Chapter 9

[Warning! Contains something from Dazai's thought you have been warned]

Dazai had brought Kitty to Mori. Every step toward the Mafia's headquarters felt like another link in the chain binding her to an inevitable fate. The cuffs around her wrists clinked softly as they walked, a cruel reminder of her position. From the garage to the grand office, she felt the weight of humiliation pressing down on her, as if she was a criminal who'd committed a hebious crime.

Was being beautiful a curse? A sin? A crime?

The thought twisted inside her, filling her with a sense of injustice she couldn't voice.

When they reached Mori's office, she was ushered inside like a prized possession, something to be displayed and appraised. Mori's dark eyes glinted with satisfaction as his lips curved into a pleased smile.

He leaned back in his chair, his luxurious coat draped over his shoulders, giving him an air of authority that was suffocating.

"My dear Kitty," Mori said, his voice smooth, almost warm, but laced with something sinister beneath. "Has he done anything sinful to you?"

Kitty's lips pressed together in a thin line, refusing to part. Her silence wasn't just fear—it was self-preservation. Her eyes flickered downward, unwilling to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting second. The gleaming buckles on his polished shoes and the sharp cut of his suit only magnified his intimidating aura.

Dazai stood beside her, his hands buried in his coat pockets. His gaze moved between the two of them, but his expression was unreadable, lifeless. His eyes held no trace of emotion, as if he had detached himself completely from the moment, from her, from the man sitting before them. It was as though he wasn't even there.

Mori looked closely to Kitty, "Ah my dear kitten, I asked you something.," he said, "It's rude not to reply."

"No.," was her answer.

Mori was amused by the answer. However, he was intrigued by the outfit and how she'd managed to get a man's suit which were too loose on her.

Mori circled around Kitty turning behind her, he had embraced her from behind and snaked her waist, he perched his chin on her shoulders and looked straight at Dazai.

"Remember this, my sweet Kitty," he murmured, his tone dripping with mock tenderness. "You belong to me. And I don't take kindly to sharing what's mine... especially my favorites."

Dazai eyed at Mori in a very unsettling way like the way he had been an eye witness to the previous predecessors' death and how he'd slayed the old man with his scalpel and his skilled hands.

Mori kissed Kitty's cheek, the gesture more a claim than affection. He remembered her days as a barista, how men swarmed around her, charmed by her smile. The jealousy had burned him alive back then, so much so that he'd killed one of them-a quick, quiet end to his rage. Now, with her in his grasp, that possessiveness still lingered, ready to erupt at the slightest hint of defiance.

Kitty wasn't just a pawn in Mori's game. She was a symbol of something deeper—a puzzle that both Mori and Dazai were bound to solve, but in their own twisted ways.

Dazai returned to his shipping container, the familiar coldness of the space offering little comfort. He only had a chair and table for the sake of comfortness. He sat on the chair pondering about the situation.

He had never been one to take women seriously—his life had always been a series of fleeting encounters. Yet, the brief spark between him and Kitty gnawed at him, unsettling his usual detachment. The memory of her silence, her resistance, and something in her eyes made him question the mask he had worn for so long.

Dazai's thought was dangerously consumed by Kitty. The encounter between them where he'd completely lost his control.

Before knowing anything about wrongs and rights, he unbuckled his pants, his hands roamed to the insides as he encircled his girth growing larger and larger at the thought of Kitty's. He stroked it slower when he had thought about the things that took place in garage but as the scene shifted to Mori taking control over Kitty his pace turned rougher.

He panted at his own touch, he imagined that Kitty had been there on the chair moving at the pace of his hand, "Ah ah... kitty.," he groaned.

He felt exhausted after the whole scene and slept on the floor wiping all the liquids with the help of tissue.