NICOLE
The music was so loud I felt it in my teeth. A thumping bass that vibrated through the polished floor and up through the soles of my shoes. The gymnasium, which usually smelled of sweat and disinfectant, was transformed.
Twinkling fairy lights were strung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow on couples swaying under a spinning disco ball that scattered light like shattered diamonds. It was everything a prom was supposed to be: loud, crowded, and bursting with a frenetic, joyful energy that felt like a different planet.
I found an empty chair at a table near the back, sinking into it like it was a life raft. I watched the dancers, a sea of swirling colorful dresses and awkwardly confident tuxedos.
Everyone was laughing, shouting over the music, living in the moment. I tried to let the noise wash over me, to lose myself in the beat. But I couldn't. My mind was a locked room, and I was stuck inside, trying to come to terms with the four walls of my fate.
This is it, I thought, the champagne punch in my hand tasting like nothing. This is the normal life you get. A few borrowed hours. At least I had college to look forward to. Apex Innovations had a program, an internship. It was a path, a future that was mine, even if it was inside his world. It was something to hold onto.
My eyes scanned the crowd and landed on Nemu. She was surrounded by a group of guys from a rival school, laughing at something one of them said. One of them, a tall boy with overly gelled hair, was leaning in a little too close, his hand on her arm. A familiar tension tightened my shoulders.
Tokito slid into the chair next to me, a cup of punch in his hand. He'd been our designated escort, a shadow in a sharp tuxedo, making sure nothing went wrong. He followed my gaze.
"Aren't you going to go intervene?" I asked, nodding toward Nemu. "Your 'Mount Fuji' is about to get climbed by someone else."
He took a slow sip of his drink, his face a mask of casual indifference. "Why would I? She's having fun. She can talk to whoever she wants." He gave a sarcastic shrug, playing the cool, uninterested friend.
But I wasn't looking at his shrug. I was looking at his eyes.
His brown eyes, usually so warm and laughing, were fixed on Nemu and the guy with the gelled hair. They weren't laughing now. They were sharp, focused, and completely still.
The casual act was perfect, but his gaze was a hawk tracking its prey. I saw the slight tightening of his jaw as the guy laughed and leaned in even closer to whisper something in Nemu's ear.
He cared. He cared so much he was practically vibrating with the effort of pretending he didn't. It was the most real thing I'd seen all night. In this world of secrets and masks, the truth was always in the eyes.
And right now, Tokito's eyes were telling a completely different story from his careless shrug. It was a strange comfort. I might have been a prisoner in a gilded cage, but at least I wasn't the only one pretending to be free.
The music pulsed around me, a relentless beat that felt like it was trying to hammer down the walls I kept building in my mind. Watching Tokito's carefully constructed indifference toward Nemu was like seeing a reflection of my own trapped situation, just in a different kind of cage.
The noise and the lights suddenly felt overwhelming. I needed to steer this somewhere else, to talk about the one subject that was always lurking in the background, the silent architect of this entire life.
I turned to Tokito, forcing a small, casual smile onto my face that felt as fragile as glass. "So," I said, my voice deliberately light, cutting through the bass. "Tell me about him. About Mr. Kenji."
Tokito took a long, slow sip of his punch, his eyes finally tearing away from Nemu. He looked at me, and for a second, I saw something unreadable flicker in his brown eyes—pity, maybe, or just a deep understanding of the complicated mess I was in.
"Kenji," he said, setting his cup down with a soft click. He leaned back in his chair, surveying the dancing crowd as if looking for the right words. "He's… sharp. Like a freshly honed blade. He doesn't waste words. If he's speaking, it's because he wants something, or he's giving an order." He gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, toward the world outside the gym. "He sees everything. The business, the family… it's all a chessboard to him. And he's always thinking ten moves ahead."
I nodded, trying to absorb this. A chessboard. We were all just pieces. The thought was chilling, but not surprising.
Tokito continued, his tone still conversational, but the words themselves were starting to feel heavy, loaded. "He's not… emotional. Not in the way most people are. He doesn't get angry in a hot way. It's a cold thing. Calculated. And when he decides something is his…" He trailed off, his gaze drifting back to me, and this time it was direct, intentional. "That's it. It's his."
I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach. "What does that mean?" I asked, though a part of me already knew.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping, not to a whisper, but to a low, serious tone that carried perfectly to my ears over the music. "It means, Nicole, that you're not just going to be his assistant. Typing reports and scheduling meetings." He held my gaze, making sure I was understanding the weight of every syllable. "You're going to be his. His everything. He's going to take you. Your time, your attention, your body… all of it."
The noise of the prom seemed to fade into a dull, distant roar. The colorful lights blurred around me.
"There won't be room for anyone else," he added, his words precise and clear. "No boyfriends. No dates. Not even… toys." He said the last word without a hint of embarrassment, stating it as a simple, non-negotiable fact.
"He'll want to be the only one who ever… teaches you anything. The only one who makes you feel anything. He'll want to own every single reaction, every gasp, every sigh."
I felt a hot flush creep up my neck. This was too much, too explicit. I wanted to look away, but I was frozen.
Tokito saw my discomfort and gave a slight, almost apologetic shrug, but he didn't soften the message. "It's just how he's built. For him, that level of possession… that total control… it's how he shows love. Or something as close to love as a man like him can get. It's not about kindness. It's about obsession."
He sat back again, as if he'd just commented on the weather. The conversation was over. But the words hung in the air between us, toxic and inescapable.
I looked down at my hands clenched in my lap, the emerald silk of my dress suddenly feeling like a uniform I hadn't chosen. I wanted to know what to expect. Now I did. It wasn't a job. It was a sentence.
A life of belonging to a man who saw people as possessions, and who expressed his… love… through absolute, suffocating domination. The piercing blue eyes from my memory now held a terrifying new meaning. They weren't just the eyes of a savior. They were the eyes of my future warden