CHAPTER 11 — STRINGS ATTACHED
1586 Words
Aanya had expected the house to relax after her decision. Somehow, she thought choosing to stay would ease some invisible pressure pressing down on everyone. Instead, the opposite happened.
The rules tightened.
The shadows thickened.
Every man in the mansion walked with their shoulders squared and their hands near their weapons. Even the air felt heavier, as if waiting for something to c***k.
By the morning of the third day, Aanya realized something important: choosing to stay didn’t make her part of Kaito’s world.
It made her the center of it.
And the world had begun to revolve around the threat attached to her existence.
She woke early, the pendant cold against her skin. When she stepped into the hallway, two guards instantly straightened. Neither spoke, but both mirrored her movement exactly—one ahead, one behind—escorting her to the training room Riku had designated.
Inside, the room was all steel, padded floors, and mirrors. Riku waited with a neutral expression and a wooden staff in hand.
“You’re late,” he said.
“It’s six in the morning,” she argued.
“And you’re still late.”
She stared. “Kaito didn’t tell me I have to train at dawn.”
“Boss didn’t need to.” Riku tossed her a smaller practice stick. “You accepted survival. Dawn comes with it.”
Aanya frowned. “I didn’t accept being hit with sticks.”
“Not yet,” he said. “But you will. Pick it up.”
She did, reluctantly.
The first lesson wasn’t a lesson at all—it was humiliation. Riku moved like air, like a whisper cutting silk. Each time she struck, he deflected. Each time she blocked, he slipped past her. Her muscles trembled, her breath burned, and frustration heated her face.
“How do you move like that?” she gasped after the tenth failed attempt.
He shrugged. “Survival.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer that matters.”
She glared. He didn’t blink.
Finally, he added, “Boss didn’t learn this because he wanted to. He learned because he had no choice.”
Something in his tone unsettled her. She had seen Kaito’s scars, but she had not fully understood them. They were history written into flesh.
Riku stepped back. “Again.”
She swung. He caught the stick mid-air, twisted, and tapped her shoulder lightly.
“Dead.”
“That doesn’t count,” she protested.
“Dead,” he repeated.
By the time they paused, Aanya collapsed onto the mat. Riku handed her a bottle of water without sympathy.
“You’ll improve,” he said. “If you stop thinking like a civilian.”
“That’s who I am.”
“For now.”
He said it so casually that it made her shiver.
Before she could argue, the door opened.
Aanya’s spine went rigid.
Kaito entered the room quietly, but his presence swallowed the space. He wore black again—always black—but today without a tie. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing more of the scars she had memorized without meaning to. The wound on his ribs was healing, though the bandage peeked faintly beneath the fabric.
His eyes swept the room, landing on her immediately.
“You’re pushing too hard,” he said to Riku.
“She needs to learn,” Riku replied.
“She also needs to breathe,” Kaito added.
Aanya flushed, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I’m fine.”
Kaito looked at her for a long second. “You’re not.”
She bristled. “Do you want me to learn or not?”
His jaw tightened slightly. He walked closer, slow, purposeful. “I want you alive. That’s not the same as wanting you bruised.”
Riku pretended to find something fascinating on the far wall.
Aanya lifted her chin. “Then train me yourself.”
The room went still.
Even Riku’s eyes flicked toward her, surprised.
Kaito stopped inches away from her and lowered his voice. “Be careful what you ask for.”
“I’m not scared,” she said.
“You should be.”
Something in his tone made her pulse jump.
Kaito turned to Riku. “Leave us.”
Riku nodded once, then slipped out silently, closing the door behind him.
The moment they were alone, the energy in the room shifted—denser, sharper, charged like static before lightning.
Kaito stepped onto the mat, motioning her forward with a tilt of his fingers.
“No wooden sticks,” he said. “Your hands. Your body.”
“I barely know how to stand properly,” she said.
“Then learn.”
She faced him. He didn’t take a stance—didn’t prepare—he simply stood there, relaxed, watching her with eyes that saw too much.
“Attack me,” he said.
She blinked. “I’m… not doing that.”
“You asked me to train you. This is training.”
“You’re injured.”
“You won’t hit me.”
“Wow,” she muttered. “Insulting and arrogant.”
“Realistic,” he corrected. “Now try.”
She inhaled and threw a hesitant punch. He caught her wrist mid-air, turned it with effortless precision, and drew her closer until her breath hitched.
“Your stance is weak,” he murmured.
She pulled away, cheeks warming. “I wasn’t ready.”
“Then be ready.”
She tried again. A swipe, a step, a deliberate push—not with strength, but determination. Kaito blocked each motion effortlessly, his hands brushing her arms, her shoulders, her waist—never lingering, always precise.
He moved like a shadow, like the air had whispered instructions to him.
Aanya exhaled shakily. “This is impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” he said softly. “Only unfamiliar.”
She struck again. Faster. Harder.
He stopped her again—but something changed. Instead of blocking, he redirected her movement, guiding her wrist with gentle pressure, turning her body until her back brushed his chest.
“Use momentum,” he murmured near her ear.
Her breath caught.
His voice, low and close, wrapped around her spine.
“Use their weight against them. Use their speed. Never meet force with force if you can borrow it instead.”
She nodded without realizing her eyes had closed for a heartbeat.
“And don’t close your eyes,” he added.
She opened them quickly, flustered.
He stepped back, creating distance. “Again.”
This time, she moved with more confidence, pushing the fear aside. Kaito let her get closer, let her think she had an opening—only to pivot at the last second, catching her by the waist and lowering her gently to the mat.
She found herself staring up at him, breathless.
“You hesitated,” he said quietly.
“No,” she whispered, flushed. “You distracted me.”
His eyes flickered with something dangerous, unreadable.
“I didn’t touch you.”
“Exactly,” she murmured, and regretted it immediately.
A muscle in his jaw jumped.
He stood and offered his hand. She took it without thinking. His grip was warm, steady, grounding.
“Again tomorrow,” he said.
“Tomorrow?” she asked. “This was enough torture for a week.”
“You wanted to learn.”
“Yes, but—”
“You don’t learn survival in one morning.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the smile vanished as quickly as it came.
“We have a problem,” he said.
Her breath froze. “What kind of problem?”
He walked toward the window, gazing out at the courtyard where men patrolled in silent formation.
“Rin didn’t send just an offer,” Kaito said. “He sent a message.”
He slid a piece of paper across the desk. A single symbol marked it—sharp, angular, familiar.
Aanya’s stomach dropped. She had seen that symbol once before.
On the night she was taken.
On the warehouse door.
“It’s the same group,” she whispered.
“The same crew,” Kaito confirmed.
“Are they coming again?”
“They’re already nearby.”
Aanya stepped back. “What? Now?”
“No,” he said. “They won’t attack today. They’re watching. Waiting.”
“For what?”
“For my reaction,” he said. “For yours.”
That implication terrified her.
“What do they want from me?” she whispered.
“To break me,” he answered. “To prove they can reach inside my walls. To use you against me.”
She swallowed. “And you won’t let them.”
“No.”
The word cracked like stone.
She exhaled slowly. “So what do we do now?”
His eyes met hers, dark and final.
“Now, Aanya… you learn the truth.”
She stepped closer. “What truth?”
His jaw tightened, as though the words themselves were a burden.
“The truth,” he said, “about why they want you.”
Her pulse spiked. “I thought it was because I saw something.”
“No,” he said. “It’s more than that.”
“What is it, then?” she pressed, heart pounding.
Kaito inhaled deeply, then turned fully to face her.
“Aanya… you weren’t in the wrong place that night.”
Her blood went cold.
“You were the target.”
Her world broke open.
- Writer
