Yui's eyes widened, tears pooling instantly. "I-I didn't—"
"You think he's your knight, huh?" Haruto cut in, his gaze boring into hers. "You think he can pull you out of my game?" His lips brushed dangerously close to her ear, his voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers spiraling down her spine. "He's not. He never will be."
He let go abruptly, shoving her back against the seat. Yui gasped, rubbing her sore chin, fear rattling in her chest.
The car swerved slightly as he accelerated, the city lights thinning into quieter, darker streets. Every turn they took made her realize—they were going somewhere far from people. Far from help.
"Haruto, please…" Her voice trembled as she pressed both palms together, begging without shame. "I don't know what you want. I didn't do anything to you."
He laughed. Low. Cruel. The sound curled around her like smoke.
"Didn't do anything?" His eyes gleamed, manic, when they flicked to her again. "That's the point. You're so weak, so boring… yet the moment you slapped me—" His teeth flashed in the dark, the memory fueling his amusement. "God, Yui… you became interesting."
Her stomach dropped.
"That's when I decided." His voice was steady now, chillingly calm. "You're my prey. And prey don't get to run. They don't get to choose. They exist to be hunted… until I decide to end the game."
The car slowed suddenly, pulling into a desolate stretch near the riverbank. The headlights cut across the empty water, illuminating the ripples. No one around. No sound but the engine's idle rumble.
Haruto killed the engine. The silence that followed was deafening.
Yui froze, every muscle taut with dread.
He turned to her fully now, his body leaning close, caging her in without even touching her. His scent, sharp and intoxicating, filled her senses. His hand reached out again—not violent this time, but deliberate, brushing a stray lock of hair from her wet cheek.
"You're trembling," he whispered, his voice velvet over steel. His thumb wiped a tear that had slipped free, and he licked it off with deliberate slowness. "Salty. Just how I like."
Yui shuddered, pressing herself harder against the door. "S-stay away…"
His smile widened, the predator savoring the fear of his prey.
"Stay away?" His laugh was quiet, hollow, and terrifying. "Yui, the real game hasn't even started yet."
He leaned in until his lips almost grazed her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
"And when it does…" His whisper lingered like poison. "You'll break. And I'll enjoy every second of watching you fall apart."
Yui's tears spilled freely now, her entire body shaking as the full weight of his obsession pressed down on her.
This wasn't humiliation anymore. It wasn't bullying.
It was possession.
And there was no way out.
For Yui, the nightmare had only just begun.
The ride to Haruto's house was suffocating. Yui sat curled against the passenger door, heart hammering so loud she swore the sound filled the car. His smirk lingered the whole way, a mask of triumph carved into his bruised face.
When the car finally slowed, she expected a deserted warehouse, some abandoned lot—but no.
It was worse.
The Kuroya mansion loomed before her like a fortress, its towering gates opening with a slow, mechanical groan. The estate stretched out with elegant gardens, perfectly trimmed hedges, and servants waiting in neat rows. The sheer power of it pressed down on her.
This wasn't just Haruto's world—it was his empire.
Yui's breath stuttered. Why am I here? Why me?
Haruto didn't answer the questions trembling on her lips. He only tightened his grip on her wrist, yanking her out of the car. "Keep quiet," he muttered, dragging her toward the grand entrance.
Inside, the atmosphere was painfully different. The glow of golden chandeliers lit up the polished floors, the walls lined with portraits of stern ancestors. Voices echoed from the main hall.
"…as we discussed, the Ito family has been our closest partner," Mr. Kuroya's booming voice declared. "A union between Haruto and Yuki will secure both business and legacy."
Yui froze, her stomach dropping.
Her gaze darted toward the hall where the voices came from. Mr. and Mrs. Ito were seated elegantly on the long sofa, their daughter Yuki poised beside them like a porcelain doll. Beautiful, refined—everything Yui wasn't.
And right beside them sat Haruto's younger brother.
Riku Kuroya.
Unlike Haruto, whose aura screamed danger, Riku was calm—his posture straight, his uniform crisp, his expression polite but distant. His reputation as the school's top student and heartthrob wasn't exaggerated; there was a quiet glow about him that drew attention without effort.
The servant's voice sliced through Yui's haze."Sir… Young Master Haruto has returned. With… a girl."
The room shifted instantly.
Mr. Kuroya's gaze snapped to the entrance just as Haruto stormed in, dragging Yui like she was nothing more than baggage. His grip was bruising, his steps careless. Yui stumbled, nearly falling, her face pale as all eyes in the hall turned to them.
Gasps rippled through the gathering. Mrs. Ito's brows arched in disapproval, while Yuki covered her mouth, eyes narrowing at the sight.
"Haruto!" Mr. Kuroya's voice thundered, shaking the air. "What the hell are you doing?"
Haruto didn't even slow down, his jaw tight. "Going to my room."
"You stop right there."
The authority in his father's tone cut like a whip. Haruto froze, his shoulders tense, annoyance radiating off him.
When he turned, his smirk was gone. His eyes were narrowed slits of cold fury.
"Let go of her," his father commanded.
Silence crackled in the room.
Haruto's lips curled, a mocking edge forming, but before he could spit a retort—
SMACK.
The slap rang across the hall, echoing through marble and glass. Yui flinched hard, her breath catching.
Haruto's head had snapped to the side, his cheek glowing red under the chandelier light. For a second, the predator looked almost human—stunned.
His grip on Yui's wrist loosened, and she stumbled back, free at last.
The moment she swayed, another hand reached for her. Firm yet gentle, steady and warm.
Riku.
"Are you alright?" His voice was low, careful, as though she might shatter if he spoke too loud. His hand supported her elbow, guiding her upright.
Yui stared up at him, trembling. The contrast was dizzying. Haruto's touch was rough, consuming, suffocating—Riku's was steady, grounding, almost protective.
Tears threatened her eyes, but she shook her head. "I-I'm fine."
Riku's gaze softened briefly, then flicked to his father. "Father, let me take her home. She doesn't belong here."
The room buzzed with shock. Mrs. Ito stiffened, Yuki's face darkened, and Haruto…
Haruto's smirk returned. But it was darker this time, venom hidden in the curve of his lips.
Mr. Kuroya's voice cut in, sharp. "Do it, Riku. This… disgrace mustn't be witnessed further."
Riku nodded, stepping closer to shield Yui slightly from the stares burning into her. "Come with me," he whispered gently.
Her body moved before her mind did, clinging to the lifeline. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of safety as she followed him.
But she could feel it.
Haruto's eyes.
They burned into her back as though clawing through her very skin.
The drive back was quiet, except for the rhythmic hum of the engine. Riku didn't push her with questions, only offered a folded handkerchief when he noticed her clutching her arm.
She took it hesitantly, her fingers brushing his. A simple gesture, yet it sent warmth surging through her chest.
"Thank you…" she whispered, voice fragile.
"You don't need to thank me," Riku replied softly, his eyes on the road. "You just… don't deserve this."
Her throat tightened. For a moment, she thought she might break and pour everything out—the bullying, the torment, the threats—but the shadow of Haruto's smirk haunted her too vividly.
So she stayed quiet.
Back at the mansion, Haruto didn't stay silent.
The moment the front door closed, his control shattered.
The crash of a vase breaking split the air, shards scattering across the floor. Haruto stood in the wreckage of his room, chest heaving, eyes wild.
"Riku…" he muttered, his voice low, venom dripping from every syllable. "My perfect brother. Always stealing the spotlight."
He kicked the table, wood splintering under his fury. The mirror shattered next, his reflection splintering into jagged shards. His tattooed arm flexed as he dragged it across the desk, knocking books and frames to the ground.
His lips curved—not in humor, but in madness.
"She thinks she can run?" He tilted his head, eyes glinting with a dangerous gleam. "That she can smile at him?"
He pressed a hand against the wall, leaning forward, whispering to the emptiness of his room.
"No."
The word slithered from his lips, low and certain.
"She's mine. Until I decide otherwise."
The laugh that followed was hollow, manic, filling the room like smoke.
And with it came a promise.
The game wasn't over.
It had only just begun.