The quiet hum of the television filled Yui's small apartment, its flickering glow dancing across the walls. The dishes from dinner were stacked neatly, the warmth of Shoji's laughter still lingering in the air. Yui stood at the counter, carefully slicing the plum cake that the old lady had given her, her hands steady but her mind drifting elsewhere.
The knife pressed down, dividing the soft cake into two neat halves. Just as she reached for the second plate, her phone buzzed against the counter. The sound jolted her.
Her fingers hovered for a moment before she finally picked it up. The screen lit up with an unknown number. Her heart sank.
A single photo.
Her breath caught as she opened it.
It was Haruto.
He was stepping out of a restaurant, his arm slung casually, almost possessively, around Yuki's waist. The world seemed to spin as she stared at it. Yuki's smile was smug, her face tilted toward him as if they were a perfect match.
Beneath the photo, one cruel line:
Still think he cares about you?
Yui's throat tightened, her grip trembling. She felt as though someone had carved the words directly into her skin. The plum cake before her blurred in her vision.
"Hey, Yu." Shoji's voice broke through the haze. He was already seated on the couch, remote in his hand, the evening news muted. He glanced at her. "Bring the dessert fast, will you?"
Yui blinked, startled back to the room. Quickly, she locked her phone and set it aside. The necklace, too, she slipped onto the counter beside it as though it burned her.
"Stop calling me Yu, it's Yui. I'm bringing it," she said softly, forcing her voice steady.
She carried the plates over, sitting beside him. Shoji grinned, taking the fork. "Let's see if it's as good as it smells."
Yui tried to smile, but her heart wasn't in it. The sweetness of the cake turned bitter on her tongue. She watched Shoji laugh at a scene on the TV, but the image of Haruto with Yuki was seared into her mind, replaying over and over.
Meanwhile, far from her quiet apartment, Haruto was driving in his car. Yuki's perfume lingered in the air, cloying and heavy.
The restaurant was behind them, but her chatter continued, filling the silence he preferred. She leaned toward him, brushing her fingers over his sleeve.
"That was nice," Yuki purred. "We should do this more often. People were staring—you know, we look good together."
Haruto didn't respond. His hand tightened on the wheel, his jaw flexing. He made a sudden turn, the tires screeching faintly as the car veered down a darker road.
Yuki frowned. "Haruto? My home isn't this way."
The corners of his lips curved into that familiar smirk, though his eyes were anything but warm.
"Your home?" His voice was low, dangerous. "You think that's where we're going?"
A shiver ran down her spine. "Then… where?"
Haruto didn't answer. The neon glow of the city pulsed outside as he drove them to the edge of a bustling district. The heavy bass of the music vibrated in the air, even before the car stopped. A towering club loomed ahead, its entrance crowded with bodies, laughter, and the haze of smoke.
Haruto stepped out without looking back.
"Haruto—" Yuki scrambled after him in her heels, but he caught her wrist and dragged her away—not toward the glowing entrance, but down a narrow alley at the side of the club.
The air shifted. Dark. Cold. The sound of the crowd was muffled by the walls around them.
He pressed her back against the damp bricks, his face inches from hers. Yuki gasped, her heart racing.
"W-what are you doing?" she whispered, trying to sound bold, but fear laced her words.
Haruto's fingers trailed along her jawline, featherlight but suffocating. His eyes gleamed with something sharp, unreadable.
"If you keep playing this little game," he murmured, each word deliberate, "using my family to crawl near me… You have no idea what I could do to you."
Her breath hitched.
His fingers moved from her jaw to her lips, pressing against them lightly, almost tender—yet his smirk was cruel.
"You can't imagine," he whispered, "what I'm capable of."
Then, as if dismissing her completely, he let her go. He tossed a crumpled wad of cash at her feet—the fare for a taxi.
"Take a cab."
And without a second glance, Haruto turned, walking toward the pulsing lights of the club. His figure melted into the crowd, swallowed by smoke and shadows.
Yuki slid down against the wall, trembling. Her fists clenched, her nails digging into her palms.
Her lips twisted into a trembling smile that quickly warped into something unhinged.
"Haruto… Haruto, Haruto, Haruto…" she whispered his name, over and over, her voice growing shakier with every repetition.
Tears blurred her vision, but she laughed through them. A low, broken laugh.
"You'll regret throwing me away."
Her hand clutched her chest, her eyes wide, wild. The perfume that once felt like her armor now suffocated her.
"No one humiliates me and walks away."
She staggered up, brushing dirt from her dress, her face streaked with smeared makeup. Madness shone in her gaze now—an obsession spiraling into something darker.
"You're mine," she hissed under her breath, lips curling into a twisted smile. "Only mine. I'll make sure of it."
The lights from the club glowed behind her, but Yuki's world had shifted into something else entirely—a stage where Haruto existed only for her.
And anyone who stood between them… would burn.