Page 12 of A Mistake of Identity
His hands shook as he retrieved the torn thong, shoving it deep into his pocket along with his phone he retrieved from Gabriel’s jacket. He had to get out now, before these dangerous feelings could take root any deeper. A man like Gabriel Rohan might enjoy playing caretaker for a night, might even convince himself he wanted to keep a bought boy—but morning always brought clarity. It was better to disappear now while he could still pretend last night’s possession had meant something more than a fantasy fulfilled.
His worn sneakers made no sound on the polished wood of the grand staircase. In the pre-dawn quiet, the mansion felt like another world—all old money, silence, and lurking shadows that reminded Ellis just how far this place was from his reality. He’d almost reached the massive front door when a quiet voice froze him in place.
“It was a pleasure to host you, sir. Is there a message you would like to leave for the master?”
Ellis startled, spinning to face the butler. Jacob materialized from the shadows like he belonged to them, his bearing as impeccable as if it were the middle of the afternoon. There was no judgment in his voice; it was just polite inquiry as if Ellis was any other overnight guest—as if the marks on his throat weren’t clearly visible even in the dim light.
“Uh, no. Or, I guess, if he wants to call on me again, I’d be happy to—” Ellis cut himself off, heat flooding his cheeks. Happy to what? Submit again? Let Gabriel use him until he couldn’t walk straight? What was wrong with him? The butler’s carefully neutral expression only made it worse, like his stumbling response was perfectly normal, expected even.
“Of course, sir. Have a pleasant day.” Jacob bowed slightly at the waist, the gesture as precise and proper as everything else about him.
Ellis slipped out the front door, closing it softly behind him. He had only taken a few steps when he heard the massive doors lock with a heavy click that seemed to echo in the morning’s silence. He hurried down the walkway to the street, trying to ignore how the sound felt like finality.
Once a block away and heading to the metro station, Ellis pulled out and powered on his phone. His hands were still trembling from the encounter with Jacob when the screen lit up, immediately exploding with notifications: missed calls, texts, and voicemails flooding the display. Confused, Ellis scrolled through the missed calls first, panic settling deeper with each swipe of his thumb. Over fifty missed calls glared back at him, most from Donovan, with a handful from Jean.
His heart pounding, Ellis skipped the voicemails and went straight for the text messages.
#
8:12 PM: Where the hell are you? Client’s been waiting. Pick up your damn phone.
8:27 PM: I gave you a chance to clean up your act after those complaints. This is your gratitude?
8:40 PM: You’re pushing it, boy. After I let those bad reviews slide, you pull this shit? I should’ve kicked you out weeks ago.
9:15 PM: Guess my generosity was wasted. Heart Court doesn’t need escorts who can’t even show up for work. I’ll blacklist you at every cathouse in Fourth Cat!!
11:36 PM: Want to keep your spot? 8AM tomorrow, my office. You’ll work the worst shifts until you’ve made up for EVERY complaint AND this no-show.
01:45 AM: Since I had to give him Caleb AND refund his money, you’re paying back double - the refund AND Caleb’s rate. 8AM tomorrow if you want to keep working.
#
Ellis’s hands shook as he closed Donovan’s messages, his phone nearly slipping from his sweat-slicked fingers. Cold dread washed over him, making him lightheaded as the full weight of his situation sank in.
How had he screwed up this badly? He’d followed his instructions: right time and place, and Gabriel Rohan matched the client’s description perfectly. Dark suit, what he’d thought was the specified maroon shirt—okay, it had been a darker red, but close enough—and everything else: dark hair, blue eyes, clearly in his thirties. Hell, Gabriel had even been sitting by the fountain where his actual client was supposed to be!
A hysterical laugh bubbled up in his throat, quickly stifled by the back of his hand. This was Donovan’s fault. How was anyone supposed to identify the right client with such vague information? But fault didn’t matter now. He’d blown his last chance at Heart Court because he’d approached the wrong man, and that wrong man had... had...
Ellis swallowed hard, stumbling down the metro station steps as fresh memories flooded back—Gabriel’s hands on his throat, that commanding voice in his ear, the way his body had betrayed him again and again. Each step sent jolts through his oversensitive body, a maddening mixture of pain and arousal that made him bite his lip to keep quiet. At the turnstile, his trembling hands could barely hold his phone steady enough for the card reader to register. The green light finally blinked, granting him passage into the underground darkness.
He collapsed onto a bench, wincing at the contact, his eyes automatically lifting to the ticker—three minutes until the next train. His numb fingers hovered over Jean’s unreadmessages, but his mind kept circling back to the magnitude of his mistake. Everything had gone so catastrophically wrong, yet his traitorous body still thrummed. With a shaking breath, he forced himself to tap the message chain, opening Jean’s chat.
#
11:03 PM: Ellis, Kevin is raging that you were a no-show for your client. I know that isn’t like you. Ça va? Où êtes-vous? Please let me know you’re safe.
12:32 PM: Starting to really worry about here. No one’s heard anything from you. I know things haven’t been great, but you’d tell me if you were in trouble, right? Send me anything so I know you’re alive.
01:58 AM: Have to head out to see my last client now. I’ll be back at Heart Court during cat hours. Just... please be okay.
#
Ellis banged his head against the wall behind him, the dull thud matching his heartbeat. So not only had he monumentally screwed up with his client, he’d worried Jean—his best and only real friend at Heart Court. He quickly typed out a message:“I’m alive. Sorry to worry you.”
Jean’s response was instant:”T’étais où? Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé? Ça va?”
Ellis stared at the concerned messages, guilt churning in his stomach. He didn’t have the energy to explain this mess over text, nor did he want a record of his colossal mistake.“Chu corrèc. I’ll explain everything when I get back to Heart Court. Promise.”
