PAIGE
The cold of the metal bench seeped through my clothes, a dull, persistent ache that seemed to mirror the one growing in my chest. I stared at the scuffed floor, my eyes tracing the same cracks over and over as my mind raced in frantic, useless circles.
Assault. The word echoed in my head, each time feeling more real and more terrifying. A criminal record. If this actually went to court… my degree from Tokyo University, my future, this job I'd just gotten—all of it would turn to ash.
My family wouldn't just be ruining my present; they'd be burning my entire future to the ground. The sheer, calculated cruelty of it stole the air from my lungs, making it hard to breathe in the small, stuffy cell.
I was so lost in this terrifying spiral of thought that I almost didn't hear the voice at first. It was a murmur of authority from down the hall, a smooth, confident baritone that cut through the station's low-grade noise of ringing phones and shuffling papers.
My head snapped up. No. It couldn't be.
But it was. That voice. The one that had been smugly offering me a job just hours ago. The one I'd thanked a nonexistent God for not having to hear again today.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, pressing my fingers against my eyelids, praying it was a stress-induced hallucination. When I opened them, he was there. Leaning against the open door of my cell like he owned the entire precinct—which, given the way the officers were shuffling around him, nodding respectfully, he might as well have.
And that look on his face. That infuriating, knowing, utterly smug smirk. It was the same one he'd worn in his office, but now it was amplified by a thousand, layered with the sheer power of the situation. He'd seen me at my absolute lowest, caged and defeated, and he was clearly enjoying every second of it.
Every ounce of fear and panic in my body instantly crystallized into a white-hot, blinding rage.
The urge to launch myself off this bench and wipe that smirk off his face with my fist was so overpowering that my entire body tensed. My nails dug into my palms, leaving little half-moon marks in my skin.
He'd bailed me out. He'd seen this ultimate humiliation. And I knew, without a doubt, he was going to hold it over my head forever.
"Well, well," he purred, his voice dripping with sarcastic delight. "It seems your little temper tantrum came with a rather expensive price tag."
I said nothing. I just glared, pouring every ounce of my hatred into that look, hoping he could feel it burning into him.
He gestured with his head toward the open door, the picture of arrogant amusement. "Let's go. You've caused enough trouble for one day."
The condescension was the final straw. I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him. But mostly, I wanted to disappear.
Instead, I stood up on shaky legs, my pride in tatters, and walked out of the cell, past the man who now owned a piece of my freedom, hating him more than I had ever hated anyone in my entire life.
The walk out of the precinct was the longest and most humiliating of my life. I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead, my chin held high, but I could feel his presence beside me like a physical weight.
I didn't need to look at him to know the smug expression was still plastered on his face. I could feel it radiating from him, and I could almost taste his satisfaction in the air between us.
The cool evening air hit my face as we stepped outside, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of my anger. His town car was idling at the curb, a sleek, black monster that seemed to absorb the light around it. The driver was already holding the door open, his face carefully blank.
Reomen stopped beside it, finally turning to look at me. The smirk was indeed still there, a permanent fixture of utter triumph.
"After you," he said, his voice laced with a mockery of courtesy.
I didn't thank him. I didn't say a word. I just slid into the leather interior, scooting all the way across to the far window, putting as much distance between us as the car would allow. The door shut with a soft, expensive thud, sealing me inside with him.
He got in after me, the car dipping slightly with his weight. The interior was suddenly filled with the faint, clean scent of his cologne, a smell that now seemed synonymous with power and condescension.
The driver pulled away from the curb. The silence in the car was thick and heavy, broken only by the quiet hum of the engine.
I stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, refusing to acknowledge him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much this was affecting me.
I could feel his eyes on me. Studying me. Enjoying my silence, my defeat.
After a few blocks, he finally spoke, his voice a low, amused rumble in the dark space between us.
"Comfortable?"
The sheer arrogance of the question made my jaw clench so tight I thought my teeth might crack. I continued to stare out the window, my hands balled into fists in my lap, my knuckles white with the force of my grip.
He gave a soft, dark chuckle. "I'll take that as a no."
The car drove on, carrying me away from one cage and directly into another. One with far more gilded bars, and a keeper who seemed to take immense pleasure in watching me rattle them.
The silence in the car was suffocating. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to know. My voice came out quiet, strained, cutting through the quiet hum of the engine.
"How did you even know?" I asked, still staring out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by.
I felt him shift beside me. I could hear the smirk in his voice without even looking. "I own the building, Paige. I see everything that happens on my doorstep. Especially when it involves my newest employee being led away in handcuffs."
Of course. Of course, he saw. I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars, a frustrated sigh escaping my lips. "Lucky me."
Another few blocks passed in tense silence. The question burned in my throat, humiliating but necessary. I had to know the depth of the hole I was in.
"How much?" I finally asked, the words tasting like ash.
He didn't hesitate. "One-point-eight million."
The number hung in the air between us, vast and incomprehensible. My breath hitched. 1.8 million dollars. I felt dizzy, the world tilting slightly around me. I could live for years on that amount. Decades, if I were careful.
I finally turned to look at him. The smirk was there, wider than ever, utterly pleased with himself.
"Try not to look so excited, Black Cat," he purred. "You can work it off."
The smirk on his face didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, more defined in the shadowed interior of the car.
"Oh, I'll definitely be taking it back," he said, his voice a low, certain promise. "Every last cent. With interest, if you're slow."
The words weren't a threat; they were a simple statement of fact. A new, unbreakable term of my employment. The weight of it settled on my shoulders, a heavier chain than the handcuffs that had just been removed. A debt of 1.8 million dollars to the one man in the world I never wanted to owe anything to.
I looked away, back out the window at the passing city. My reflection was pale and serious in the glass, a ghost of the person I thought I would be today.
"I know," I said, my voice quiet but clear. There was no argument, no defiance left in me for this. He held all the power, and we both knew it. "I'll pay it back."
It was a vow, not just to him, but to myself. I would get out from under this. I would get out from under him. No matter what it took. No matter how long it took. I would pay back every last cent, and I would be free of him and my family once and for all.