Page 41 of Kotori
"Of course. It will be returned as well." He pauses at the door. "Matsumoto-sama values you, Williams-san. That is not a small thing. Many would consider it an honor."
The way he says it—like I should be grateful for my captivity—makes me want to scream. But I stay silent as he leaves, thedoor closing behind him with a soft click that sounds like a lock engaging.
But when I get back to my room—escorted by a guard who now stands outside my door—I find my phone has been reset. No contacts. No email. No social media apps. Just a basic device that can only call numbers within the estate.
And my suitcase, when I open it, contains a surprise. All my clothes are gone. Every piece of clothing I brought from Chicago. The jeans with holes in the knees that David hated. The concert t-shirts from college. The sundresses I wore on weekends. The pajamas with cartoon cats that made me feel young and silly and like myself.
All of it. Vanished.
In their place, neatly folded, are clothes I've never seen before. Conservative blouses in muted colors. Knee-length skirts in navy and charcoal. Cardigans that would make a librarian proud. Everything in my exact size, everything perfectly appropriate for a teacher in a traditional household.
Everything chosen by someone else.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the foreign wardrobe that's supposed to be mine now. My fingers shake as I lift a gray blouse, feeling the expensive fabric that's nothing like the soft cotton t-shirts I actually chose for myself.
There's no note. No explanation. Just the systematic removal of everything that made me feel like Paige Williams from Chicago and its replacement with clothes for whatever he wants me to become.
I check the bathroom. My shampoo, conditioner, body wash—all replaced with expensive brands that smell like jasmine. Even my underwear has been switched out. Nothing lacy, nothing bright, nothing that suggests I have desires or preferences of my own.
But at the bottom of the neatly folded stack, there's something different—a simple black dress, modest neckline, knee-length, but the fabric feels expensive under my fingers. Nothing flashy, just quietly elegant in a way that screams money.
Tucked beneath it is a small card in precise handwriting:
Wear this tonight. - K
My hands shake as I hold the card. Not even trying to hide it anymore. Not bothering with plausible deniability or staff intermediaries. Just his initial, his command, his expectation that I'll comply.
The dress looks like something for a family dinner, perfectly appropriate and understated. It's also a collar disguised as courtesy. A visible symbol that I'm being dressed for his approval, shaped for his vision, claimed piece by piece until nothing of the original Paige remains.
I look at my bedroom door, now with a guard outside. At the windows that don't open. In the beautiful room that is, in every way that matters, a cell.
Kotori.
Little bird.
The pet name makes terrible sense now. I'm not just caged. I'm being collected. Kept. Possessed.
And I have absolutely no idea how to escape.
11
Kaito
Iadjustmytiein the mirror, imagining her hands fumbling with the black dress I left for her. The simple elegance of fabric chosen for tonight—modest enough for family dinner, fitted enough to showcase what belongs to me.
She's had four hours to process the message. To understand that compliance brings reward, resistance brings consequence. The conservative teacher's clothes were lesson enough, but the dress—that's an invitation to accept her new reality willingly.
Wear this tonight.
Three words that will determine whether tonight ends in gentle guidance or firmer education. I've planned every detail of the evening: where she'll sit, what we'll discuss, how I'll touch her.
The anticipation has my blood humming. This morning something broke inside her. I saw it in her eyes at the shrine, the exact moment her defenses crumbled. Tonight, I will harvest what I've sown.
My phone buzzes.
Takeshi's name on the screen makes my jaw clench. He knows better than interrupt me during dinner preparations.
"This had better be important," I answer, voice cold.
