Rules, Rings, and Red Ink
The first full day as Mrs. Kurosawa begins—and the cage shows its thorns.
The morning light filtered through paper screens, soft and pink. It should've been beautiful.
But to Anika, it felt like a spotlight on a prisoner.
She sat at the vanity, dressed in a pale lavender kimono embroidered with lilies—someone else had chosen it, someone else had done her hair. Aiko stood behind her, silent, adjusting a hairpin. A black rose today.
"Why this?" Anika asked flatly, staring at herself in the mirror.
"It suits your role," Aiko said. "Soft, quiet, presentable."
"You mean controlled."
Aiko's eyes flickered in the mirror but said nothing.
Downstairs, the halls of the Kurosawa estate stretched like a silent museum. Ornate. Cold. Guarded. At every corner, men in black suits watched her with unreadable eyes. Their faces were calm, but she could feel it—they expected her to break.
A woman named Mei greeted her in the dining room—a stern-faced assistant with an iPad and red lacquered nails.
"Welcome to your orientation, Lady Kurosawa," she said, like this was a corporate job.
Anika blinked. "I'm not—"
"You are," Mei interrupted. "Legally, publicly, and until Mr. Kurosawa says otherwise. Now, let's begin."
The Rules were written in bloodless black ink:
*Never leave the grounds without Rai's direct approval.
*Never speak to outsiders unless instructed.
*Never disobey a direct order from Rai or his appointed staff.
*No phones, no internet access, no personal calls.
*Meals are at exact hours. Absence is considered disrespect.
*Your smile is required in public. Your silence is preferred in private.
*Violation of any rule results in disciplinary intervention.
Anika stared at the list.
"This is insane."
Mei handed her a pen. "Sign at the bottom."
"I'm not signing this."
"You already did," Mei said, tapping a red envelope. "At the wedding. In front of witnesses."
Anika opened it.
Her signature was there. But the documents weren't in Japanese.
They were in red ink, formal contracts binding her as a legal dependent of Rai Kurosawa.
She hadn't just married a man.
She'd married into a world that rewrote laws.
Later that day, she was paraded through the mansion—introduced to staff who barely looked at her. She saw the library, the training dojo, the garden with koi fish that shimmered like polished knives.
Finally, she was led to a door guarded by two silent men.
The dining room.
A long table, black wood, gold lining. Candles flickered. Plates arranged with surgical precision.
And at the head of it all—Rai Kurosawa, dressed in black, ring glinting like a threat on his left hand.
Anika hesitated.
"You're late," he said, not looking up.
She sat. Quietly.
The room remained tense.
"Tell me, Mrs. Kurosawa," Rai said, voice soft, "what did you learn today?"
"That I'm in hell," she muttered.
One of the guards moved.
But Rai raised a hand. "Let her speak."
Anika's jaw tightened. Her fingers dug into her lap. "You didn't need a wife. You wanted a puppet."
He leaned back in his chair, swirling red wine in his glass. "And yet I married you."
"Why me?" she asked again. "You never really said."
Rai finally looked at her.
His gaze wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind either.
It was... calculating.
"Because you weren't supposed to matter," he said. "But now you do. That's unfortunate."
She stared.
He smiled.
"Eat, Anika. The real games begin tomorrow."
She didn't taste the food. She didn't sleep that night.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
The mansion was quiet again, wrapped in its blanket of obedience. But the silence wasn't peace.
It was the silence before a gunshot. Before the storm.
And somewhere down the hallway, she knew—
he was watching.