Author's Note: Hi everyone and sorry for the wait! Thanks for being so patient and big thanks to Renolvr for her beta-reading and bullying me until I wrote something decent! xxxx
Cause I'm stronger than your bruises, I got thick skin.
"Do not question me, child!"
He was too focused on grabbing the wooden cane, too intent on snapping the offending stick in half; determined to undermine Hobson once and for all. The smart sting of the riding crop across his cheek was like an electric shock of realisation; he hadn't known the old man was in the room.
Before he could even contemplate his actions, the boy had raised a hand to his smarting cheek in a bid to comfort the red welt already lashed across it. Bad move ... worst move imaginable. That was weakness.
And so the riding crop came mercilessly from the opposite side, striking across his eye and conjuring hurt tears; tears that would not be shed. Hobson shrunk back against the wall with a gloating smile. The whip was dropped to the floor and the scent of cigar smoke, heavy and oppressive filled his nostrils. He had spoken out against his tutor and refused to take disciplining from the man. The child knew what was coming and stood as tall as his juvenile frame permitted.
The backhand was far more effective than the stupid stinging riding crop, the sheer bulk of the man knocking him to the floor. A pained yelp betrayed him and it was all Seto could do to clamp his mouth shut and bite his tongue; he would not cry out. Not even when the kicks came.
Held up by the collar around his neck and unable to see out of one eye, it was up at the man he called stepfather that the boy squinted. Nothing but hate bubbled in his young chest. And the old man's smile did nothing to assuage the loathing.
"You will play by my rules Seto, I guarantee that."
He didn't need to say anymore. Instead he dropped the boy to the floor again and left a silent threat fall right beside the assaulted ingrate. Waiting until the library was empty, the child reached out a trembling hand and picked up his little brother's stuffed toy with fear roiling in his stomach.
Mokuba!
He fell from the nightmare and woke with a violent start, sitting upright and panting. It was a nightmare that was all – a stupid dream. But Seto couldn't shake the fear in his chest and found himself out of bed and half-running down the dark hallway with memories coming to life all too vividly.
For months he had been plagued by memories from another life, sometimes even fuzzy recollections from Onjuku would float back into existence before he banished them again. Seto knew how to deal with those; they were different lives and different people. Seth and Seto Nakamura ... they were worlds apart from Seto Kaiba.
Opening the door as quietly as his panic would let him, Seto felt his flustered state deflate and relief flooded him as the teenager mumbled something in his sleep and turned over. Even in the dark room, Seto could see a pillow on the floor and the duvet was threatening to join it. Mokuba had never been a calm sleeper; he utilised every inch of the bed and was known to fall to the floor every so often.
Leaning back against the wall, Seto berated himself; of course Mokuba was safe. For years his night routine had included sneaking to the opposite side of the mansion and ensuring his brother was safe from their stepfather. As soon as the old man had died, Seto had moved Mokuba's bedroom as close to his as possible. But why that dream now?
Scanning the room and finding the stuffed toy octopus on a shelf, he conceded that it wasn't a dream – it was a cold memory. The octopus had possessed eight legs and two eyes when their father had bought it in the local toy store for baby Mokie. Sixteen years on and miles from Onjuku, Ocky was looking a tad bit worn – only five legs remained and his one surviving eye was hanging on by a thread.
Satisfied that his little brother was indeed safe, Seto retreated to the hallway and closed the door behind him again. Why did he feel so on edge? The darkness of the mansion closed in around him, the quietness ringing in his ears. He had walked the damned hallways enough times in the dead of night that lights were needless. A dull plain door to the left of the upstairs foyer led to a narrow and disused stairway hidden from view. The concealed stairways harkened back to days when the maids were not to be seen by visitors to the house, but they also served as countless shortcuts around the massive mansion.
The third floor of his house boasted the games room, gym and a couple more bedrooms and bathrooms. Coming to a stop before a set of double doors, Seto had no idea why his nocturnal wandering had brought him here; he felt betrayed by his aimless wandering. The doors hadn't been opened for years.
I never said it was Kisara's fear.
Fear? Was it really his fault she had been terrified in the kitchen? Was he to blame for Aknadin infiltrating his home? His hand reached out and almost touched the door handle, but he faltered and Seto felt annoyed. Annoyed that he couldn't bring himself to open those doors and clear out the man's living quarters. Annoyed that there were other rooms like this one; rooms that served as reminders of the family that had once lived in the mansion. But more than anything Seto was rankled by his weakness. If he couldn't bring himself to physically rid the house of Gozaburo, then how was he supposed to erase the man from his life?
"I will teach you one last lesson Seto, my boy!"
Closing his eyes against the memory, he could see the defeated idiot smiling at him before he turned away and dove out the window. Gozaburo had spent too long creating the ultimate tool that the fool hadn't realised he had adopted his own downfall. He had been fifteen then and not a single fleeting iota of grief or guilt had hit him as he watched the man fall, even the gruesome mess on the pavement below had summoned no emotion. Was it no wonder he had broken? He had been fair game for Hobson and Death-T; a honed tool with no master to wield him. He had put Roland in peril and almost given Mokuba a penalty game, not to mention endangering Muto and the rest of the dweebs.
Still contemplating the closed doors before him, Seto couldn't stop his thoughts from running riot. That kid from Onjuku, he had been a polite and happy child. Soccer and surfing had been his hobbies and some of them had stuck in place; not a lot of people knew it, but he had played for Tokyo-based clubs and been trialled for numerous European soccer clubs too. But then his stepfather had decided the sport was being enjoyed too much and judo had been his next assignment.
Running a hand though his hair in annoyance, Seto turned away from the door and put an end to this unwarranted trip down memory lane. The doors would remain closed and the memories kept at bay behind them.
Summer enveloped Domino with a sweltering stealth. The sakura trees were in full bloom and their heady scent filled the park and public spaces of the city. Schools finished terms and closed for a few weeks as the sun beat down on the concrete metropolis and summer festivals began.
Of course there was the ineluctable Kaiba-mania as soon as the public-relations team issued word on Mokuba's media plan. And though it took a few days to streamline everything, the teenager's plan had truly worked a treat; it had been ages since she could walk through Domino without a camera pointed in her direction and Kisara adored the normalcy of the city without its spying paparazzi. Smiling at a little girl who looked up at her, she waited for the traffic lights to turn red before blending in with the horde of pedestrians crossing the road. Today was the day she had finally kicked herself into gear and felt excited for the first time in a long time. She wasn't going to shuffle around in the background anymore.
The archive boxes had remained in the centre of the foyer for three days before she had eventually plucked up the courage to sort through the contents. Seto had been in the city and Mokuba busy fine-tuning his social media accounts and she had been having a staring competition with the boxes for an hour before Akari appeared and took the lid off of one. The maid had said nothing else, merely smiled and left the lid on the floor beside the box before she disappeared again. Had she been more thoughtful, Kisara would have hauled the boxes to her bedroom or the library for some privacy, but she had instead sat on the cold marble floor with Kai beside her. The floor around her had soon filled up with countless trinkets and mementos – some she remembered and some were completely new to her. A silver locket in the shape of a Chrysanthemum was her favourite find; she could hazily recall playing with it as her mother held her in her arms many years ago. The engraving on the inside had escaped her notice as a child, along with the small picture within. They had looked like a proper family; mother, father and the tiny baby held in the man's arms.
Mes filles. Mon coeur.
The locket's inscription gave her such an insight into the stranger that had been her father. She had some memories of her mother, faded and hazy but there nonetheless. She had been soft-spoken and pretty with a laugh Kisara could still remember clearly. It was the unknown face of her father Kisara had become fixated on; he had been handsome and seemed so much in love with her mother. Matthew had been tall with a mess of bright blond hair and kind dark blue eyes. The boxes had contained pictures, jewellery, even VHS tapes, clothes, piano sheet music and some of her father's Egyptology reports ... and the couple of Kiyoko Nagasaki and Matthew Ashbrook seemed so much more real all of a sudden. They had lived. They had been corporeal people and not just figments of her past that others compared her to. She had roots. She had had parents.
And she was their legacy. That fact had hit her hard and cold as she stood before their grave yesterday and looked down at the gravestone with a new vantage; she was their daughter and Kisara made a silent pledge before their grave that she would make them proud of her.
She had sat idly by the sidelines of her own life for too long now and that would change. Word had already been sent to France with a deadline set in stone for the handing over of the Estates – her Estates. No answer had arrived yet, but that didn't matter – legality was on her side and she could assume control once the deadline arrived ... at least that's what Rin and Seto had told her.
Running a finger over the silver locket, she looked up to one of the massive screens on a nearby skyscraper and smiled as KaibaCorp's insignia flashed up bold and intimidating before Seto appeared on-screen. White trench coat and the tight black undershirt she loved to unzip. The winner of the deck-design competition had been decided today and the lucky little boy's design was being sent into orbit along with KaibaCorp's new satellite. The kid did look a bit familiar with his messy shock of brown hair and wide grin, but she just couldn't place where she had seen him before.
Crossing another road, Kisara slowed as she saw the small game shop come into view. With the Belmont Stakes and a visit to the USA around the corner, she had been trying to get things in order and be proactive. Rika had run her through some make-up crash courses and how to style her hair as quickly as possible. It had been awfully tempting to ask the stylist to come to the states with her but poor Rika was heavily pregnant and the travelling wouldn't be fair on her. She had also been to Emiko's dress store today, letting Roland's wife take care of the dresses needed for New York. She would have called Vivian for advice only she was still wary of her friend after the whole throwing-up ordeal ... that and Viv seemed to be busy with a certain someone any evening she suggested they meet up. Not that she was complaining if Viv had finally found someone to make her happy.
Business looked slow today with a couple of customers exiting the store and some faded promotional signs splashed across the window. Letting the door close quietly behind her, Kisara shifted her handbag's strap higher on her shoulder and heard the small chime from the bell above the door. She gave a furtive glance around and was slightly disappointed not to find her friend behind the counter.
Instead it was Yugi Muto himself to look up at the sound of the bell and offer a guileless smile.
"Kisara, what a surprise!"
His friendly eyes gave her the once-over as if he was trying to figure out why she was here; the last time she had visited had been months ago and the result of a journalist ambush during a bentō competition.
"Téa is busy with the last Swan Lake showings; they're in Tokyo for the finale."
Though she nodded and smiled back, Kisara was aware of how tactful Yugi was; he had guessed the reason for her visit without a word. He had developed a quick and discerning intuition from years of picking apart Duel Monsters strategies. Seto had that knack too – he could guess what was bothering her without ever venturing a question. Shaking herself, Kisara smiled again; she had come here for a reason regardless.
"May I?"
Handing over the pen in his hand and a sheet of paper, Yugi couldn't help but reflect on how far Kisara had come in the past few months; there was a time she wouldn't have been seen in the city without Kaiba at her side. Yet here she stood a summer-themed vision in white shorts and pastel green shirt. A stab of guilt hit Yugi then and he felt his stomach drop. Shadi was back for a reason ... did that mean she could be in danger at this very moment?
"I broke my old phone so I have a new number. If you could just give it to Téa I'd really appreciate it."
Conjuring a bright smile, Yugi nodded and took the piece of paper offered his way. She was blushing lightly but Kisara was nowhere near as nervous as she had once been.
"She won't be home until the weekend, but I'll text the number on to her Kisara."
"Thank you."
Smiling her thanks, she thought about asking how her friend had been but Kisara stopped herself short. Instead she smiled and swiped her hair out of her eyes; she really needed a haircut too. Stopping just short of the door, Kisara looked back to Téa's boyfriend and faltered. She really had no place talking out of turn, but then his kind eyes looked up and welcomed her words.
"Mai mentioned that you and Joey haven't been on good terms lately ..."
His smile dimmed just a bit, but then Yugi shrugged his shoulders and sighed good-naturedly.
"We just had a disagreement. We'll be fine, don't worry."
She bit her tongue and nodded with a smile, truly hoping his prediction was accurate. She hadn't spoken to Vivian for three years and that still stuck bitterly in her conscience; they had missed out on three whole years of friendship because she had been too terrified to defy her uncle. And that thought stuck with her even days later when word finally came through from France.
It had seemed such a lovely idea; to travel to New York like any other racing fan and become lost in the frantic excitement of the Belmont Stakes. But the quixotic notion unravelled quite slowly at first with dates coinciding and other issues cropping up. Standing in the foyer, Kisara stared up at the pinboard above the phone. The mansion was always a constant hive of activity; people came and went countless times throughout the day and messages still had to be relayed so this banal cork pinboard was the rudimentary means of communication. It was peppered with dates right now; Ichiro and Ai from the security team both needed to book the same day off work, the limo fleet was due to undergo a mechanical check-up next month, Kai was due to be freed of her cast in another two weeks ... the list of dates just went on and on.
But it was the two tickets pinned to the top of the board that Kisara focused on. The date had been set in stone for months now and had been the summer highlight she had looked forward to. Rika had given her make-up and hairstyle crash courses, the dresses had arrived from Emiko's store yesterday and Michelle Sanders had called Seto last night to touch bases before their flight to the States.
But other dates hovered around the Belmont Stakes tickets like sharks circling as they sensed blood in the water. The first blow had been a CEO summit taking place in Singapore weeks earlier than usual; the massive conclave of corporate leaders was to take place a day after the race and it was a must-attend for Seto. They could have made it work by leaving as soon as the main race was over; she would fly back to Japan and Seto would head straight for Singapore. But then another blow came from a different angle; Sony had requested specialist aid for their exposition at the Electronic Entertainment Expo in Los Angeles. E3 was one of the biggest and most important dates for the video game industry, only outweighed by the Tokyo Game Show later in the year ... and Sony needed them a mere three days after the Belmont Stakes, so Roland and Mokuba had been charged with that. Then the new branch of KaibaCorp in eastern Domino was to open its doors this week and they were expected to appear for the opening ceremony and press junkets for the new development as soon as they arrived back in Japan.
The final inescapable blow was from her direction, something Kisara had not been expecting at all. A solicitor representing her uncle had made contact with KaibaCorp's legal team and finally set a date for the hand-over of the Estates; she would be required to fly to France and sign the legal documents in the chateau's office with her own legal representative as a witness. Maybe it was a deliberate act or maybe she just wasn't meant to attend the race, but her uncle had dictated the handover take place on the same day as the Belmont Stakes.
Reaching up to take the tickets from the pinboard, she sighed and felt a strange sense of acceptance settle over her. Seto remained adamant they could make it work and she could attend the race, but she already knew in her heart that the mere logistics of attending everything was unfeasible. The thoughts had been turning over in her head all day and Kisara knew she had to look at the bigger picture to gain perspective; the bigger picture was France and she needed to do this herself.
It was nearing midnight and she had barely seen Seto for days as he worked non-stop in a bid to make sense of the looming business-travel nightmare, so she made a silent decision and headed for his study.
The door of the study was already ajar and Roland, Mokuba and Rin were there when she pushed it open. Kai was on the floor by the desk chewing a tennis ball and looked up when she entered, wolfish ears perked and tail lashing about. And there he was sitting at his desk, hair dishevelled and dark circles under his eyes. Something twisted in her chest and Kisara felt a wave of guilt flare to life as the blue eyes looked up at her; he looked exhausted. The tiniest of smirks pulled at his lips before Mokuba leaned over his brother's shoulder and muttered a swear as he pointed at the monitor; something on-screen wasn't going to plan.
A plan that was never going to work out.
"How about we don't go to the race?"
Mokuba's head whipped up so fast he must have caused a crick in his neck, both Rin and Roland looked up at her too and Kisara could see the barely-masked relief on all three of their faces; she had just offered to eliminate the one obstacle they couldn't work around. A silent look from Seto emptied the study in a heartbeat; even Kai limped out with the badly drawn Kuriboh smiling up at her. Waiting until Roland pulled the door closed quietly, Kisara figured she would get the first word in and closed the distance between them.
"The race is the common denominator; if we don't go then everything else can be-"
"But you want to go."
Seto started to stand up, eyes firm and unyielding as he spoke. Kisara nodded her head and fidgeted with the tickets before laying them on the desk, as if distancing herself from them would lessen her desire to travel to New York and take in the exhilaration at Belmont Park.
"But I want my company more. There will be other Belmont Stakes ... I might not get another shot at this."
The flicker of relief in Seto's eyes was the final nail in the coffin for attending the race. He landed heavily back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair, relief flooding him for the first time in days. He had tried everything in his power to rearrange that summit in Singapore to no avail and Sony were just too massive - they couldn't refuse to help them at E3; that would be professional suicide. Unable to convey the magnitude of stress she had lifted from his shoulders, Seto couldn't help but laugh.
Making sure the study door was closed, Kisara fleetingly wondered if her fiancé had taken a funny turn; he was just sitting there laughing. She walked around the desk and laid a worried hand on his arm; she should just plough ahead and tell him of her plan for France.
He rubbed his tired eyes and she saw just how much he had tried to work out a plausible schedule; the itinerary for the Belmont Stakes was on the computer monitor with numerous other windows open; flight schedules from New York to Japan and to Singapore too, E3's public announcement page was also open and an email from Sony's CEO was minimised to one side. Littered all over the desk were dates and scribbled pieces of paper; contingency plans that wouldn't make the cut.
At any other time in her life, Kisara would wholeheartedly describe herself as a pacifist. Violence was never the answer and she would dodge confrontation at all costs. But there and then she felt so annoyed that she thumped Seto hard on his arm.
"Why didn't you tell me? I could have saved you all this trouble!"
"I thought I could make it work, ouch by the way."
Rubbing at his assaulted arm, Seto couldn't stop himself from smirking; she very rarely became angry. Folding her arms over her chest, Kisara huffed and sat up on the desk; she was more annoyed with herself for not noticing how run-down he was. Waiting until he finished typing an email, she pushed the race tickets further away and eyed the three stained coffee mugs with disdain.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"A day or two ... what's wrong?"
His tone changed in an instant, from tired indifference to immediate protectiveness. Hackles up, he noticed the way she wrung her hands together and looked anywhere but at him. Biting the inside of her lip, Kisara thought about abandoning her own plan and taking the easy way out; she was terrified of making a wrong move but she couldn't depend on other people forever.
"I don't w-want you to come t-to France."
She felt her cheeks flood with a deep blush and heard the stammers too; she was ashamed of herself for being so shy and looked down at the carpet to escape Seto's shocked gaze.
"I can get a connecting flight from France to Singapore and still make the summit-"
"I j-just need to do this myself."
Okay, her voice was a little stronger and only one stammer; that was progress. Forcing herself to look back to Seto, she wavered under his strong stare. Seto was the first to look away and began typing an email, but when he did answer her it was with a serious tone and his eyes never left the computer screen.
"No Kisara, that's not happening."
The blush returned with a vengeance and she distracted herself by swinging her legs and biting the nail on her thumb. He had used that tone when she asked about Hobson all that time ago. But that had resulted in their first fight and she couldn't just run to Vivian every time things went slightly off-plan. Annoyed with herself and the ubiquitous tension, she kicked Seto's chair and frowned.
"Please don't tell me what I can and can't do. People have done that my entire life and I don't want you to be one of those people."
He hit the wrong letter on the keyboard and backspaced to delete the typo. Fingers poised to resume typing, Seto sighed and looked back to Kisara with guilt heavy in his stomach; he didn't want to be one of those people either.
"I don't want you going alone."
A small smile surfaced then and Kisara laid a hand on his; at least this hadn't resulted in another fight. He hadn't thrown up a stone wall – that was progress too. She had thought about France and had a plan in mind; she just needed him to tell her it would be okay.
"I won't be alone; Isamu can come or one of the other security members."
He wavered for a few seconds, thoughts and contingencies clashing in his brain in a bid to find a solution. Running a hand through his hair, Seto frowned and felt like shouting in frustration; they sorted one problem and another one cropped up in its place. His life was turning into some kind of complicated hydra metaphor; cut off one head only for two more to grow back in its place.
"He's doing this deliberately Kisara! This is KaibaCorp's busiest time of year; we have Sony's expo at E3, our own showcase convention before the Tokyo Game Show and I have to be at that summit-"
"And that's why I should go."
Not letting go of his hand, she scooted over on the desk to obstruct his view of the monitor and implored him to see her side of the impasse.
"You said you would help me get my company."
"And I will, just as soon as he reschedules the signing-"
"No. It's taken this long to get a response; I need to do this as soon as possible before he changes his mind. It's my company and I am going to sign those papers. I can't depend on you for everything; my company will need me to run it."
The surety in her voice surprised him and Seto could only gaze up at her in astonishment. He felt like he was staring down the mouth of a gift-horse. They had been waiting for word from France for weeks upon weeks now and an answer had finally come with a date for the handover of the Estates; a date that coincided with KaibaCorp's busiest period.
"Please don't be angry."
Those soft words acted like a pressure release; he sighed and let his shoulders sag. Sitting on the desk in front of him and refusing to back down, he was lost for words. How could he be angry? If anything Seto felt proud of her determination and the conviction flashing in those deep blue eyes.
"I'm not, it's just ..."
Brushing his bangs to one side, Kisara lightly traced the scar above his eye and knew what the root of the problem was.
"I will be fine. It's signing my name on a piece of paper in the chateau's office. There will be witnesses and solicitors."
"And your uncle."
"So I'll bring one of the certified security staff. The gun laws are different in France; we can request the relevant paperwork before I go and have everything in order ... what?"
Placing her hands on her hips, Kisara frowned and fixed Seto with an annoyed look; why was he smiling all of a sudden? There was nothing funny about this conversation in the slightest. Shaking his head, Seto tried to look at the computer screen around her, but gave up and smiled up at woman he was lucky enough to call his fiancée; she had taken it on herself to learn about their certified security members since the break-in.
"You've learned a lot."
That was an answer laced with a lot of meaning and Kisara took it as a compliment, smiling happily as he kissed her. Scooting back to one side, she felt elated that her plan was going into action; she had come up with it all on her own and it would work! So she watched as he started typing again and idly wondered just how much time she would have to spend typing emails when this handover did take place.
"You're sure about this Kisara? France and the race?"
He would make it work if she wanted to go to New York. If it meant rescheduling an entire global summit he would somehow make it work in the end. And he could be in France beside her to sign those papers; jetlag had never been his downfall.
She nodded with a bright smile and leaned forward to kiss him, a kiss he didn't want to end; he hadn't slept in their bed for days now and that was too long. Abandoning the email to Sony, he stole another kiss and had to bite back a moan when she lowered herself from the desk to sit across him in the leather chair. Jeans already uncomfortably tight, Seto fought to get his breathing back under control as Kisara leaned her forehead against his and moved her hips, giggling when he bucked beneath her and moaned.
The room became sweltering. She initiated another fervent kiss and undid a few of his shirt buttons at the same time, discarding her tee on the floor. The fast pace moved on and she could feel him hard beneath her when she undid his jeans and had to bite her lip when he entered her, all too aware that there were still people in the mansion. The sex was spontaneous, fast and utterly uninhibited; a pressure release for both of them that ended in a breathless moment of incautious satisfaction.
And after what felt like ages of spent silence, Seto kissed her brow and spoke lowly in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.
"I don't say it enough."
Kisara frowned and listened to his heartbeat in the quiet of the study; what was that supposed to mean? But just as she took a breath to question the strange statement, he answered quietly.
"I love you."
He couldn't do it. Standing in the room, all semblance of rational logic had abandoned the man and he took another swig from the bottle. The aged whisky burned the back of his throat as it went down harsh and acrid and vital. If he came face to face with her he knew it wouldn't end well.
Drunken anger had made him dial her number; how dare she interfere in business matters! It was his business and he had spent far too long building the Estates into the success it was without the ignorant ingrate ruining it all. And she had the gall to openly declare her status as CEO! Time and distance from the event had dulled his rash anger and ratified it into a reluctant acceptance; Matthew had dictated she be handed the Estates when she was eighteen and he had overstepped the line by more than two years. So all logic indicated he should quietly hand the reins to her ... he just couldn't face the girl.
He had never been to Gozaburo's mansion and yet Jonathon could describe the kitchen in perfect detail from the table with its jacket-covered chairs to the large window above the sink and that terrified him. The golden eye terrified him; he had been in Japan and yet he was in France a split-second later. He had heard her screams, the same screams that echoed in his head every night since then. She was his niece – his brother's flesh and blood – and he had wanted to hurt her so much it chilled him to the core.
The eye had been locked away after that and he toyed with the idea of ridding himself of the ancient thing, but that plan presented more problems than it fixed; how to sneak the artefact back into a country that had pulled itself apart in the name of social revolution?
Another swallow of whiskey. He had thought never to use the dangerous golden eye again but it permeated each and every dream he had until he hit the bottle hard and lowered his resolve; the eye had been his once before so he could control the power it possessed – he could get his daughter back!
But looking around the ruined bedroom, Jonathon Ashbrook felt he was at the mercy of a storm with no clue which way to turn. It hurt too much without alcohol; he needed it to dull the ache in his old heart. But the insipid voice had returned as his guard lowered with each mouthful of whiskey.
Do not be afraid. We must be rid of the girl ...
"No, no, no!"
Dropping to the floor, the old man clamped a hand either side of his head and shook it from side to side; he couldn't hurt her – she was his niece! His unfocused eyes took in the mess he had made of her bedroom in a drunken stupor; the torn books and shredded dresses ... he couldn't be here when she arrived; this scheduled meeting was a mistake.
Figures jumped in the flickering light; a masterpiece of art that had survived millennia. On one wall the Book of the Dead was illustrated in richly coloured relief hieroglyphics. Maat, Anubis, Osiris, Ammit; each stone step downwards brought her closer to the Egyptian underworld.
A light shone up ahead in the strange corridor and Kisara could feel her steps quickening in pace. She tried to wake from the lucid dream but couldn't shake herself; it was too intriguing to wake from. The walls of wherever she was were gloriously decorated in vibrant hieroglyphs and footprints on the dusty ground led her further along the stone tunnel. There was a small generator and a rucksack abandoned by the open doorway ahead; a rather anachronistic reminder of the twenty-first century. But movement caught her eye and Kisara hurried as someone entered the chamber up ahead.
She wanted to call out but her mouth wouldn't open and yet she felt no panic; the surreal dream kept her in its grasp but it never seemed malevolent.
It was the tanned man with his blank blue eyes; he had been in her bedroom! She had forgotten about the stranger handling her crystal rose. Walking silently through the doorway and up the few steps that he stood on, Kisara felt her voiceless throat tighten as she looked down to see Seto's face wrought in a golden death-mask. The beautifully inlaid nemes headdress and ceremonial regalia threw her but it was definitely his face and she suddenly felt ill. When she looked up the stranger was gone and she almost thought a mirror had sprung up in his place; staring back at her was her own likeness.
But Kisara frowned; she wasn't that gaunt and her hair was better kept than the lank strands falling in her reflection's face. Raising a hand to wipe the dirt from her cheek, the hairs on her neck stood on end when the reflection didn't copy her movement. She looked sad, this dishevelled and haunting apparition of herself.
You must protect him from the shadows ...
Her doppelganger's mouth never opened but her own voice filled the room and echoed around inside her head again and again. Then the thin dirty hand shot forward to grasp hers across Seto's golden face and Kisara woke from the dream with a heart-stopping fright.
The tomb and flickering light was gone, replaced by bright sunshine and rolling fields of vineyards. Fuguta and Isamu sat straighter and both scoped the interior of the limo, senses on high alert until she mustered a small smile that relaxed the two bodyguards. Raking a hand through her knotted hair, she vaguely wondered if the nightmare would be preferable to this waking ordeal; she was a bag of nerves and even the solicitor was on edge. This had seemed such a good idea back in the safety of Japan but Kisara was rapidly condemning her insistence to do this without Seto.
The high stone walls cut across the peaceful scenery and obscured all sight of the vineyards that covered the surrounding hills; this was really happening and she was back in this place of her own volition.
The limo paused for a few seconds as the massive gates of the Estates were opened at a painstakingly slow pace. Voices called out to her, each one trying to get an exclusive word on the deal about to take place; would there be a court case? Had she negotiated this handover? Even out here deep in the countryside the paparazzi had taken up camp. Word had reached the mansion last night that the French media were in a tizzy about the drama of the Ashbrook Estates; one of the country's largest businesses had almost been floated on the stock market only for its assets to be frozen before the prodigal heiress returned to take the helm of operations - all this secrecy reeked of a scintillating tabloid splash. And the French paparazzi had no qualms about breaking faith with Mokuba's social media scheme.
The gates opened and the limo moved on up the long driveway that led to the chateau, imposing and regal as it stood unrepentant on a knoll of land higher than the surrounding ground. She couldn't squash the fear that bubbled up within in her and Kisara could feel herself slipping backwards; her cheeks flooded with colour and she fixed her eyes on the floor of the car, hands wringing together again and again.
The limo stopped and both Fuguta and KaibaCorp's head solicitor exited the vehicle right away, glad for the chance to stretch their legs after hours cooped up between the plane and car. Kisara didn't stir. Instead she forced herself to take a few deep breaths before hyperventilation set in and looked to her watch. It was Isamu to break the heavy silence.
"There is no rush Ms. Ashbrook."
Some small part of her found that comment utterly hilarious; maybe it was because he had no inkling why she was so nervous, no knowledge of the years she had spent living in the stone chateau and no pity to altruistically heap on her. The sooner this was over and done with then the sooner she could turn her back on this place. A flashback hit her then of sitting on a windowsill outside the bar and almost falling a few times as Roland's second-in-command righted her each time; she would apologise for her drunken self once they arrived back home. Home. Something gave and Kisara quickly opened the door and stood from the limousine before she could change her mind; she had two bodyguards and a legal representative on her side of this figurative fight – she would win and walk away with her company.
Smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes, she stood in the bright summer sunshine and looked back towards the closed gates in the distance; she could still make out the baying paparazzi and had no doubts they were using long lenses to capture her arrival. So she would play the part. Brushing hair out of her eyes, she tugged on her blazer to straighten it and looked up at the chateau's tall chimneys and pointed roofs; all it was short were the gargoyles for full dramatic effect.
One of the maids appeared from a side door to show them the way, something that annoyed Kisara to no end; she had lived in the building and didn't need to be guided around like some vineyard tourist. Through the side door, across the reception room to skirt around the kitchen and its staff, then up a small flight of stairs and across a monstrously large ballroom before the inner annex materialised. The hallways stretched on forever and she had gotten lost in the chateau as a child, but Kisara knew the way to the chateau's office; it housed their grand piano.
Her heels sank into the plush carpet as they walked, Fuguta and Isamu flanking her with the quiet solicitor bringing up the rear of their quartet. The maid glanced at her a few times but quickly looked elsewhere each time she returned the gaze; this particular kitchen skivvy had happened on her nursing a split lip years ago. She had never intervened and had chosen to turn a blind eye to the crying child – the battered and broken girl that had reappeared as a grown vision in a tailored pant-suit with armed bodyguards.
"Je n'ai pas besoin de ton aide, alors pars maintenant."
The maid looked aghast with shock and Kisara refused to clip her blunt tone; her guiding wasn't needed and she could leave them now. She wanted to stare the woman down, to enforce her own command but her confidence was beginning to wane. A stronger and more assertive voice spoke up to break the silence.
"Ms. Ashbrook told you to leave now."
Fuguta stood forward and the obstinate maid took her leave with a scowl. Kisara looked to the man usually partnered with Roland and smiled her thanks; she hadn't known the goateed bodyguard could speak French. Watching the kitchen maid stalk back down the corridor, she was hit by a sudden pang of homesickness for the mansion. She knew each of the ten maids by name in Japan and could hand-on-heart swear the women would never betray the privacy of the massive house. And yet only a handful of staff employed at the chateau had ever been more than flitting uncaring faces to her. Three of her aunt's senior maids and a couple of the stable workers; those were the only ones she felt slight trust for – everyone else would feed the press or make themselves scarce when her uncle raised his voice.
Straightening her blazer once more and making sure the KC pin was still in-place beneath the lapel, Kisara pushed the office door open before she over-thought this whole thing and turned tail. The massive desk was where she remembered it, the oil-and-canvas depiction of the Ashbrook coat of arms domineered the wall behind the leather studded chair and the grand piano sat neglected at the far end of the room by a large window. But he wasn't there; only the Estates' solicitor stood to the right of the desk like a deer caught in headlights. Her heart skipped a beat and Kisara quickly looked around the room in a bid to locate her uncle. Isamu and Fuguta were ahead of her and had already scoped the entire office, suit jackets open for quick access and holsters flitting in and out of view. She breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn't in the room.
The relief gave way instantly to suspicion; her uncle had arranged this meeting date. She was missing the Belmont Stakes because he was supposed to be signing over the Estates, so where was he? The tetchy French solicitor squirmed and took the long silence as his cue to speak.
"Il n'est pas-"
"En Anglais."
Folding her arms across her chest, Kisara didn't falter this time and stared the man down; they would be conversing in English to prevent any miscommunication between the French and Japanese sides of this meeting. Maybe it was the two suited and armed bodyguards flanking either side of her, but Kisara had the impression this panicking man was sorely intimidated as he mopped his brow and flushed an alarming shade of beetroot.
"Your uncle had to leave unexpectedly. He is not here."
His voice was little more than a squeak and he wiped his glistening brow again. She had been relieved not to see him in the room, but all Kisara could feel now was a wave of anger; she had been deceived and duped – missed out on the Belmont Stakes for a pointless trip to the chateau. But her words wouldn't come out; this solicitor was merely the scapegoat other staff had stood in their crosshairs. It was no wonder he was nervous.
Their KaibaCorp lawyer came to life then, the silent and jumpy man from the limo was gone and in his place was a riled and articulate legal practitioner who wouldn't look out of place in one of the many judiciary sitcoms being broadcast on the television.
"That is not good enough! My client has flown the entire way from Japan at the behest of your party, so I suggest you find your employer or contact him in some way. I came here to thrash out an agreement and I intend to do so."
To drive his point home, the head of KaibaCorp's legal team undid his suit button and circled the desk before boldly sitting down on the imposing leather-studded chair beneath the Ashbrook crest. Looking up at the crest, she spoke the Latin motto in her head – Mens conscia recti; a mind aware of what is right. How sardonic that motto seemed now.
She wasn't needed here; the lawyer had all the information needed to complete the meeting and all he required was her signature to seal the deal ... a deal that she knew now would never take place amicably. So Kisara turned and left the office behind her. If her uncle refused to play by the rules, then she was not going to be a pawn.
She walked briskly down the long hallway leading away from the office wing, across another reception room and through a dispirited lounge with Isamu shadowing her in silence. Then it was up one flight of stairs and straight to the end of the building; her bedroom. She didn't know what to expect when she pushed the door open; the room had been her haven of calm for years and the one place she always anchored back to.
And now it was a ruined wreck.
Not one item in the room was untouched, not one trinket undamaged. Clothes were strewn across the floor, books torn and tossed everywhere. Even her photographs pinned to the frame of her vanity mirror were ravaged; either torn or burned.
Isamu's hand flew to holster beneath his jacket, but Kisara raised her hand to stop him, an apathetic acceptance settling in her gut as she saw the empty whiskey bottle on the floor; she was foolish to think anything had changed. Instead she walked forward to the dress mannequin by her wardrobe and gingerly touched the shredded mess her mother's black dress had been reduced to. The ball gown was the only thing she had had of her mother growing up and her childhood self had hoped to wear the gorgeous black dress when she was old enough like some kind of personal fairytale. But fairytales were for children.
Running her fingers through the torn shreds of chiffon, Kisara felt her anger blow out like a candle; she had nothing left to give - completely defeated by the devastation around her. There was nothing left for her in France anymore.
The media almost had a meltdown as the Kaiba household done something drastically out of character; they divided and globe-trotted. Since word had broken of an engagement and arranged marriage more than six months ago, the trio of Seto Kaiba, Kisara Ashbrook and Mokuba Kaiba had done exactly as the press expected; they had closed ranks and hidden behind the facade of the Kaiba Mansion and KaibaCorp security.
Only official engagements saw the most famous couple in the world leave their cocoon of privacy. Once or twice some clandestine trip out for dinner would be hastily snapped and sold to the papers, but that all came to an end with Mokuba Kaiba's press-release. Now they got almost regular candid photographs or even humorous videos from the teenager; the household husky was quickly becoming an internet sensation with her graffiti-riddled leg cast. The Japanese media were respectful and abided by the request of the younger Kaiba for privacy in exchange for public social media accounts; Japan became a buffer of sorts from the eyes of the watching world.
So it had been a scramble to arms when Seto Kaiba appeared for the CEO summit in Singapore, Mokuba inundated Snapchat with videos from Sony's E3 exposition and reports surfaced of Kisara Ashbrook landing in France. By the time anyone realised what was going on the three targets were already safe and sound back in Japan and away from prying eyes. A few fan selfies were the remnants of Mokuba's trip to Los Angeles and the French media saturated the market with shots of Kisara standing before her family's chateau, but word on the Estates' handover was nonexistent. Every query posed to KaibaCorp's PR team was met with a defiant no comment.
Because there was no comment to give. There had been no progress with the Estates, no scheduled handover had taken place and they were back to square one in that matter. It was in the hands of the lawyers now and Seto felt relief at that thought; there was distance between France and Kisara again and he could relax a fraction.
The summit in Singapore had passed in a blur of pointless discussions until Fuguta had called to provide an update on things in France. He had quickly wrapped up business at the summit and flown home to Japan, anger burning at the wild goose chase Kisara had been sent on; she could have been in New York enjoying the Belmont Stakes. She had been so excited when he had handed over those tickets and her damned uncle had taken it away.
Watching as she patted Kai's ears and played give-me-the-paw with their dog, Seto thought of the small card in his discarded hoody pocket and hoped he could revive at least some of that excitement. The night was drawing in and fireflies rose from the grass slowly, their telltale yellow lights mirrored in the lanterns on the river.
"Shit, ouch!"
Looking up as he heard the swearing, Seto frowned and threw a balled up paper note at his brother.
"Watch your language!"
"Sorry bro ..."
Mokuba cringed and sucked his burned thumb; even after years of attending the festival he still managed to burn something every year. Stifling a laugh at the teenager, Kisara pulled her hair over one shoulder and tied it in place away from the lighting lantern. Domino was a truly enchanting scene today as the last night of the Bon Festival brought most of the city's inhabitants to the banks of the river for Tōrō nagashi. The idea of sending paper lanterns floating downriver was to guide the spirits of deceased to the other world, but Kisara found the simple aesthetic of the festival amazing; for miles up and down the wide river all that could be seen was the soft golden glow of paper lanterns and the messages written on them – personal snippets that floated past on an unstoppable current to the sea.
Life moved like that, she came to realise; even if things happened to the lanterns along the way they would still carry on seaward. Even if they crashed together and crumpled into the water the current would still carry them forward. Life moved on too, so even if the trip to the chateau had been a bust, she had gone there and come back in one piece and she would eventually have the Estates no matter what the obstacles were.
Leaning back against Seto, Kisara smiled as Kai licked her fingers. They lived in a massive mansion and had so many luxuries that others envied and yet she was sitting on the ground by the bank of a river with two people she hadn't even known seven months ago and felt happily content. Mokuba handed over the sharpie and she penned the kanji for eternity on one side of their lantern before he sent it floating gently downstream to merge with the others and continue on towards the nearby harbour.
The night was humid, but Kisara shivered in her shorts and tank top. Watching the fireflies float lazily by, she blinked as Seto moved behind her and grabbed his hoody.
"Thanks."
The blue hoody swamped her and Kisara nestled back against Seto as he sat on the ground behind her and Mokuba teased Kai with a spare lantern they had brought. She pulled at a loose thread in his jeans and knocked her toes against his leg, lost in the peaceful summer evening.
"Put your hand in the pocket."
"Why?"
A low chuckle was her only answer but she did so and found a small card in it. Examining it in the muted light, she frowned; it was about the size of a business card and had some writing on it.
"~ Save the date. ~"
It took a slow second for her to make sense of the message, but Kisara gasped and turned around enough to look up at Seto.
"Really?"
He laughed at her wide eyes and excited smile, glad to have reignited that spark before it disappeared altogether. He nodded and kissed her brow.
"I figured it's about time we got this show on the road. Apparently weddings take a lot of organising ..."
Standing up to stretch his legs and give them some space, Mokuba hid a smile and pulled his phone from a pocket. He walked the short distance to the river's edge and nudged along a few lanterns that had become stuck in the weeds. Weddings definitely did take a lot of organising; there was the date to set, then the venue, dresses, catering, guest list ... it just went on and on and on and he was beyond elated that Seto had decided to set the ball rolling; it was such a big step for his brother to want to be married.
Hitting the upload button, he smirked as his latest Instagram update collected likes by the second; a silhouetted shot of his Seto and Kisara sitting on the ground with the river lanterns in the background behind them. If there was a date he wanted to save it was the day Kisara had arrived at the mansion and his brother had started living again.
A/n - Thanks so much for taking the time to read everyone! I'm off on a two-week vacation later this week so I should get a load of writing done and hopefully have an update not too long after I come back! Thanks again! xxxxx
