Chapter 13 - My Rules, My Sanction

And then, his voice came— low, deliberate,

“Most of all, you don’t belong to anyone else. Not anymore.” cutting straight through me. “Most importantly, you’re staying here in the villa until I say you can go.”

“Yes… I understand, Master Asami.”

The words barely left my lips before my throat closed up again. My voice cracked like thin glass, and I dropped my head, willing myself not to cry, not to humiliate myself in front of him again. My fingers curled into fists against my knees.

He said nothing at first. Nothing. Just the faint clink of ice against crystal as he tipped his glass, slow and deliberate. The silence burned worse than any shouting would have. At least anger had edges I could see. Silence only stretched, coiled, waiting to snap.

I kept my head down, but I could feel it—the weight of his gaze, pressing, judging. Every second dragged, heavy with his disappointment.

I had broken the vase. Her vase. The only piece of his mother that had survived. Even if I said sorry a thousand times, nothing would change the shards scattered across the floor. The sound of it shattering still rang in my ears, sharp and merciless.

My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. I’d ruined something irreplaceable, and with it, maybe any chance he’d ever see me as anything more than a burden.

Worse was the thought of Paige. Sweet, fragile Paige. If his anger turned toward her, she’d never survive it. She couldn’t even withstand his raised voice, much less the kind of fury that twisted inside him now. She’d break under it, and it would be my fault.

I forced myself to lift my eyes, just for a second, to find him leaning back in his chair, glass balanced loosely between his fingers. He looked carved out of stone, cold and untouchable, but I caught it—the tiny twitch in his jaw, the way his grip tightened until the glass creaked.

“I told you before,” he said at last, voice low, even.

“When you’re under my roof, you follow my rules. When you disobey, when you betray that trust—someone pays for it.” he added, too calm.

My stomach twisted hard. Someone. He didn’t have to say who.

I shook my head quickly, desperate, my voice breaking out before I could stop it.

“Don’t—don’t punish her. Please. She had nothing to do with this. It was me. Only me.”

His eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of amusement— or maybe cruelty— passing through them. He set the glass down with a soft click, then leaned forward.

“Then take it,” he said.

“Take the punishment onto yourself. Accept my condition. Obey, and Paige remains unharmed. Defy me, and…” His hand spread on the table, palm flat, the tendons straining.

I won’t hesitate," he said, his voice full of authority.

The words rolled over me like chains, one after another, locking tight. My throat ached from holding back a sob. Obedience was the only choice left, the only shield between Paige and his wrath.

I nodded, once, sharp and trembling. My shame burned hotter than fire, but it was nothing compared to the dread of her facing punishment.

He caught that nod, of course he did. His eyes lingered on me, drinking in my weakness. Then, for the briefest moment, he closed them, as if it hurt him to see me this way. But when they opened again, they were sharper, darker, cutting into me like a blade.

“You understand me now,” he said softly.

“You are mine. And as long as you are mine, no one else suffers for your mistakes.” Too softly.

The words seared straight through me, branding me in a place no one could see.

I couldn’t stand the silence anymore. It pressed against me, louder than his voice had been, heavier than his anger. My chest felt like it would cave in if I stayed under it one second longer.

I gripped the edge of the table, forced my knees to lock, and pushed myself upright. The motion sent fire up my injured ankle, but I didn’t care. Pain was easier than silence.

“Master Asami…” My voice cracked, small and pleading. I swallowed hard and tried again. “I’ll be going now. I… I want to rest, please.”

My words hung between us, pitiful things, but they were all I had left to offer him. Not an apology, not an excuse—just the need to retreat before I broke entirely.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His eyes tracked me, steady, unreadable. Then he set his glass aside and stood, the shift of his weight commanding the room.

“Yes,” he said at last, the single syllable clipped but not unkind.

“You can. Let me help you.” His gaze flicked to my ankle, then back to my face.

“Be careful when climbing the stairs.”

The bluntness of his words should have stung, but something in them—protective, measured—struck deeper instead. I couldn’t bring myself to reply.

I reached for the crutch leaning by the chair, fingers clumsy from shaking, and hauled myself upright. The pain surged again, sharp enough to make my breath catch. Before I could steady myself, his hand brushed my elbow. Firm. Grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he said simply.

I froze at the contact, my skin burning under his touch. He didn’t grip too hard—just enough to steady me, to keep me from collapsing. Still, it felt like a brand, marking me more than his words had.

We moved toward the stairs, step by slow step, his presence a shadow at my side. My tears betrayed me then, sliding hot down my cheeks. I wiped them fast, furious at myself, not wanting him to see me crumbling.

He noticed anyway. Of course he did. I saw it in the way his jaw tightened, the faint twitch of his lips before he said nothing. He let me keep my silence, but his hand never left my arm.

The stairs loomed ahead, impossibly steep, and for a moment I faltered. I hated how weak I was, hated that I couldn’t even face a set of stairs without fear.

His grip shifted— firmer now, guiding.

“Lean on me,” he ordered, with no room for argument.

I obeyed, letting his strength take half my weight. My crutch clattered softly against each step, and every rise made my muscles scream, but with him there, I kept moving.

Halfway up, I dared a glance at him. His expression was tight, carved from restraint. Protective, yes, but heavy with something else I couldn’t name. He looked like a man holding himself back, like every instinct in him screamed to pull me closer but he forced his hands to remain steady, practical.

I didn’t understand him. I don’t understand why he chained me with one hand and steadied me with the other. Why his silence felt both cruel and comforting all at once.

At the landing, I stumbled, just slightly, and his arm wrapped around my back before I could catch myself. My breath hitched, his chest warm against my shoulder. For one dizzying second, I almost leaned into him—wanted to.

Then I remembered the vase. His anger. The threat still echoing in my ears.

I pulled back as soon as my balance returned, heart hammering too fast, throat raw with unshed words.

We reached my door at last. I wanted to thank him, to say something, anything—but the words stuck like shards in my throat. So I stayed silent, head bowed, letting him guide me to the final step.

I slipped inside first, clutching the crutch like it was the only thing holding me upright. The second the door clicked shut behind us, the tears I’d been fighting spilled over. They streaked down my cheeks, hot and relentless, no matter how hard I pressed my sleeve against them. My chest tightened until I couldn’t breathe, my throat raw from holding everything back.

I couldn’t make sense of him— of what he demanded, of the chains he’d wrapped around me with his words. I couldn’t accept that he was angry, not really, not when the thought of losing him hollowed me out from the inside.

Was it because I never gave him the answer he wanted?

Was it only about the vase?

Or was it more— something I’d ruined without even knowing how?

I had prayed for this not to happen. For him never to turn his anger on me in a way that felt final. Because if he hated me forever, if this was truly the end, I had no idea how I’d go on.

He lingered in the doorway, watching me. I felt his gaze on me even as I wiped furiously at my face, pretending I could pass off the wetness as nothing more than a sniffle. My nose burned, my eyes stung, my body felt drained and hollow. I could feel his silence pressing into me from across the room.

Part of me wanted him to leave. Part of me wanted him to stay closer.

I sank down on the edge of the bed, exhausted, the mattress dipping under my weight. The tears I’d strangled in my throat on the way upstairs broke loose the moment I was alone. They ran hot and fast, soaking my palms as I pressed them to my face.

My chest felt like it was splitting open. I couldn’t breathe without hearing his words again.

Mine. My rules. My punishment.

Every syllable dug into me, like hooks buried deep under the skin.

And I hated myself for what I did next— for the regret that surged inside me. I regretted admitting blame so openly, even though it was true. I regretted handing him that power, knowing it had been an accident all along. The truth didn’t matter. He’d already judged me. And still, I wanted his forgiveness more than I wanted air.

I reached back, pulled the crutch from under my arm, and let it clatter against the wall. Then I locked the door, the click echoing too loud in the silence. My body sagged with the weight of it all.

The pillow was damp by the time I dragged it off my face. My breath came in ragged pulls, chest aching from the force of it. I thought I was alone— until the mattress dipped.

My heart lurched. He had come in. I thought he would leave after I locked the door. I didn't know he'd come inside. I hadn't noticed at all.

“Asami—” I choked on his name, the rest of the words scattering. I couldn’t meet his eyes. I turned my face toward the wall, hoping he’d leave me here to rot in silence.

But he didn’t.

The heat of him pressed closer, his weight steady on the edge of the bed. His hand brushed my wrist, not harsh, not commanding— just enough to stop me from covering my face again.

“Look at me,” he said. Low. Not an order, not exactly— but close enough that I obeyed.

My eyes stung, red and swollen, shame crawling up my throat as I forced myself to face him. His gaze pinned me in place, sharp as always, but beneath it—something wavered. Something I couldn’t name.

His fingers hovered, almost touching my cheek, almost brushing away the tear tracks. My breath caught. The air between us thickened, humming with something I couldn’t bear to name.

For one wild second, I thought he would close the distance. That he would forget his anger, his control, and pull me against him, erase the hurt with touch instead of punishment. My chest ached with the wanting of it.

Then— he stopped. His hand clenched into a fist and dropped to his knee. He shut his eyes, as if reining himself back from a precipice.

The silence between us roared louder than my sobs had.

When he opened his eyes again, they were sharp, unreadable, locked back into place like steel gates slamming shut.

“Get some rest,” he said, his voice clipped. “You’ll need it.”

And just like that, he rose, retreating toward the door. I heard the door click.

I curled tighter on the bed, trembling. The ghost of his almost-touch burned hotter than the tears still drying on my skin.

By the time I woke up, night had already pressed in. The room was quiet, shadows stretching long across the walls, the only sound the dull throb in my ankle and the steady tick of the clock. 10:30. I had slept too long, yet not enough. My head felt heavy, my eyes raw despite the ice.

A knock startled me upright. Firm, deliberate— too controlled to be anyone but him.

My heart skittered.

I pushed myself up, crutch in hand, every step toward the door weighted with hesitation.

Then I finally opened it

Asami stood there, framed by the dim hallway light. He wasn’t dressed sharply like usual— his shirt collar hung open, his sleeves rolled halfway, his hair still messy from sleep. A faint shadow clung under his eyes, and when he spoke, his voice carried the rough edge of someone who hadn’t fully recovered from drinking.

“I brought you food.” His tone was flat, but not careless. He lifted the tray just enough for me to see. Rice, soup, something light. The steam curled in the air between us.

I swallowed hard. My chest was already too tight.

“Master Asami, you didn’t need to—”

“Eat.” He cut me off, the word final. His gaze swept over me once, sharp, lingering. “You look worse than yesterday.”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” I answered him timidly

“Eat,” he said simply, holding the tray out. His voice was rougher than usual, gravel pulled through silk.

I blinked at him, confusion knotting with the ache in my chest.

“You… brought this?”

His eyes narrowed a fraction.

“Do you see anyone else here?”

The sharpness in his voice couldn’t conceal the truth. He had carried it himself.

I stepped back, letting him in, and he moved past me, setting the tray on the small table by the bed. The smell of broth filled the room, warm and comforting, but my stomach turned with nerves. I didn’t sit. I just stood there, gripping the crutch, uncertain.

Asami straightened slowly, pressing his fingers to his forehead as though the effort cost him something. That small crack in his composure drew me in more than any command.

“You’re pale,” he muttered, turning to face me fully. His gaze traced my face, lingering too long on my swollen eyes. His jaw worked once, tight.

“Have you been crying all day?”

Heat rushed up my neck. I turned away, wishing the shadows would swallow me whole.

“It’s nothing.”

He stepped closer. Too close. The air shifted, heavy with the faint scent of whiskey still clinging to his breath. My back brushed the wall before I realized I’d retreated. My breath caught. The closeness wasn’t an accident— he could have stood back, but he didn’t.

I should’ve stepped away. I didn’t.

His hand lifted— slow, deliberate— and his knuckles grazed the curve of my cheek. The contact was feather-light, yet it burned all the same.

I froze.

His thumb traced the edge of my swollen eyelid, the touch careful, almost reverent. My chest tightened, breath locked between us.

“You should eat,” he said again, softer this time, though his hand didn’t move. His fingers slid down, brushing the line of my jaw, then pausing just beneath my chin. He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

My pulse thundered. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t breathe.

I lowered myself onto the bed, awkward with the crutch, my injured ankle screaming with the shift. He noticed—of course he noticed—and in a sudden movement, he was crouched in front of me, one hand braced on the mattress near my thigh.

I held my breath. His face was so close I could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw.

“You’ve been crying,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

His hand lifted before he seemed to think about it, fingers brushing my cheek. His palm was warm, rough, steady. He cupped my face as if testing whether I’d flinch.

I didn’t. Couldn’t.

My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could feel it through the space between us.

“Asami—” My voice cracked.

I should’ve looked away, but I couldn’t. His eyes held me there, pinned me like the words he’d chained me with the night before.

His thumb brushed under my eye, slow, deliberate, as if to erase the swollen evidence of my breakdown. He exhaled sharply, and I felt it—his breath against my skin, hot, unsteady.

Then— suddenly— his lips brushed against the side of my neck. Just the barest not fully—but enough, gone in an instant. Enough to send heat surging through me so strong I thought I’d collapse.

My knees buckled.

His hand braced beside my head, his body caging mine in, heat radiating down from every line of him. My pulse exploded, hammering against his palm still pressed over my chest.

“Don’t,” he cut in, low and rough.

His eyes burned down into mine, unreadable, wild. His face hovered inches from mine, his breath mixing with mine until I couldn’t tell which belonged to who.

I tried to turn my head, but his hand slid up, fingers curling under my jaw, forcing me back to face him. His thumb dragged across my cheek, slow, deliberate.

“You think I don’t know what you’re feeling?”

His voice was a hoarse, but beneath it was something worse—pain.

“You think I don’t see it written all over you?”

I swallowed hard. My throat was too tight to answer. My chest rose against his, the thud of my heartbeat crashing into his hand as though begging him to notice.

He leaned down, lips brushing my temple first, then sliding lower until his mouth ghosted over my cheek, the edge of my jaw, the line of my neck. My breath hitched, sharp and uncontrollable.

I felt him tremble. Asami— the one who never faltered— shaking above me. His lips pressed harder, lingering against my throat, not quite kissing, not quite pulling away.

My hand moved on its own, clutching his sleeve. I didn’t push him off. I couldn’t.

“Asami…” I whispered, though I didn’t even know what I was asking for.

His grip on my jaw tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to pin me in place. His chest pressed against mine now, the weight of him stealing the air from my lungs.

“You don’t understand,” he muttered against my skin, voice breaking at the edges.

“You make me—” He stopped, biting the words back, his forehead pressing hard against mine instead. His breath came ragged, his whole body tense as though restraining himself by force.

For one unbearable second, I thought he would give in. That his mouth would finally crush against mine. That the restraint would shatter.

For one dizzying heartbeat, I thought he’d close the gap entirely, pull me against him and erase every doubt with the press of his mouth.

But then he stilled. His hand trembled once against my jaw before dropping away. His lips left my skin, his shoulders pulled back, the wall slammed down between us again.

“Eat,” he repeated, clipped now, as if nothing had happened. His eyes were hard, unreadable, but his voice cracked just faintly at the edge.

I swallowed, my whole body trembling, the echo of his touch burning hotter than the broth cooling on the table. I nodded, because what else could I do?

He stepped back, giving me air, though the weight of him lingered. Without another word, he turned toward the door.

He lingered by the door, hand braced against the frame like he needed it to keep from coming back.

His eyes cut to me one last time, dark and unyielding.

“Obey—” his voice was low, final, “—or break.”

The door shut behind him, but the words stayed, pressing into my skin harder than his touch ever had. Leaving me in the quiet, heart racing, lips tingling with the ghost of a touch that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Author's Note:

This chapter ended up being about 3,000 words, which is longer than my usual updates. Going forward, I’ll be aiming for chapters between 1,500 and 2,000 words, but I hope you enjoy the extra content in this one! Thanks for your patience, and I appreciate you sticking with me!

In the meantime, if you've been reading and enjoying it, I would be incredibly grateful if you'd leave a comment. Knowing what you loved (or even what you didn't!) helps fuel my return. Bookmarks are wonderful, but a comment is gold!

To be continued…