A Mansion Built of Silence
The room smelled like silk, steel, and something she couldn't name.
Anika stood alone in the center of her new bedroom, arms wrapped tightly around herself. The wedding kimono had been replaced with a simple white robe, soft but suffocating. Her suitcase had arrived—though she hadn't packed it. Someone else had chosen what she'd be allowed to own now.
She didn't know how long she stood there, afraid to sit. Afraid to sleep. Afraid to breathe wrong.
The lights were dim. Not warm. Controlled.
Every wall in this house seemed to listen.
She walked to the window, fingers trembling on the velvet curtain. The view was a courtyard shrouded in shadows, lanterns burning low, and the sound of wind rattling bamboo chimes like bones.
She felt watched.
And she was right.
The door opened without a knock.
Rai Kurosawa stepped in, silent as a ghost.
He didn't wear a kimono anymore—just black slacks, an unbuttoned dress shirt exposing the black rose tattoo spiraling from his collarbone to the edge of his ribs.
He shut the door behind him.
Locked it.
Anika's mouth went dry.
"I was told you'd sleep in your own wing," she whispered.
"I changed my mind," he said simply.
He moved with the calm precision of someone who knew exactly what effect his presence had—how it wrapped around her lungs like a noose.
"This is our home now," he continued, scanning the room. "That means our rules. Our appearances. Our bed."
Her knees nearly buckled.
"I won't—" she started, but his eyes locked on hers, and her voice died.
Rai stepped closer. Not fast. Not threatening. But slow, cold, inevitable.
"No one asked you to want this," he said softly. "You exist here because I allow it. Not because you're welcome. And not because you're free."
Anika's back hit the wall.
She looked up at him, heart slamming in her chest. "Then what am I?"
His fingers brushed her jaw—soft, but terrifying.
"Property," he murmured.
"Pretty property. Temporary. But mine."
She slapped his hand away, shaking.
Rai didn't flinch. His smile was faint. Dark amusement flickered in his eyes. "Good. I hate when they break too early."
"What do you want from me?" she asked.
His voice lowered. "Everything. And nothing. You'll be what I need, when I need it. Until your time runs out."
He turned away, walking to the opposite side of the room.
She stayed frozen by the wall, arms tight across her chest, afraid to cry. Crying would make her weak. And weakness, in this place, was bait.
Rai sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, gaze locked on the floor.
"I won't touch you tonight," he said flatly. "But the house will test you. The staff will push. The guards will watch. They want to see if the bride survives week one."
He stood, walking past her toward the door.
"But make no mistake, Anika," he said, hand on the knob, "this mansion doesn't protect you from me. It protects the world from what happens if you disobey."
Click.
The door opened.
He was gone.
She sank to the floor after the door closed.
The silence returned.
But now, it carried his voice in it.
His presence lingered like smoke.
Outside the window, wind brushed against the paper screen. Somewhere in the house, a door creaked. And in her chest, her heart pulsed like a hunted animal.
>LShe wasn't a bride.
She was a cage bird in a gilded tomb.
And tomorrow, the real test would begin.