But Kai had already picked his phone back up, scrolling again, as if the conversation was over—his point made. The faintest smile lingered on his lips. He had dropped the hook, and now all he had to do was watch Rin fight against the line.
The silence of the dining room was broken suddenly by the sharp vibration of Kai's phone against the wooden table. Rin lifted his gaze briefly, mid-chew, watching as Kai's expression didn't change at all. He didn't even glance at Rin before answering, the phone pressed lazily against his ear, his posture still draped in effortless arrogance.
"Да… нет, я не приду, я занят," Kai's voice shifted—colder, clipped, but still carrying that subtle lilt of disdain. Even though Rin didn't speak Russian fluently, he caught the word занят. Busy. Kai said it like a hammer hitting an anvil.
A muffled voice crackled through the speaker. Male. Warm. Maybe even excited. Whoever it was, Kai didn't mirror it. He sat with his elbow resting on the chair, a picture of detachment.
"Don't you have other brothers?" Kai continued, this time in English, his tone flat but biting. He ticked them off like meaningless names: "Yaroslav. Vseslav. They're there, aren't they? So why do you need me?" His lips curved into a humorless smirk, eyes narrowing slightly. "My God… have you guys ever for once considered me family, Sasha? Ever?" His Russian accent thickened on the last word, like venom.
The voice on the other end tried to interject, a little desperate, but Kai rolled right over it, his free hand drumming on the table in annoyance. "I said I'm busy. Did you not hear me the first time, or is the music at your little party so loud it's rattling your brain?" His tone sharpened, icy and mocking all at once.
Rin's chopsticks stilled in his hand. He kept his eyes down, but his ears were sharp. Every word, every scoff, every sneer, he absorbed like a sponge. So he's not only manipulative with me. He cuts down his own blood just as easily. If that's how he treats his family, what chance do I have?
Kai leaned back further in his chair, finally sighing. His voice lowered, not softer but deadlier. "…Да, завтра я буду. Of course. I'll be there tomorrow. I have to be, don't I?" His smirk widened, humorless. "So relax. Enjoy your last night of freedom. Drink yourself stupid. I'll see you at the wedding."
He didn't wait for Sasha's response. With a deliberate flick of his thumb, Kai ended the call and set the phone face down on the table, the sound sharp against the wood. His expression didn't shift at first—cold, carved from stone. Then, almost lazily, he rolled his eyes and let out a single exhale through his nose.
"Твою мать…" he muttered under his breath, Russian curse sliding out effortlessly. The sound was low, bitter, and laced with a kind of loathing Rin couldn't quite place—at Sasha? At his family? Or at himself?
Rin's gaze rose from his bowl, sharp and steady. He didn't ask, but the thought burned behind his eyes: So even the great Kai is bound by blood. He plays the wolf, but the leash is still there. Interesting.
Kai caught Rin staring. For a moment, their eyes locked—Rin's serious, analyzing, unyielding; Kai's simmering, annoyed, but unreadable. Then Kai gave a humorless chuckle and shook his head.
"What?" he said flatly, voice carrying a mocking edge. "Do I look like the kind of man who enjoys weddings?" He leaned forward slightly, his elbow brushing against the table, eyes narrowing in challenge. "Or are you just enjoying the show, Rin? Watching me fight off my family like dogs at my heels?"
Rin's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond right away. So this is what he hides… the cracks. The irritation. The weight of people who want something from him. He hates it. But he'll still go tomorrow. That means his leash isn't as loose as he wants me to think.
But Rin kept his voice steady, calm, as he finally said, "It's interesting to see the man who claims to control everything… still chained."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut through the steam rising from Rin's ramen. Kai's smirk returned, slow and dangerous, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—an ember of anger that he was quick to mask.
The clinking of ceramic against water filled the kitchen, soft but steady, Kai rinsing dishes with the same elegance he seemed to apply to everything he touched. Even something as mundane as washing a plate looked calculated, deliberate, almost theatrical. Rin stood behind him, empty bowl in hand, eyes fixed not on the dish but on the man.
He had been studying him the entire meal, his silences, his offhand sighs, the scornful way he talked about family. He hates them… but he still goes back. Why? What's his chain? Rin's mind ticked. He was exhausted, still sore from the sea, but his seriousness gave him sharpness even through fatigue. If I can find the crack, the reason he is the way he is… maybe I'll know how to get out of this alive.
Kai noticed. Of course he did. He always noticed. He set the last plate down into the drying rack and then stilled, his shoulders going rigid as if Rin's stare was a weight pressing into his back. Slowly, Kai turned his head, then his entire body, leaning one elbow casually against the counter. His eyes gleamed under the faint kitchen light.
"What?" The word was soft, but sharpened with an edge. "You've been burning a hole through my spine since I picked up that call. Out with it."
Rin's grip on the empty bowl tightened. He didn't flinch. "I heard," he began, voice level, "you weren't supposed to be born."
Kai's expression didn't flicker. Not even a blink. He tilted his head slightly, like a predator indulging prey who had wandered too close. Rin's tone was calm, serious, not mocking—but his words cut deep.
"You were a product from an affair your father had with that famous Swedish model," Rin continued evenly. His eyes stayed locked on Kai's, unrelenting. "May her soul rest in peace. I'm just asking."
The silence after was heavy, suffocating. The only sound left was the faint dripping of water from the faucet into the sink.
Kai didn't move at first. Then, slowly, he pushed himself off the counter and took one step closer. His lips curled, not into a smile but something tighter, sharper, almost amused in its danger.
"And…?" he asked softly.
The word was so close Rin could feel his breath. Kai leaned in, invading his space without hesitation, his height and presence suffocating. His gaze bore into Rin's, unblinking, as if daring him to press further.
Rin's heartbeat hammered in his chest, but his face betrayed nothing. His seriousness was a shield—no smirk, no sarcasm, no retreat. So it's true, Rin thought, watching Kai's reaction, the subtle tightening of his jaw despite his controlled exterior. The bastard hides it behind arrogance, but the wound is real. He's baiting me. He wants me to play into his hand, to make me regret even asking. But I won't back down.
Kai's hand brushed against the counter beside Rin, deliberate, boxing him in. "You're very bold," Kai murmured, tone dipped in mock admiration, "to think you can stand here in my house, in my kitchen, eating my food… and talk about things that don't concern you." His eyes narrowed, gleaming with the kind of controlled rage that made the air heavy. "What exactly do you think you'll gain, Rin, by digging into stories you barely understand?"
Rin held his ground, even as the heat of Kai's proximity pressed against him. "Understanding," he answered simply. His voice was hoarse but steady. "Because you keep me here like a possession. If I'm going to survive this, I need to know who the hell is holding the leash."
Kai chuckled, low and humorless, pulling back just slightly though his gaze never wavered. "And you think my bastard bloodline explains me? Cute." He let the word drip with derision, straightening his back but keeping close enough to loom. "Don't mistake gossip for truth, Rin. My father didn't want me, true. My brothers don't want me, true. And yet—look at me." His hands spread slightly, almost theatrical. "Who's the one with all the power now?"
Rin's jaw tightened. He studied Kai's face, that flash of irritation buried under his composure, the way his words cut like glass but trembled faintly at the root. He hates them, but he hates himself more. He'll never admit it. That's why he clings to control—why he clings to me.
Kai smirked finally, cold and amused, stepping back just enough to give Rin space—though the tension didn't leave the air. "Keep staring at me like that, Rin, and you'll find I'm far less forgiving than the waves you barely survived."
"Now go to bed and leave me the fuck alone," Kai said flatly, his tone sharp enough to slice through the heavy silence.
Rin didn't flinch. He leaned back against the arm of the couch, swirling the half-filled glass of wine in his hand, watching the red liquid catch the light like blood. "I'm not feeling sleepy," he said with that serious calm of his, the kind of tone that wasn't defiance so much as unbending fact. His gaze roamed across the vast hall, the high arches, the golden glow of chandeliers that seemed absurd in their opulence.
"I also need a house tour," Rin added after a pause, his lips curling faintly, almost mockingly. "This place is so huge… like a monarchy's home." His eyes flicked back to Kai, sharp and unyielding. "I know you're related to the royals, but damn." He took a slow sip of the wine. "And you also have a piano and violin sitting there. Why play both?"
Rin hummed softly, skeptical. "But like… how rich are you, anyways? A place like this doesn't just appear out of nowhere." His tone was steady, not mocking—he genuinely wanted to know.
Kai's jaw twitched, his annoyance buried beneath a practiced indifference. He stood with his arms crossed, his tall figure a silhouette in the lamplight. For a moment, he said nothing, letting Rin's words hang in the air, like a teacher giving a student enough rope to strangle himself. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and said evenly, "This place has been my little sanctuary. I come here just to clear my mind or relax." He glanced at the marble floor beneath them, his voice dropping lower, more deliberate. "My grand-mère gave it to me on my seventh birthday."
Rin let out a dry chuckle. "Wow. On my seventh birthday, I was given a brand-new toy." He tipped the glass toward Kai, eyes glinting. "You really don't live on the same planet as the rest of us, do you?"
Kai's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're not wrong."
Rin leaned forward now, resting his elbow on his knee, his seriousness grounding every word. "So. You coming to show me around or what?"
For a moment, Kai said nothing, simply stared at him, unblinking, as if weighing whether Rin's request was another one of his quiet provocations. Then, with a sigh that carried both irritation and reluctant amusement, Kai reached for the towel on the counter and wiped his hands slowly, methodically.
"Alright," Kai said at last. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with that manipulative gleam—the kind that said he wasn't just giving Rin a tour, he was about to turn the entire house into a labyrinth Rin would never escape.
As Kai began to walk ahead, his footsteps echoing against the marble, Rin followed, still clutching his wine glass, his gaze trailing across the vast paintings and artifacts lining the corridor. The air inside was thick with an unsettling blend of warmth and suffocation. This isn't just a house, Rin thought. It's a cage—one so beautiful it makes you forget the bars.
Kai stopped at the base of a staircase carved from black oak, his hand brushing over the railing like a king presenting his throne room. "Careful what you ask for, Rin," he said, glancing back with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "This place remembers everyone who's ever walked its halls. But not everyone leaves."
Kai moved through the grand corridors with that effortless grace of someone who knew every inch of the house, as if the place itself bowed to him. "This is the music room," he said, pushing open a double set of polished mahogany doors. Inside stood a glossy black piano under a skylight, a violin displayed in a glass case beside it. "Grand-mère believed every child with a proper upbringing should master at least two instruments. I chose these."
Rin's eyes lingered on the piano, then the violin, both gleaming in the faint lamplight. He talks like his life was nothing but control, yet he makes it sound like privilege. He really believes these chains are crowns. Rin didn't comment, just walked further in, fingertips brushing the polished lid of the piano. He wanted to say it wasn't impressive—yet something about the way the room smelled faintly of varnish and old sheet music made his chest ache.
Kai didn't give him time to linger. He moved to another room, the library. "I come here when I want silence," he said casually. Towering shelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with leather-bound books, some so old their spines cracked. A rolling ladder leaned against the wall. "Half these books are first editions. Irreplaceable."
Rin trailed behind, his eyes sharp, memorizing. Knowledge as decoration. Another cage.
They passed a gallery of portraits—generations of grim-looking royals with pale eyes and hard jaws. Kai's stride never slowed. "My ancestors believed power was inherited, not earned. They weren't entirely wrong."
Rin's lips pressed into a thin line. He says it with disdain, but his pride leaks through anyway.
Then, as they turned down a narrower corridor, Rin noticed something out of place: a panel in the wall, barely visible. Not regal, not decorative. Practical. He paused, then crouched, fingertips pressing lightly—click. The panel loosened, revealing the door of a safe, heavy and matte black.
Kai's steps stopped behind him, the air tightening. But Rin ignored him. He tugged it open.
Inside wasn't money or jewels, but something far more fragile: a necklace. Simple, silver, with a locket. Rin picked it up and, with steady hands, opened it.
Inside was a photograph. A woman—strikingly beautiful, Swedish-German features, ash-blonde hair that shimmered even in the faded picture. Her smile was gentle, warm, disarmingly human. In her arms, a baby with familiar eyes and soft cheeks stared into the lens.
Rin's chest clenched. So this is her. His mother. The woman he never talks about.
Before he could study it longer, Kai's hand shot out, snatching it from him so fast the necklace nearly cut Rin's skin. His voice was low, dangerous. "Don't touch that."
Rin looked up at him steadily. His face was calm, but his gaze burned. "It was just a necklace," he said.
Kai's jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. "I said don't touch anything." His fingers curled protectively around the locket, his usual smirk nowhere to be seen. His composure wasn't gone—but it cracked, just enough for Rin to glimpse the raw nerve beneath.
Silence stretched, heavy as a storm. Rin didn't back down. He tilted his head slightly, his voice quieter now, cutting through Kai's control.
"You look like her," Rin said. "No wonder you're so beautiful."
Kai's expression froze. Not pleased, not angry—something deeper, unreadable. He stepped closer, so close Rin could feel the warmth radiating off him despite the icy sharpness of his gaze. "Careful, Rin," he murmured, his voice almost velvet but his grip on the locket white-knuckled. "Flattery doesn't suit you. And dragging ghosts out of locked boxes—" he leaned just an inch nearer, his smile finally flickering back, sharp as a blade, "—that's a dangerous habit. One that gets people hurt."
Rin's throat tightened, but he held Kai's gaze, unblinking. So the cracks are real. He bleeds, just like the rest of us. Maybe that's why he hides behind all this control.
Kai turned suddenly, snapping the safe shut with a harsh clang. He pocketed the necklace, shoulders stiff. "Tour's over," he muttered, his voice back to its usual steel. "Go to bed."
But Rin knew—he had found something Kai didn't want him to see. Something that proved even the manipulator had strings tied to the past.
"So how did she die?"
The question fell into the silence like a stone into deep water—no echo, no ripple, just weight. Rin's dark gaze didn't waver. He doesn't want to talk about it. Which means I should make him talk. If I peel back enough layers, maybe I'll finally know who the hell I'm dealing with.
Kai didn't turn right away. He stood there, still as a statue, the question hanging between them like smoke. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, deliberate.
"She died in a storm at sea," he said, tone flat. "A wave crushed the yacht she was on. Romantic, isn't it? A beautiful woman claimed by the ocean. Fitting."
He let the words linger, but Rin's eyes narrowed.
Kai tilted his head, then continued, weaving another tale without missing a beat. "Or maybe it was a car accident. A terrible one. I was told she drove straight into a tree, drunk, her face unrecognizable. That's poetic too, don't you think? The model destroyed by vanity, by recklessness."
Rin's jaw clenched. His gut told him Kai was spinning lies, dressing his mother's death in whatever melodrama he could summon.
"And then again," Kai added suddenly, voice lifting with mockery, "perhaps she was poisoned. Slipped something in her wine at some royal gala. A conspiracy, whispers in the dark, a secret the family buried. Doesn't that sound far more entertaining?"
Rin's lips pressed into a hard line. This bastard. He'd rather dance around it than answer like a man.
Finally, Kai turned. His eyes glinted, and instead of answering, he burst out laughing—a sharp, humorless laugh that bounced off the ornate walls. He covered his mouth with his hand, then dragged it down his face, shaking his head as if Rin's question were the most ridiculous thing in the world.
"You're unbelievable," Kai said between chuckles, though his eyes were cold, nothing amused in them. He waved his hand dismissively, as though brushing Rin off the way one might brush dust from a sleeve. "You think you're entitled to the truth? You've been here for what—days? And already you're playing detective, poking around in things that aren't yours."
Rin's chest tightened, but he didn't look away.
Kai finally stopped laughing, a sharp exhale breaking the silence. He walked toward the door, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the entire exchange. His voice was calm again, but laced with finality:
"Go to bed, Rin. And leave me the fuck alone."
He snorted lightly, almost like an afterthought, then strode out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. The sound was steady, confident, but Rin could sense it—that under the practiced calm, something had been shaken.
Left alone, Rin stood in the half-lit corridor, staring at the closed safe. His fists clenched at his sides. He's hiding something. And one day, I'll rip it out of him, whether he wants it or not.