The sun had not yet risen when Hiro boarded the first train out of the city. The key in his pocket felt like a weight tethering him to something inevitable. His hands shook. He told himself he was going only to destroy the illusion—to face the madness and finally end it.
But in the silence of the train car, he clutched the note again.
*To our house by the sea.*
The location Ayaka had given him was off the coast, near a forgotten peninsula where only abandoned fishing towns dotted the cliffs. He followed the directions without speaking, the rented car bumping along a narrow path swallowed by trees.
Then he saw it.
The villa.
A sprawling estate overlooking the ocean. White pillars, ivy-clad walls, and a wrought-iron gate engraved with cherry blossoms. The sea behind it roared softly, as if whispering secrets only Ayaka could understand.
The gate creaked open.
He stepped into the courtyard and the door swung inward before he touched it.
She stood there. Ayaka. Dressed in pale lavender, hair falling in waves over her shoulder. No blood. No madness.
Just her.
"You came home," she whispered.
Hiro didn't answer. His breath caught. Part of him screamed to run. Another part—the child within him, the boy who held her hand under blooming sakura—ached.
She led him inside.
The villa was beautiful, but unsettling. Every room was laced with familiarity. Pictures of their childhood adorned the walls—some real, some altered. Her art, her handwriting, notes he'd never written but had somehow signed. Their future was already displayed in shadowboxes.
She had been building this life for years.
"Do you like it?" she asked gently.
"It's…"
"Ours. Forever."
He followed her to the sunroom. Floor-to-ceiling glass opened to the ocean. A low hum vibrated beneath the floorboards.
"What's in the basement, Ayaka?" he finally asked.
Her eyes flickered. But she smiled.
"Memories. Come. I want to show you something."
She led him down spiral stairs into the heart of the house. The basement walls were lined with shelves of boxes—photos, locks of hair, clothes. Hiro recognized faces. Girls from campus. Teachers. Even the private investigator.
"They all tried to take you away from me," she said, caressing a framed photo. "But now… they'll never bother us again."
He backed away. "You're insane."
"No," she said softly. "I'm devoted. I'm what you made me. Do you remember that day under the sakura tree when we were ten? You said, 'Promise you'll never leave me.'"
"I was a kid!"
"But I listened. I never forgot."
She stepped close. "You're here now. No one's looking for you. I made sure of that. But you can still leave, if you want. The car keys are on the counter."
He stared at her.
She meant it. Or at least, she thought she did.
He walked up the stairs. Out into the sunlight. Reached the car. Gripped the keys.
Then he turned.
The wind shifted. He heard the faintest sound—a lullaby, broken and haunting. The same one from his dreams.
And in that moment, something broke.
He remembered her tears when they were children.
He remembered her shaking hands when she gave him that first ribbon.
He remembered the loneliness, the promises, the endless waiting.
He walked back into the house.
Ayaka stood there, eyes wide.
He kissed her.
Deep. Surrendered.
"I'll stay," he whispered.
Her breath hitched. Then tears slid down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around him tightly—*too* tightly—and whispered, "I'll make you happy, Hiro. Forever."
The villa became their world. Days passed like a dream. Ayaka cooked, painted, loved him with unrelenting intensity. He was never allowed to use the phone. The windows were sealed tight. But he smiled. He told himself this was what he chose.
And then, months later, their child was born.
A daughter.
Ayaka held her like porcelain, whispering lullabies only she remembered.
Hiro wept when he held the baby. But not from joy.
Because in that moment, he saw Ayaka smile—and behind her, in the reflection of the nursery window, he saw them.
Eyes.
Dozens of them.
Lined along the walls.
Watching.
He kissed Ayaka's forehead, smiled for her.
Because now he understood.
He didn't escape the cage.
He walked into it.
Willingly.
And as she whispered, "Forever," he whispered back.
"Forever."