Author's Note:
Hi everyone! Just letting you know that this chapter is now fully revised. Chapters 0–16 are completed, and I'm still working on revising Ch. 17.
If you've read this before, feel free to check out the updated version. If you're new, welcome to the revised chapters—I hope you enjoy reading!
Comments, feedback, or even small spoiler questions are always welcome. Your support keeps me motivated!
— Crystel Jane
******
The night left me restless, every creak of the villa thick with his shadow. By morning, I escaped to the garden, burying my hands in the soil and working in silence. If I kept busy, maybe the weight of his voice would lift. But even among roses, I felt it still—his eyes, unseen, heavy as ever.
The garden had always been my shield. Soil under my nails, sweat across my back, the steady rhythm of pruning shears—here, I could almost forget the pressure inside my chest. Almost
I worked slower than usual, letting my hands linger over each stem, each thorn. The roses leaned toward the light, petals flushed crimson against the fading summer green.
Their scent rose sweet and sharp, mixing with damp earth and the faint metallic tang of my shears. I should have felt comfort here, in the place I'd brought back from neglect. Yet every trimmed branch, every fallen petal, whispered of something fragile I couldn't protect.
My shirt clung to me with sweat, the air heavy and thick. I pressed a palm to the soil—cool, grainy—and closed my eyes as if the earth itself could steady me. But the quiet was a lie. In the silence, his presence only grew louder.
I thought of the way his gaze followed me even when his back was turned. I thought of his voice, calm, precise, carving too close.
The garden should have been mine. Yet even here, it belonged to him.
The sun slid low, painting the villa's white walls in amber. I wiped my brow and whispered to myself: finish, pack up, go home. Distance would be safe
But my heart betrayed me, hammering the moment I heard the soft tread of his shoes on gravel.
"Asami," I muttered, already bracing.
He stopped at the gate, hands in his pockets, head tilted. "Still working."
"Yes, Master Asami." I bowed my head, fussing with a rose stem I'd already cut. "I was just finishing."
"Don't go." His voice was calm, unhurried. "Stay the night. The buses won't run now."
"I can walk," I said, swallowing hard.
"You won't." His tone left no room for air. "Aisha will prepare a room. Come. You'll join me before dinner."
The balcony opened into twilight, the air cool and sharp against my skin—relief and warning at once. Below, the gravel paths glimmered in the fading light while a lone cicada rasped somewhere in the garden.
Smoke lifted from the cigarette between his fingers, curling into shapes the night swallowed whole. The smell reached me before I breathed it in, stinging my throat.
Two chairs sat too close together—deliberately, it seemed. Stepping onto the balcony, I felt the trap close, the space too tight to hide in. The walls caught the last slant of sun, warm and unforgiving, as shadows stretched long across the floorboards.
He leaned against the railing as if the world itself bent to his ease. I hovered near the doorway, palms damp, heart pounding louder than his silence would ever admit. His eyes flicked toward me once, and that small glance pulled me forward.
He gestured for me to sit.
I hesitated. "I don't—"
"Sit."
His gaze pinned me, and my body obeyed before my mind caught up.
He held out the pack. "Take one."
"I don't smoke," I said quickly. My voice cracked. "Not really."
"Then start." The lighter flared, painting his face in a brief gold. He leaned in, steadying me with a hand at the back of my neck. My whole body locked.
"Breathe in," he murmured.
I obeyed. Smoke burned down my throat, searing my chest. I coughed until my eyes watered.
He smirked, faintly amused. "Not so easy, is it?"
"I told you," I rasped. "It's not for me."
"You don't know what's for you."
He tapped ash into the tray, calm and sure. "You've never let yourself find out."
God, stop. Stop talking like you see through me.
My skin felt peeled open under his voice. If he knew what I wanted—what I dreamed—I'd never dare to stay here again.
I fixed my eyes on the dark horizon, anywhere but him.
"The garden needs care. Tomorrow, I should—"
"Always the garden," he cut in. "Never yourself."
"It's my job."
"No." His eyes narrowed, even in the dim. "It's your shield."
My breath faltered. I held the cigarette like an anchor, though my hand trembled so badly ash spilled across my knee.
My breath caught. I held the cigarette like an anchor, though my hand shook hard enough for ash to spill across my knee.
"Why hide, Ichinose?" His voice softened, dangerous in its gentleness. "What are you afraid of me seeing?"
"I'm not—" I stopped too fast. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Then look at me."
My chest tightened. I forced my eyes up for barely a second. His gaze caught mine—steady, relentless—and my pulse spiked so hard I thought I might faint. I looked away instantly, heat and shame clawing up my throat.
"See?" he murmured, quiet triumph threading through the word. "You can't."
Because if I looked too long, I'd fall. I'd speak. I'd beg.
And once the truth escaped, I could never take it back. Better to choke on silence than drown in confession.
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl and thin before it vanished. Then he turned back to me—not unkind, but unrelenting.
"You tremble every time I touch you," he said, soft enough that the words seemed to land inside my ribs.
My hands went cold.
"I—I don't." I tried to laugh, but it came out thin and broken.
"You do."
His voice dropped, close enough that I felt the warmth of it skim my cheek. He reached out—careful, deliberate—and his fingers brushed my wrist. The touch struck like a match across dry paper. Heat climbed my arm; my breath hitched.
"It's nothing," I said, because it had to be. The truth tasted like metal on my tongue. If I admitted why—if I let it out—he would know me in a way I could never undo.
He smiled then—just a little—danger curling at the edge of it. "Excuses."
He leaned forward, the cigarette between his lips, the ember flaring bright for a moment.
"You always hide," he said. "Behind your work in the garden, behind rules. You think hiding protects you."
He tapped ash, slow and deliberate.
"But all it does is build the room you keep yourself in.
Every word pressed against me like hands. My fingers tightened around the chair until my knuckles ached.
Please, I wanted to say. Please don't look at me. Please don't ask. But the plea stuck in my throat.
He watched me the way a man watches something fragile—something he wants, something he fears breaking.
"Why do you keep yourself small, Ichinose?"
The question was simple, but the weight behind it felt like both an accusation and an invitation.
If I answered, I'd give him everything. If I lied, I'd stay trapped in myself. I wanted him to want me; I wanted to hide from that wanting. I swallowed, letting the cigarette fall into the tray.
He sat back, eyes never leaving me. For a moment the world narrowed to his gaze and the dull ache beneath my ribs. I thought I could hold it—hold the silence, the small lies, the slow burn—until he pressed once more and something inside me began to fray.
"You remember," he said suddenly, "the day you almost fell in the hall? I caught you."
I froze. "Y-yes."
"You shook then too." His eyes sharpened. "That wasn't fear of falling."
"It was," I insisted—too quickly. My voice splintered. "I was startled."
Silence fell. He didn't look away. He let it stretch until the blood pounding in my ears was louder than anything else. His stare was steady as stone, pressing harder with every heartbeat.
My hands tightened on my knees, but a tremor still ran through my arm. I tried to be still. It only grew worse under his gaze.
"You're a terrible liar," he said at last—soft, certain.
Heat flared through me, shame burning like fever. I looked down, anywhere but at him, and the words clawed at my throat. Tell him. Say it. End this desire. End this meekness. But if I spoke, I'd ruin everything.
"You are lying," he murmured again, leaning closer, patient as a hunter. "And you know I see it."
I couldn't breathe. My lips parted uselessly, a soundless confession trembling at the edge.
Then he sat back, the pressure loosening all at once. "I'll let it go. For now."
Relief hit me hard enough to sting. Terror followed. He hadn't cornered me—not yet. But he could. He would. And when he did, I'd have nothing left to defend myself.
"Master Asami, the table is ready," Aisha's voice cut softly through the air.
The spell broke. He stubbed out his cigarette and brushed the ash from his fingers.
"Good," he said smoothly, already rising. "Come, Ichinose."
I scrambled to my feet, dizzy with release, though my chest still burned—smoke and longing tangled tight.
I should have been grateful. The moment passed. He didn't press me further. But some cruel part of me ached that he let me go.
What kind of fool wishes to be cornered?
We walked the corridor in silence.
The hallway stretched like a tunnel, each step swallowed by carpets that softened sound but not the weight in my chest. Lamps glowed faintly along the walls, their light shivering in the draft, throwing the portraits into uneasy shadow.
Faces painted long before my time stared down—cold, unsmiling. I fixed my gaze on the floor, as if even painted eyes could read what I was trying so hard to hide.
His footsteps were steady. Mine stumbled half a pace behind, as though my body knew its place even when my mind resisted. His shadow reached ahead, sure and commanding; mine trailed after like an echo. Following felt too much like surrender, yet the thought of resisting never even formed.
I wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the silence before it cut through me. But what could I say? I'm fine. Don't look at me. Look at me. Every thought betrayed too much or meant nothing at all.
The quiet pressed harder than speech ever could. By the time we neared the dining room, my chest ached as though I'd been running. But all I'd done was follow. Always follow.
At the doors he paused, glancing back. One glance—nothing more—but it held me there, suspended, a question I had no answer for. My throat closed around words I'd never say.
Then he pushed the door open, calm as ever.
I followed, heart raw, lungs burning with everything I couldn't voice.
One day he'll demand the truth outright. One day I won't be able to swallow it back.
And when that day comes, I don't know if it will save me—or ruin me.
To be continued…