Chapter 12 - "What Remains Bare"
Asami watches me, waiting, but I cannot move or speak. Finally, he breathes out, slowly measuring the space between us. Then, he turns. He leaves at once, disappearing back through the balcony door without a word.
For a heartbeat, I think I see a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes—concern, perhaps—but it vanishes as quickly as it comes.
When I finally manage to wipe the last of my tears, my chest still aches with the weight of the call. My eyes sting, and the smell of smoke clings to me like guilt.
I check my phone—it is nearly one in the morning. Too late, too heavy, but I force myself to fix my face in the dim light, as if I could erase the evidence.
Stepping back inside, I freeze.
He didn't go to his room. Instead, Asami is already there, seated by the mini bar with a glass of whisky in his hand. The amber liquid catches the glow of the lamp, sharp and unforgiving. His eyes, darker still, fixate on me the moment I enter.
I flinch under the weight of his stare. It feels critical, as though he has seen too much.
"Have you been waiting long?" The words slip out before I can stop them, my voice tight.
"Nope," he replies evenly, his gaze steady. "I just arrived. Wanted a drink, so I sat here."
My throat dries. He doesn't look away.
"You stayed out on the balcony for a long time," he adds, his tone softening just enough to twist something inside me.
"It's cold at this hour. You'll get sick if you're not careful."
"I… I was talking to someone. And smoking, so it wasn't that cold." My reply comes too fast, too flimsy. I can't bring myself to meet his eyes, terrified he'll read the lie written all over me.
His brows furrow, displeasure sharpening the lines of his face.
"Who were you talking to?" he asks quietly. "When I went to the balcony door earlier, I heard you on the phone."
My heart lurches. My lips part, but no sound comes. I can't tell him. I can't risk it. If he knew it was him—my ex, the one who just threatened everything—I am certain something terrible would happen.
The silence stretches until it feels suffocating, scraping at my nerves as I try to breathe.
Finally, Asami exhales—slow, measured—and takes another sip of whisky. His eyes narrow, squinting at me as though weighing every twitch of my face.
"…It's fine," he says at last. "If you can't tell me, I won't force you."
The words should ease me. They don't. They only make my chest tighter, like a trap disguised as kindness.
Then, he sets his glass down. His tone shifts again—cool, controlled, edged with displeasure.
"Sit down. We need to talk. About the vase."
His words—
"Sit down. We need to talk about the vase."
—hang in the air, but I knew that wasn't what this is really about.
I obey, lowering myself into the chair opposite him. The glass in his hand catches the light, the ice clinking as he swirls it slowly. He watches me the way a hawk watches a trembling rabbit.
For a moment, he says nothing—just a quiet scrutiny that scrapes at me until I can barely stand it. My fingers twist in my lap, desperate for something to hold. Then his voice cuts through—sharp, probing.
"You said you were talking to someone. Who?"
I swallow hard. "It was… just an old acquaintance."
"Acquaintance," he repeats, tasting the word as if it were poison. His eyes narrow.
"Acquaintances don't make you cry like that, Ichinose."
Heat crawls up my neck. I want to deny it, to turn away, but his stare pins me to the chair.
"I—I wasn't crying. Not really. It was just—"
"Don't lie to me."
His voice cracks like a whip, low and controlled but laced with steel.
"I heard you. I saw your face when you came inside. Whoever he is, he has power over you. Enough to make you crumble."
Panic floods me. I open my mouth, but the words tangle, useless. Asami leans forward, setting the glass aside with a sharp click. His eyes burn into mine.
"Tell me. Who was he?"
I shake my head, gripping my knees until my knuckles whiten. "Please, Master Asami… I can't."
"You can't," he echoes, his tone flat, dangerous. "Or you won't?"
The distinction cuts too close. I flinch, my lips trembling.
For a moment, I think he will stop. Instead, he leans closer still, his presence overwhelming, his voice quiet but relentless.
"Ichinose… if you don't tell me, I'll find out myself. And when I do, don't expect me to be merciful."
My breath hitches, a sob threatening to escape. Half the truth claws its way out of me before I can stop it.
"He's… someone I used to know. Someone who won't let go."
Asami's gaze sharpens. "That's more than an acquaintance."
I drop my eyes, shame burning hot. My lips part, but no words come. His whisky sits untouched now, forgotten. His focus is entirely on me, stripping me bare with questions I can't answer.
"This isn't harmless," he says finally, his voice deliberate.
"No one makes you cry like that unless they still have a hold on you."
I bite my lip, fighting the tremor in my voice. "It… it's complicated."
His brows draw low, displeasure flickering across his face. "That's what people say when they're afraid to tell the truth."
He leans back slightly, but his gaze never loosens.
My pulse stumbles. "I'm not—"
"Then prove it." His voice rises, sharp but not loud, cutting me down with the force of restraint.
"Look at me and say his name."
I can't. The smoke from earlier still clings to me, but now it feels like I am suffocating.
"I… I can't," I whisper.
"You won't." His eyes narrow, the gold in them darkening, heated by something dangerous.
"Why? Are you protecting him?" The accusation hits me like a strike.
My head snaps up, panic rushing out of me. "No! I would never—"
"Then who is he to you?" Asami's question is a knife, his tone steady, relentless.
"Why do you let a man make you weep like that? Why do you tremble like this at the sound of his voice?"
I tremble under his words, my breath ragged. Every instinct screams to stay silent, but the way he looks at me—like he already knows, like he won't stop until I bleed—drags the truth to the surface.
"He was…" My voice breaks. I grip my knees tighter.
"He was someone from before. Who should've been gone a long time ago."
Asami leans in, his forearms resting on his knees, his presence filling the space between us. His voice drops to a low growl.
"And yet here he is—still reaching you. Still making you cry."
My heart lurches. "Please, Master Asami…" My words crack. "Don't ask me more. I'm afraid of what will happen if I say."
He studies me, silent for a long, unbearable beat. Then he speaks, his tone softer but no less merciless.
"What will happen… or what he'll do if you speak?"
I freeze, my breath catching. He has pierced straight into the heart of it.
My lips tremble. Tears sting again, threatening to spill. I drop my head, unable to face him.
"I just… I just don't want anyone else to get hurt."
The silence that follows is heavier than anything he has said. I can feel the storm in his gaze, even without looking up.
Finally, his voice comes, low and edged with something possessive.
"Then listen well, Ichinose. Whoever he is—whatever he thinks he can still do to you—he won't touch you again. Not when you're under my roof. Not while I'm here."
The words land like iron chains—protective, suffocating, impossible to escape.
I nod weakly, my voice a whisper. "Yes… Master Asami."
But even as I say it, fear burns through me. Because if Dante truly comes for me again, I don't know who I should fear more—him, or the man sitting before me.
Asami leans back, reaching for his glass again. His movements are calmer now, his voice softened, though his eyes never lose their sharpness.
"Don't look so pale," he says quietly, almost as an afterthought. "No one here will hurt you. Not when I'm here watching."
The words should soothe me. Instead, they leave me trembling for an entirely different reason.
I nod, barely able to whisper, "Yes… Master Asami."
For a moment, his gaze lingers on me—steady, unreadable. Then I think I see something flicker across his face, something unguarded. A question unsaid, but heavy: Who is the man you've loved all these years?
His jaw tightens, shadows crossing his expression. But instead of asking, he clears his throat, turning his words elsewhere.
"The other maids won't look after me. You will. My needs, the garden, everything—that's your responsibility now."
He pauses, his stare locking with mine, unflinching, as if nailing me into place.
"Most of all…"
The silence stretches, heavier than his words. My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I wait, bracing for whatever comes next.
At last, his voice comes—low, deliberate, cutting straight through me.
"Most of all, you don't belong to anyone else. Not anymore."
I freeze, the weight of his words pinning me in place.
"You're staying here in the villa until I say you can go."
The command hits harder than a slap. My breath stutters, caught between fear and something I can't name.
I can't move. I can't speak. I only sit there—trembling, as his gaze holds me pinned—bare, exposed, with nowhere to run.
To be continued…