Warren blurted out, his hand instinctively reaching out to stop Sabir. “Why the hell are you changing in front of me?”

Sabir lowered the shirt and stared at Warren, incredulity written all over his face. “Then why the hell did you hand me the clothes in the first place?” he snapped. “And why are you looking if you’re so uncomfortable?”

The Limbo exposed Sabir to a range of nudity and degeneracy. The Limbo exposed Sabir to so much nudity and degeneracy that it shattered his innocence. However, he remained unaware of this, which often baffled people like Max and Samantha because of his lack of shame.

Warren’s face flushed red with annoyance, and before Sabir could say anything else, Warren grabbed him by the arm and led him across the room. He guided Sabir toward a wardrobe, where a privacy screen stood neatly folded to one side. Warren swiftly pulled open the screen, providing a private area for Sabir to change.

“Change there,” Warren barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sabir rolled his eyes, but he stepped behind the screen, taking the suit with him. The privacy was welcome, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why Warren had made such a fuss about it. Unbuttoning his cargo pants, his stomach emitted a loud growl, its noise bouncing off the stillness of the room.

Warren sighed, the sound carrying a mix of frustration and concern. “I’ll get you some food,” he said, his voice softer now. “But just hurry and change first.”

Sabir’s hands stilled for a moment as he processed Warren’s words. He wasn’t sure what to make of this sudden display of concern. This Voltaire kid was odd. One minute being angry and the next being all worried for him. But right now, he had more immediate concerns over considering if Warren was bi polar. The gnawing hunger in his stomach was one of them, and the uncomfortable feeling of wearing tattered, filthy clothes was another.

With a resigned sigh, Sabir finished undressing and pulled on the suit. The fabric was cool and smooth against his skin, a stark contrast to the rough, torn clothes he had been wearing for days. As he buttoned the shirt and fastened the tie, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of irony. Here he was, dressing up like some kind of high-class servant, all the while plotting his escape the moment the opportunity presented itself.

After finally getting dressed, Sabir came out from behind the privacy screen, wearing a black tailcoat suit that stood out against his pale skin, emphasizing his lean frame. The jacket hugged his shoulders and tapered down his waist before slightly flaring at the hips, tailored to perfection. The crisp white shirt underneath contrasted with the black satin lapels, while the neatly knotted bow tie added a touch of old-world elegance. Sabir’s polished attire clashed with his untamed, cascading dark hair that fell past his shoulders, giving him a distinct and wild look.

Warren was standing by the door, his expression unreadable as he took in Sabir’s appearance. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was tense, as Warren examined every inch of Sabir’s frame.

Warren’s eyes traveled from Sabir’s suit to his hair, the length of it clearly catching his attention. Without a word, he walked over to his dresser and retrieved a small bottle. Although the label had faded, the glass of the bottle gleamed sleekly, and the liquid inside possessed a deep amber color. Warren squeezed a small amount into his palm, the scent of cedar and citrus filling the air. He approached Sabir, smoothly running his hands through his hair and styling it back with pomade.

Taming and sweeping back Sabir’s wild hair enhanced his sharp features. Warren took a step back, assessing his handiwork. Warren had transformed Sabir from a wild man to a respected servant of an esteemed house. “You look good now,” he said, his tone more approving than before. “Presentable.”

Sabir didn’t respond immediately. He ran a hand through his newly slicked-back hair, trying to make sense of the situation he found himself in. He found himself stuck in a place where his life was forfeit, surrounded by people who could end him without a second thought. The only person he might rely on was the very one who had tormented him, who was now offering protection for servitude. And here he was, getting a makeover.

“Is this really it, Warren?” Sabir finally asked, his voice low. “Is this really my life now? Wearing a suit, pretending to be a servant, just to survive?”

Warren’s expression softened, a hint of pity in his eyes. “I know it’s not what you want,” he mumbled. “But it’s the best way to keep you alive. The best way to make sure you don’t become another casualty in this… mess.”

Sabir stared into Warren’s eyes, searching for any trace of deceit. But all he saw was a young man who seemed just as trapped by his circumstances as Sabir was. Warren wasn’t his enemy, not really. He was just another pawn in the game, trying to navigate a world that cared little for either of them.

“Fine,” Sabir muttered. “I’ll play along. For now.”

Warren nodded, accepting the small victory for what it was. “I’ll go get you something to eat,” he said, opening the door to leave. “Just… try to get used to the idea, okay? This is the only way.”

As Warren left the room, closing the door behind him, Sabir sat back down on the bed. He still felt the soft fabric of the suit against his skin, a reminder of his supposed new life that he had no choice but to embrace. But deep down, Sabir knew he couldn’t let himself become complacent. He might wear a servant’s uniform, but he wasn’t truly one of them. He was still Sabir Quinn, and he still had his pride and will to survive.