Chapter 3 - Unspoken

Unspoken

The night left me restless, every creak of the villa thick with his shadow. By morning I sought refuge in the garden, burying my hands in soil, at work, in silence. If I kept busy, maybe the weight of his voice would lift. But even among roses, I felt it still—his eyes, unseen, heavy as ever.

The garden always felt like a shield. Soil under my nails, sweat across my back, the steady rhythm of pruning shears—here, I could almost forget the weight pressing on me. Almost.

I worked slower than usual, letting my hands linger over each stem, each thorn. The roses leaned toward the light, petals flushed crimson against the fading summer green.

Their scent rose sweet and sharp, mingling with damp earth and the faint metallic tang of my pruning shears. I should have felt comfort here, in this place I’d nursed back from neglect. Yet every trimmed branch, every fallen petal, seemed to whisper of something fragile I could not protect.

My shirt clung to me with sweat, the air heavy, thick. I pressed a palm to the soil, cool and grainy, and closed my eyes as if the earth itself could steady me. But the quiet was a lie. In silence, his presence grew louder.

I thought of the way his gaze followed me even when his back was turned. I thought of his voice, calm, precise, carving too close.

The garden should have been mine. Yet even here, it belonged to him.

The sun slid low, painting the villa’s white walls in amber. I wiped my brow and whispered to myself: finish, pack up, go home. The distance was safe.

But my heart betrayed me, hammering when I heard the soft tread of his shoes on gravel.

“Asami,” I muttered, already bracing.

He stopped at the gate, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly. “Still working.”

“Yes, Master Asami.” I bowed my head, fussing with a rose stem I’d already cut. “I was just finishing.”

“Don’t.” His voice was calm, unhurried. “Stay the night. The buses won’t run now.”

I swallowed hard. “I can walk.”

“You won’t.” His tone left no room for air. “Aisha will prepare a room. Come. You’ll join me before dinner.”

The balcony stretched open to twilight, air cool and sharp. The evening air clung cool and sharp against my skin, the kind that carried both relief and warning. Below us, the gravel paths glimmered faintly in the fading light, and somewhere in the garden a cicada rasped its tired song.

Smoke drifted lazily from the cigarette between his fingers, curling into shapes the night swallowed whole. The smell of it stung my throat before I’d even breathed it in.

Chairs had been placed too close together—deliberately, it seemed. When I stepped onto the balcony, I felt the trap close, a space too small to hide in. The villa’s white walls reflected the last slant of sun, warm and unforgiving, while shadows stretched long and skeletal across the floorboards.

He leaned against the railing as though the world itself bent to his ease. I, on the other hand, hovered awkwardly, palms damp, heart pounding far louder than his calm presence deserved. I wanted to linger near the doorway, to keep some distance between us, but his eyes flicked toward me once, a simple glance that made the choice for me.

He gestured for me to sit.

I hesitated. “I don’t—”

“Sit.” His gaze pinned me until my body obeyed before my mind caught up.

He held out the pack. “Take one.”

“I don’t smoke,” I said quickly. My voice cracked. “Not really.”

“Then start.” The lighter flared, painting his face in brief gold. He leaned close, steadying me with a hand at the back of my neck. My whole body locked.

“Breathe in,” he murmured.

I obeyed. Smoke burned my throat, seared my chest. I coughed until my eyes watered. He smirked faintly, amused. “Not so easy, is it?”

“I told you,” I rasped. “It’s not for me.”

“You don’t know what’s for you.” Ash tapped lightly into the tray. “You’ve never let yourself find out.”

God, stop. Stop talking like you see through me. My skin felt flayed raw beneath his voice. If he knew what I wanted, what I dreamed at night—I would never dare stay here again.

I fixed my gaze on the dark horizon, anywhere but him. “The garden needs care. Tomorrow, I should—”

“Always the garden,” he cut in. “Never yourself.”

“It’s my job.”

“No.” His eyes narrowed, even in the dim. “It’s your shield.”

My breath faltered. I held the cigarette like an anchor, though my hand trembled so badly ash spilled across my knee.

“Why hide, Ichinose?” His voice softened, dangerous in its gentleness. “What are you afraid of me seeing?”

“I’m not—” I broke off, too fast. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Then look at me.”

My chest seized. I forced my eyes up for only a second. His gaze caught mine, steady, relentless. My pulse spiked so hard I thought I’d faint. I looked away instantly, shame clawing through me.

“See?” His tone was quiet triumph. “You can’t.”

Because if I looked too long, I’d fall. I’d say it. I’d beg. And once the truth escaped, I could never take it back. Better to choke on silence than drown in confession

He exhaled slow, watching the smoke curl and thin. Then he turned his eyes back to me, not unkind but unrelenting.

“You tremble every time I touch you,” he said, quiet enough that the word landed inside my ribs.

My hands went cold. “I—I don’t.” I tried to laugh and it came out split and small.

“You do.”

His voice dropped, close enough that I felt the warmth of it on my cheek. He reached, not brusque but deliberate, and his fingers brushed my wrist—light, almost casual. The touch was a match across dry paper. Heat climbed my arm and my breath snagged.

“It’s nothing,” I said because it had to be. The truth tasted like metal in my mouth. If I admitted why—if I let it out—he would know me in a way I could never undo.

He smiled a little that dangerous smile. “Excuses.”

He leaned forward, the cigarette between his lips, and the ember flared.

“You always hide. Behind your work in the garden and the rules. You think hiding protects you.” He tapped ash, slow. “But it only builds the room you live in.”

Every word pressed on me like hands. My knuckles went white on the chair. “Please,” I wanted to say—Please don’t find me, please don’t ask—but the plea jammed behind my teeth.

He watched me like a man watching a fragile prey, he both wanted and feared to break.

“Why do you keep yourself small, Ichinose?” The question was simple, but the weight behind it felt like an accusation and an invitation at once.

Because if I answered, I’d give him everything. Because if I lied, I would keep living in this smallness. Because I wanted him to want me and I wanted to hide from that wanting. I swallowed and let the cigarette fall to the tray.

He sat back, eyes never leaving me. For a heartbeat the world narrowed to his gaze and the dull ache beneath my ribs. I thought I could hold it—hold the silence, the small lies, the slow burn—until he pressed, just once more, and I felt the thin line inside me begin to fray.

“You remember,” he said suddenly, “the day you almost fell in the hall? I caught you.”

I froze. “Y-yes.”

“You shook then too.” His eyes sharpened. “That wasn’t fear of falling.”

“It was,” I insisted, too quickly. My voice splintered. “I was startled.”

Silence fell. He didn’t look away. He let it stretch, heavy, until I could hear the blood pounding in my ears. His gaze was steady as stone, pressing harder with every heartbeat.

My hands clenched against my knees. A tremor betrayed me anyway, running through my arm. I tried to be still, but it only grew worse under the weight of him.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said at last, voice soft but certain.

Heat flared through me, shame burning so hot it felt like fever. I looked down, anywhere but at him, and still the words clawed at my throat.

Tell him. Say it. End this desire. End this meekness.

But if I spoke, I’d ruin everything.

“You are lying,” he murmured again, leaning closer now, patient as a hunter. “And you know I see it.”

I couldn’t breathe. My lips parted uselessly, a soundless confession trembling at the edge.

And then—he sat back, the pressure loosening all at once. “I’ll let it go. For now.”

Relief crashed into me, sharp enough to sting. Terror followed close behind. He hadn’t cornered me. Not yet. But he could. He would. And when he did, I’d have nothing left to shield me.

Aisha’s voice cut through the air, soft but certain: “Master Asami, the table is ready.”

The spell broke. He stubbed out his cigarette, brushing ash from his fingers. “Good,” he said smoothly, already rising. “Come, Ichinose.”

I scrambled to my feet, dizzy with release, though my chest still burned—smoke and longing tangled tight.

I should have been grateful. The moment passed. He didn’t press me harder. But some cruel part of me ached that he let me go. What kind of fool wishes to be cornered?

We walked the corridor in silence.

The corridor stretched on like a tunnel, each step swallowed by carpets that muffled sound but not the weight. Lamps glowed faintly along the walls, their light trembling in the draft, throwing the portraits into restless shadow.

Faces painted long before my time stared down at us, cold and unsmiling. I fixed my gaze on the floor, as if even painted eyes might read what I was trying so hard to hide.

His footsteps were steady, unhurried. Mine stumbled half a pace behind, as though my body knew its place even when my mind fought against it. His shadow reached far ahead, certain and commanding; mine trailed after like a faint echo. Following felt too much like surrender, yet resisting never once crossed my mind.

I wanted to say something—anything—to cut through the silence before it cut me open. But what would I say? I’m fine. Don’t look at me. Look at me. Every word I could imagine either betrayed too much or meant nothing at all.

The quiet pressed harder than speech ever could. By the time we neared the dining room doors, my chest ached as though I’d been running. But all I’d done was follow. Always follow.

At the dining room doors he paused, glancing back. Just one glance, but it held me there, suspended—a silent question I had no answer for. My throat closed around words that would never leave me.

Then he pushed the door open, calm as ever.

I followed, heart raw, lungs burning with everything I couldn’t say.

One day, he’ll demand the truth outright. One day, I won’t be able to swallow it back. And when that day comes, I don’t know if it will save me—or ruin me forever.

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To be continued…