Reblogged

Betrayal (Pt. 4)

I know I should be polite; that trait was instilled in me since birth. Unlike others, my family wasn't born rich. I didn't take etiquette classes or have a silver spoon from the beginning. My dad started with nothing worked his way up. Somehow, overnight, we went from being hungry and living in a one-bedroom apartment to luxury apartment complexes, private tutors, and an unlimited debit card. I didn’t ask questions. I should have. But sitting here, in this dining room, I just feel sick.

The chandelier overhead sparkles, a characteristic that feels almost mocking. The table set before us adorn with fine china and polished silverware, the kind that makes you feel inferior for not knowing fork types. My father, now dressed in designer clothes, chats with the Yamamotos, another prominent family. Their conversation doesn't invite me in very often, filled with arrogance and thinly veiled hatred for anyone they deem beneath them.

“Sweetheart, could you be a dear and pour Mr. Yamamoto some more wine?” my father asks, his tone carrying the weight of expectation.

I nod, forcing a smile as I take the bottle and pour the wine. Mr. Yamamoto barely acknowledges me, too engrossed in his own self-importance. They could have had a server do it, but I am a good, obedient daughter. I keep my gaze lowered, careful not to meet anyone's eyes, and focus on filling each glass just right. The chatter around the table blends into a dull hum, their laughter grating against my ears. This is my role, after all, to be seen and not heard, to be useful but invisible.

"Thank you, darling," my father says, his voice dripping with pride. I give a slight bow, retreating to my place at the table.

Mr. Yamamoto continues his monologue, and I allow my mind to drift, counting down the minutes until this dinner is over. Until I can escape the suffocating expectations and reclaim my freedom.

“And what do you think about our business proposal, dear?” Mrs. Yamamoto chimes in, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”

Her question drips with condescension, as if she already knows the answer she wants to hear. I can feel my father’s eyes on me.

“I believe it’s a significant opportunity for both our families,” I navigate the mind field, keeping my voice steady. “However, I think it’s important to ensure that any partnership is based on mutual respect and understanding.”

Mrs. Yamamoto’s smiles thin and cold. “Of course. Respect and understanding. Those are… lawyer qualities.”

Their son, Takashi, sits across from me, his gaze lingering on my body in a way that makes my skin crawl. He hasn’t said much, but his presence is nauseating.

“Sweetheart,” my father says, his voice gentle, “why don’t you show Takashi the garden? I’m sure he would appreciate the fresh air.”

I want to refuse, to stay within the safety of the dining room despite the tension, but I know better than to defy my father in front of our guests. “Of course,” I say, standing and gesturing for Takashi to follow me.

The garden is beautifully lit, with the soft glow of lanterns casting a cold light on the meticulously maintained flowers and shrubs. I walk ahead, trying to maintain a semblance of composure, the wind sending a chill down my spine. I miss Katsuki.

“It’s quite a lovely garden,” Takashi remarks, his voice unnervingly smooth. “You must spend a lot of time here.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

He steps closer, his presence invading my space. “You know, our families coming together would be quite beneficial. Don’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” I say, taking a step back. “But it’s important that we both have a say in our future.”

Takashi’s smile is predatory. “You’re quite the modern woman, aren’t you? Independent, strong-willed. But sometimes, it’s better to let the men handle things. Marriage should be logical, not emotional”

His words make my blood boil, but I keep my expression calm. “I believe marriage should be equal, with both sides contributing their strengths.”

Takashi chuckles, a sound that grates on my nerves. “Your only strength is carrying my children.” His right-hand wraps around my forearm, his nails sinking in hard.

I prepare to object, ready to put this punk in his place, but someone beats me to it. A hand wraps around the back of his throat, forcibly slamming him into the wall several feet away. My wide eyes meet Taro's calm ones. His other hand restrains Takashi further as he looks back at him.

"Are you hurt?" Taro barks, his voice firm and commanding.

"I'm going to kil-" Takashi shouts before being slammed into the wall again, his chest thudding on impact.

"Not you," Taro says, looking at me again, his calculating eyes scanning my body.

"I'm okay," I manage to say, my voice surprising me—soft and delicate, almost nervous.

"Did he touch you?"

"I didn't touc-" Takashi tries to defend himself, but Taro cuts him off.

"Man, you don't have permission to speak." Taro removes Takashi from the wall, throwing him to the ground. A delicate gold chain slips out of his shirt as he bends over, whispering something inaudible to me but terrifying to Takashi, who scrambles backward and away from the house. My eyes follow him as he leaves, unable to look away. I don't even notice Taro standing next to me until his hands are on my body. I try to thrash away, but his firm hands hold my midsection tightly, refusing to budge.

"It's okay, he won't hurt you," Taro reassures me.

"I could have handled that," I scold him.

"I don't doubt you, miss."

"You could lose your job. Do you know who that was?"

"It's sweet you care about that, miss, but I won't lose my job," Taro replies confidently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. A confidence that doesn't sit well with me, I stare at him, trying to regain my composure. "Why are you so sure of that?" I ask, my voice sharper than intended.

He meets my gaze steadily. "Because your father hired me for situations just like this. Protecting you and your family is my job, no matter who I have to deal with."

I cross my arms over my chest, still feeling the sting of Takashi's nails in my skin. "My father didn't hire you to play the hero."

"Maybe not," Taro concedes raising his hands in self-surrender, "but I won't stand by while someone disrespects you."

I can't argue with that, but still. "Just… be careful. The Yamamoto's aren't good people."

Taro gives a small nod, his eyes never leaving mine. "Understood, miss. But my priority is you.”

For a moment, I feel a strange sense of safety in his presence. "Thank you, Taro," I say quietly.

He inclines his head slightly. "It's my pleasure."

The tension in the air lingers as Taro steps back, giving me space. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "I should probably get back inside. My father will be wondering where I am."

"I'll accompany you," Taro says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

We walk back to the house in silence, my mind racing with the events of the evening. As we approach the entrance, I pause and turn to Taro. "Promise me you'll be careful... I don't like the idea of someone hurt..."

Taro's expression softens slightly. "I promise, miss. Now, let's get you inside."

The evening finally draws to a close, the Yamamotos taking their leave with promises of further discussions. I join my father’s side, maintaining the polite facade until the door closes behind them.

“You did well tonight, sweetheart,” my father says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“I hate him,” I reply, heading back into the kitchen for a bottle of wine. I uncork it and take a swig straight from the bottle, my face scowling at the taste before reading the label. “I thought wine got better with age?” I look for Taro, but he isn't in the room anymore.

My father looks at me, head slightly tilted in a mixture of amusement then sadness. “Takashi can take care of you, I'm getting older you know.”

“Seriously, why does this bottle taste like ass? A 1945 bottle should taste good.” I switch hands the bottle is in and lean against the counter, looking at my father. "I don't need someone taking care of me. I make plenty of money."

He snorts, amusement shining in his eyes. “You’re drinking a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of wine. You should enjoy children and a family darling.”

I cough as he mentions the price, causing me to choke on it. My hand hits my chest as I try to regulate my breathing.

“You could have told me,” I manage to say between coughs.

“Would it have made a difference?” he asks, still amused.

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see the name “Yuuto Kimura” flashing on the screen. I answer the call, my tone shifting to professional. “Hello?”

"It’s an emergency,” Mr. Kimura says, his voice frantic. "I need you to fix this.”

“Where are you?,” I say, grabbing my coat and heading for the door. “What are the charges?”

“They said he built a bomb,” he replies, his voice unraveling. “Oh my god.”

“I’m on my way.”

I hang up and look at my father. “I have to go. Client emergency.”

He nods, understanding in his eyes. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

I rush out the door and into my car, my mind racing with questions. Why would they think Mr. Kimura’s son was involved in terrorism? The last time I saw Kenji, he had just been accepted to medical school. He had been the perfect Japanese son for years.

As I speed through the city streets, the memories flood back—Kenji's shy smile at his acceptance party, his pride in following in his mother's footsteps. How could someone like him be mixed up in something so dark?

Arriving at the police station, I park hastily and make my way to the entrance. I scan my ID and attempt to push the bar open, but it doesn't budge. I scan it again, looking down this time, and a red border denying me entry flashes. My heart sinks. Just then, a door opens, and a detective walks out from a side doorway.

"Good evening, ma'am," he says.

I wave at him, offering a friendly smile. "Detective Ito, maybe you could help me." I meet him halfway, showing him my ID badge. "It seems like my access card isn't working."

Detective Ito frowns and looks down at the card. Walking us over, he scans the pass, only for it to show the red border again. "Hmm," he thinks for a moment, "Let's see why this isn't working." His fingers work diligently as he types into the computer, clicking through several folders before frowning.

"I apologize," he speaks up.

"For what, Detective?"

"You're currently banned from the premises."

"Excuse me?" My voice drops low, anger simmering beneath the surface. "My client is inside. You can't refuse his legal counsel."

"We're not refusing his legal counsel. Mr. Kenji Kimura is more than welcome to hire a new lawyer."

"He doesn't need a new lawyer," I grit out, clenching my teeth in anger. "Do you know the Kimura family pays a very hefty retainer for me?"

"I'm sure they do, ma—" I cut him off.

"Mr. Kimura is one of the biggest politicians in the country. Do you know how fast I will have each of you fired for a human right violation? Do you really want to play this game with me?"

Detective Ito sighs, looking conflicted. "I can't do anything else for you, ma'am."

Fuming, I turn on my heel and step back into the cool night air. Slamming my car door shut, I start the engine and drive off, frustration bubbling over. It doesn't take long to make it to Katsuki's apartment. I practically run up the steps, my heart pounding as I swing open his unlocked front door.

Kirishima is the first to see me, his eyes going wide as I seethe. The redhead attempts to talk to me, but I brush him off, ignoring him and continuing into the apartment.

Eijiro cusses under his breath as he follows. "Hey, calm down! What's going on?" he calls after me, but I’m already storming into the living room.

"Katsuki!" I shout, my voice echoing off the walls. Bakugo looks up from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing when he sees me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he growls, standing up.

"You have got to be fucking with me, right? Please tell me you weren't apart of me being banned from the police station," I accuse, my hands clenched into fists.

He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Maybe I was. What of it?"

I take a step closer, fury burning in my eyes. "This is low, even for you. A client needs me, and you’re playing petty games?"

"You don't help people" he snaps, his expression darkening. "You keep elitist out of jail."

"This isn't about what pays the bills!" I shout back. "This is about a man's life! You’re punishing him because you're mad at me?"

Kirishima steps between us, holding up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, let's all just take a step back here."

"Stay out of this, Eijiro," Bakugo and I say in unison, glaring at each other.

"I’m not staying out of anything," Kirishima retorts, looking between us. "Look, Katsuki, banning her from the station is extreme. You know that."

Bakugo’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Katsuki, please. This isn’t just about you and me. If you care about justice at all, you’ll lift that ban."

For a moment, he looks like he might argue, but then he sighs heavily. "Fine. I’ll make a call. But this doesn’t change anything."

"Thank you," I say, the anger in my voice giving way to relief. "That’s all I needed."

Kirishima breathes a sigh of relief, stepping back. "Alright, now that that's settled, how about we all cool down?"

I nod, my shoulders relaxing slightly. "I need to go. There’s a lot to do."

As I turn to leave, Bakugo’s voice stops me. “Wait.”

I look back at him, his eyes now softer, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his tough exterior. “I didn’t do it to hurt your client,” he mutters, struggling to find the right words.

His crimson eyes sweep over my outfit, clearly approving of the red dress. It's from last season, but it’s his mother’s design.

“You should make that call now,” I say, stepping away and turning toward the door, my hand landing on the platinum knob. I look back at them, my hair cascading down my back. “If you mess with my career or family again, I will come after the one thing you love most: your reputation.”

With that, I open the door and leave, never once looking back.

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