This was the first time I'd heard Clayton's voice. It was deep, husky, and magnetic.

"Venting," I replied.

His hands hung by his sides as he clenched his fists. "No…"

"Hmm?"

He let out a few muffled grunts. "That's not how you vent."

"I have no experience, so just bear with it," I replied.

I pushed him down onto the bed, gently kissing every bit of his wounds.

Clayton was still muzzled, his hands and feet bound by shackles. He let me do as I pleased.

His body remained tense, as if he didn't know how to react. At the crucial moment, he suddenly reached out and gripped my waist. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

He looked at me, his voice even hoarser as he replied, "I'm just a lowly beastkin."

My only response was my eager movements.

He groaned softly and closed his eyes, his long lashes fluttering slightly.

…

Early that morning, the sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, warming my skin with soft, gentle rays.

My cheek was pressed against Clayton's taut muscles as I pulled my phone from under the pillow.

My friend, Helen Watkins, had sent me a text.

"Where are you? Did my weird little shut-in sneak home again?"

I replied," No. I bought a new venting beastkin yesterday. I was busy venting."

Lisa replied with a "?" before sending me a whole barrage of texts.

"Layla, how could you do this?"

"I know your beastkin isn't unruly, and you're upset, but you can't just get a venting beastkin and take it out on them!"

"You wouldn't hit your show-quality hound, but you'd take it out on a venting hound?"

"I'd have called the cops on you if you weren't my friend. I must've really misjudged you!"

I was stunned by her scolding and texted, "But I didn't hit him! How could I possibly hit my dog?"

Lisa paused briefly before replying, "Then how did you vent?"

I texted, "Well. I… vented the way you think."

We fell silent.

Venting beastkin were part of an illegal industry, usually involving kidnapping young beastkin or buying low-grade beastkin at low prices.

They were then put through a brutal selection process to single out the beastkin with strong bodies and rapid healing abilities to be selected as venting beastkin. Those who passed end up as human punching bags.

Venting beastkin were used for torture, beatings, and stress relief. Some were forced into underground arenas for gladiator-style duels. These beastkin, though pitiful, were widely regarded as wild and untamable.

Those rescued by official organizations could be adopted for free, while unclaimed beastkin were disposed of humanely.

"If you're regretting it, I know where he lives," came a deep voice from behind me.

I gasped, frantically dimming my phone screen before turning to meet Clayton's dull eyes. He lowered his gaze, avoiding my eyes.

"But he's part of an organization, so he probably won't be willing to give you your money back. While he's alone, I might be able to—"

"I don't," I replied, cutting him off. "As long as you do as I say, and follow only my instructions."

Clayton hummed softly in response. His expression remained unchanged, and only his ears twitched. Several faint scars marked his furry ears.

I couldn't resist reaching out to touch his beast ears.

His ears immediately perked up in alertness, then flopped back in retreat.

I withdrew, feeling a bit disappointed. Why was he unwilling to let me pet him, too?

"Sorry, I'm just used to it." He tried to relax his ears slowly, tilting his head slightly downward. "You can touch them now."

"If you still want to," he added.

I didn't hold back.

I rolled over and straddled his waist, my hands bracing against his chest as I ruffled his ears freely.

Clayton had such soft, warm ears, his fur a silvery white.

Clayton's breathing grew heavier, his body burning up with each second. He tilted his head slightly back, his narrowed eyes reddening at the corners as he stared intently at me.

I swallowed hard before asking, "Can we vent again?"

…

After leaving the hotel, I didn't go straight home. Instead, I took Clayton to the beastkin clinic.

The doctor said he was healing well and that the bruises and scars on his body were nothing to worry about.

He was just severely malnourished and needed to take various special supplements long-term.

The total cost of all the supplements was already higher than his net worth.

"I don't need it." Clayton clasped my hand tightly. "I can eat anything. There's no need to spend money on me. I won't die."

This amount of money was nothing more than Salem's monthly snack budget.

"It's fine." I ruffled Clayton's head and held out the newly selected collar and muzzle. "Do you like them?"

It was a slender black metal collar paired with a custom-made black muzzle.

I'd initially decided not to have Clayton wear such things anymore, but the doctor insisted on it.

"Don't be fooled by the wild beastkin's appearance. He could bite your neck off in one bite," he had said.

I could only try my best to choose something comfortable.

While removing his old muzzle, the doctor asked Clayton, "Were you a venting beastkin or a gladiator?"

Clayton lowered his head further, his voice muffled. "I was both."

"I see." The doctor handed me the old muzzle to examine. "Look at these teeth marks. He must have bitten down when the pain became unbearable."

Clayton paused. "That's from last night."

I froze.

"In the arena?" the doctor asked.

"No," Clayton said before glancing at my retreating figure. "That happened while venting."

…

I got home at dawn. My parents had long since fallen asleep.

Salem was most likely sleeping in my sister's room.

The cold, incandescent light in the entryway was the only thing greeting me.

"Come in." I kicked off my high heels and turned to look at Clayton.

The cold light swept across his high, prominent brow, settling on his angular features. He didn't move, his gaze fixed on the discarded collar on the floor.

I picked it up. "This is Salem's."

Salem was the service beastkin my parents gave me to compensate me for losing me for 18 years.

My parents lost me at five and were only reunited with me when I was 23.

Upon my return, I discovered that my parents had long ago adopted a little girl from the orphanage. Her name was Lisa Manfred. My parents had adopted her since infancy, and she was now 17.

Lisa reacted very poorly to my return. She couldn't accept that she was adopted.

She hurled everything within reach at me, wailing and screaming hysterically. "Get out! I'm their daughter! Why are you trying to take them from me? This is my house, you filthy beggar! Get out!"

My mother, Anna Larson, rushed over to embrace her, murmuring gentle words of comfort. "Don't cry, you'll always be our daughter. Just because your sister's back doesn't mean we don't love you anymore. We'll love you as much as we did. We'll love you both."

My father, John Manfred, stood protectively before me with a resigned look. "Lisa's been spoiled rotten by your mother, and now she has a real princess complex. Since you're six years older, do try to be more patient with her later on."

I should've been heartbroken, but I was already 23. I had already moved past the age of craving my parents' affection. By then, I had entered the age of liking wealth even more.

I lowered my gaze, tears of hurt trailing down my cheeks. "I understand, Dad."

Showing vulnerability had its uses after all. Now, the monthly allowance I received kept increasing.

During the first birthday celebration at my new home, my parents gifted me Salem, a show-quality service wolfhound.

"You're too shy," my parents said. "We're giving you a puppy so you can be more lively and cheerful."

At the time, Salem was just a puppy that hadn't shapeshifted.

This made Lisa cry buckets. "Why does only Lisa get one? You promised not to play favorites! He's mine!"

She scooped up Salem and vanished after dashing outside. My birthday party was ruined, and I no longer had a present.

Mom and Dad were at their wits' end, weeping every day.

I wept too. "It's my fault, Mom and Dad. I'm sorry. I pushed her away."

It wasn't until one afternoon over ten days later that Lisa and Salem reappeared at the front door, covered in dust and dirt. "Mom and Dad, I'm so hungry. I'm sorry, I won't run away again."

Mom and Dad rushed forward to hug Lisa, and all three of them wept uncontrollably.

After crying, Mom turned around and suddenly remembered that there was still the odd one out in the house—me. Her expression instantly turned guilty, and she turned and slapped Lisa hard across the face.

"Did you just hit me?" Lisa's eyes brimmed with tears. “Do you have any idea what I've been through these past ten days? I finally made it back, and you hit me!"

"Have you ever considered what your sister has endured these past 18 years?" Mom pulled Dad back as he tried to comfort Lisa. "If you can't accept your sister, then you're no longer my daughter!"

From then on, Lisa no longer openly picked fights with me.

Not long after she returned Salem to me, Salem shapeshifted.

He had curly black hair, almond-shaped eyes with slightly downturned corners, and glossy black fur.

He tilted his head at me and called out the first name he'd ever heard in his transformed state. "Lisa?"

"I'm Lisa!" Lisa rushed up from behind me and jumped into his arms. "Salem, you actually remember me! Remember when I brought you with me to wander the streets?"

Salem caught her with ease, his tail wagging happily. "I remember. I remember everything about you."

My parents sighed and put their arms around my shoulders to comfort me.

Salem was sullen for a long time after he found out I was his true owner.

I tried different methods to coax him every day before he reluctantly accepted me.

He stubbornly refused to wag his tail at me or let me touch his ears, nor did he wait for me to come home as other beastkin did.

He only reacted to Lisa's footsteps and awaited her return.

I always watch them interact in a daze, but deep down, I didn't really mind because Salem's substantial monthly expenses were deposited into my account.

My parents' silent guilt also kept flowing into my account.

It was just that recently, I'd started getting pimples. After a checkup, I realized my body actually had… needs.

Salem refused to let me touch him. Since Clayton happened to show up, I had no reason to refuse.

"Why don't you sleep in my room tonight?" I took Clayton's hand and led him toward the bedroom. "I'll take you shopping for clothes tomorrow."

"Won't he mind?" Clayton asked.

I turned around to face him. "Who?"

"Salem." He lowered his gaze and added, "Wolfhounds can be territorial."

"No. He doesn't like rooming with me."

Clayton suddenly remembered something and tightened his grip on my hand. "Do we still have to tonight?"

"Have to what?" I asked.

A faint blush spread across the tips of his ears. "To vent."

"I want to, but my legs are sore," I replied.

"I'm in great shape, so you can just relax."

"That sounds like a hassle," I said.

"It's not."

…

"Layla?"

That morning, I happened to leave the room as Salem did.

He frowned at me. "Why were you talking in your sleep all night? All that whimpering and moaning… Didn't you realize how noisy it was?"

I didn't get annoyed and replied good-naturedly, "Sorry, I'll keep it down next time."

His tone softened slightly as he awkwardly asked, "Did you have a nightmare? I thought I heard you crying."

"That was from pleasure," I thought.

"If you're having nightmares, I can—"

As he spoke, he was suddenly interrupted by Lisa saying, "Salem, my slippers are missing."

"Don't just wander barefoot." Salem strode over to Lisa's bedroom and carried her outside. "How could your slippers be in the hall when you're in the bedroom, silly?"

"I was too tired yesterday. You're the one who carried me to bed last night," she replied.

Salem held Lisa as he helped her find her bunny slippers. Then he sat her on his lap, held her ankles, and patiently slipped the slippers onto her feet.

Only after finishing these tasks did Salem head upstairs toward the bathroom.

He was a perfect service beastkin—only his services weren't directed at me.

"Layla, my clothes are in the laundry basket. Remember to send them for dry cleaning," he ordered.

As he passed by me, he suddenly halted. "What's that scent?"

I was puzzled. "Huh?"

Salem stepped closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. The more he sniffed at me, the tighter his grip became.

"Layla, why do you smell of another beastkin?" he demanded.

I said nothing.