Page 35 of Kotori
"Enemy?" The word escapes her mouth quietly.
"Western individualism. The poison that convinces young women their personal desires matter more than family obligation. The selfishness that destroys bloodlines stretching back centuries." Each word lands with precision while I study her reactions. "You represent everything they must learn to resist."
It's not the whole truth, but enough to make her breath catch. She's beginning to realize this was never about language instruction. She's a tool in my daughters' education, a living example of corrupted thinking brought into our home for them to observe and ultimately reject.
"So yes," I continue, "I brought an American here deliberately. Someone young enough to relate to them, attractive enough toseem appealing, damaged enough to be easily controlled. You've served your purpose beautifully."
The lie flows from my tongue. In truth, she's far more than an educational tool. She's become an obsession, a need that grows stronger each day. But letting her believe she's merely a cautionary tale serves multiple purposes. It wounds her pride, increases her isolation, and provides cover for my true intentions.
Her hands clench into fists against her thighs, silk whispering with the movement. "You bastard."
The insult hangs in the morning air. I allow it to settle, let her feel the weight of what she's just said to a man who could end her existence with a word.
I move to tower over her kneeling form. My hand closes around her throat—not squeezing, but claiming the space, tilting her chin up so she's forced to meet my eyes.
"Language, Paige-san." My tone remains controlled, but cold enters my voice. "Though I suppose such crudeness is typical of your upbringing. No father to teach you respect, no stable family to model proper behavior. Is it any wonder you turned out so... unrefined?"
The words hit their target. Her face goes pale beneath my palm, then floods with humiliated color as my assessment finds every vulnerable point. Abandoned by her father, discarded by her fiancé, now reduced to a teaching aid in a foreign country where she understands nothing about the true rules of engagement.
"You know nothing about my family," she whispers, but the words lack conviction.
"Absent father who chose his new life over his responsibilities. Mother too focused on her own pain to provide stability. Parents who used their child as a messenger between hostile camps,forcing her to navigate conflicts that should never have been her burden."
I watch her flinch with each accurate detail, see the way her breath hitches as I dismantle the lies she's told herself about her upbringing.
"A young woman desperate for approval, willing to sacrifice her own needs to keep others happy. So eager to please that she stays with a man who takes her for granted, who sees her as convenient rather than cherished." I complete the circle, standing directly in front of her again. "Tell me, did David ever make you feel truly wanted? Or were you simply useful?"
"Stop." The word comes out broken.
"The truth hurts, doesn't it?" I kneel before her, bringing us to eye level but maintaining the psychological advantage. My knees brush against hers through the layers of silk, a deliberate invasion of space. "You came to Japan seeking the stability you never had, the structure your chaos craves. And here you are, on your knees before a man who understands exactly what you need."
Her breathing is rapid now, shallow. The combination of humiliation and proximity having its effect. Her pupils dilate as I lean closer, the scent of her skin filling my senses.
"I won't let you manipulate me," she says, but her voice shakes with the effort of defiance.
"Manipulate?" I reach out to cup her chin, tilting her face up to mine. Her skin is fever-warm under my fingers. I let my thumb drag across her lower lip, feeling its fullness. "Is that what you call giving you exactly what you've been craving your entire life?"
"I don't crave this."
"Your body says otherwise." My thumb traces along her jawline, feeling the pulse hammering beneath her skin. "The way you respond to authority, how you melt when given clear direction. You were made for submission, Paige. Bred for itacross generations of women who understood their place in the natural order."
"That's not—" she starts, but I silence her with a finger across her lips.
"Shh. Let me tell you what you are." I lean closer, my breath ghosting across her ear, my lips nearly touching her skin. "You're a woman without purpose, drifting through life hoping someone strong enough will claim you completely. You want to belong to something larger than yourself, to serve a master worthy of your devotion."
My hand moves to rest against her throat, feeling her pulse race beneath my palm. My other hand finds the small of her back, drawing her slightly closer, testing how her body responds to my touch.
"You want to kneel," I continue, my voice dropping to something intimate and commanding. "You want to be owned. You want to stop thinking, stop choosing, stop carrying the burden of independence that's brought you nothing but pain."
"No," she whispers, but the word holds no conviction. Her body betrays her, leaning into my touch.
"Look at me, Paige." I tighten my grip slightly on her throat, just enough pressure to make breathing deliberate. When she meets my gaze, I let my eyes drop to her mouth, then lower, to where the yukata crosses over her chest. "Look at me and tell me you don't want this."
Her blue eyes meet mine, and I see the exact moment her defenses crumble. The walls she's built around her heart collapse under the weight of truth she can no longer deny. Her lips part, an unconscious invitation that stirs my blood.
She wants this. Wants me. Wants to surrender every burden she's carried since childhood and let someone else make the decisions, bear the responsibility, provide the structure her soul craves.
"I..." she starts, then stops. Swallows hard against my palm. "I don't understand what's happening to me."
