Chapter One

It was a blessing when he was allowed to leave the table that night. The conversations he was forced to listen to were long and boring. It was a surprise that he was able to pay attention as long as he did. The worst of it was his father's business partners. The looks, the way they stared at him, the way they leaned in too close, the way they'd put their hands on his shoulders, his back. Thinking about them as he pulled on his pajamas and crawled into bed made a sensation like tiny spider legs crawling across his skin.

He fell asleep that night swearing he would never attend another of his father's business dinners. He didn't hear his bedroom door open. He didn't see the shaft of light that cut across his bed.

He was dreaming, pleasant childish dreams that still clung onto the fringes of his maturing brain. Castles and dragons and magic. All the things a boy his age was too embarrassed to admit he still wanted.

He woke with a start when a hand clasped over his mouth.

"I know your baby brother sleeps next door. You scream, and he'll get it worse than you."

Seto Kaiba bolted upright from his restless sleep. In the quiet of the early morning, all he heard was the pounding of his own heart in his ears and his ragged breaths tearing from his lungs. A cold sweat broke out over his face and shoulders. He sat there, his fists balled in cotton sheets.

There was a ghost of air across one shoulder.

He hurried to the nightstand to flick on the light. His eyes scanned the room. There was no one, just the shifting of the canopy as the air conditioning kicked on.

His bedroom was draped in blues and whites. The door to the hall was closed, still locked. There was a wardrobe and a large dresser against the wall across the room, between the doors to his bathroom and closet. There were no photographs on the walls, no paintings, no knickknacks cluttering the dresser top. All that existed outside the essentials were a single framed photo and a leather-bound book on his bedside table. His alarm clock told him it was three-thirty in the morning, Friday, June twenty-ninth.

He forced himself to breathe. It had been nearly a month since his last nightmare. He had started to believe they were gone for good. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. He needed a minute to breathe, to gather his focus, but only a minute. There were things to be done. Emails to answer, calls to make, meetings to attend. His secretary would be leaving for maternity leave in a month and he still needed to set up a temporary replacement. TBlueprintopen on his computer and they needed another look over before he sent them to the R&D Department.

So much to do, and not enough energy for it all.

He slipped out of bed and went to his bathroom. The fluorescent light seemed to bounce off the white tile walls directly into his eyes when he flicked them on. It sent a fresh stab of pain straight into his already aching eyes. There was an unused jacuzzi tub against the wall under a wide window and a line of pill bottles on the pedestal sink. He selected one and downed two painkillers with a handful of water.

After a shave and long hot shower, he felt a little more like himself.

After putting on a fitted grey suit, matching tie, and slicking his brown hair out of his dark blue eyes, he looked more like himself too. At least how he wanted to look to the world.

Twenty-one years old, but more put together and in control than anyone else his age.

That was Seto Kaiba.

Walking out of his bedroom and down the hall to his office was akin to entering a time capsule. Where his room was an example of modern minimalism, the rest of the estate spoke of its rich origins. Raised panel walls stained a dark reddish-brown lined the halls, broken up by doors into empty rooms and expensive art pieces hanging in the indentations. It fit well in the seventies his father grew up in.

Remodeling was just another thing on his expansive and ever-growing to-do list.

Seto's office was not as stifling, helped by the long bay of windows behind the desk, the widescreen television hanging from one wall, and the sectional couch in front of it. The remaining walls were lined with bookcases. Many of the books were bound with aged leather. 'Collector's items', his father had called them. At the end of the long rows were books with more colorful spines, tucked back so far it would've been difficult for the casual observer to pick them out. The windows looked out over the front lawn, where streetlamps lined the long driveway that cut a divide through the property. In the distance, lamps illuminated a fifteen-foot steel enclosure, past which the skyline of Domino City glowed like a beacon in the dark.

Seto didn't stop to appreciate the scenery. He sat at the wide hardwood monolith that was his desk and got to work. Already sitting open on his desktop, remoted into his computer at his executive office, was the blueprint for his latest side project.

A virtual reality headset.

He wouldn't be the first to try and enter the VR game, but he was determined to be the best. It would be small, more a pair of goggles than the black monstrosities that were currently on the market. Wireless, of course, Bluetooth enabled. He paged over to the separate schematics he'd drawn up for the controllers. These would be wireless gloves, programmed to sense the movement of the fingers, allowing for detailed interactive 3D experiences. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen with his fingers drumming on the desk. There were investors interested in the project as long as they could see at least a prototype ready for testing by next year.

Sleep tugged at Seto's eyes. His headache was a steady dull rhythm in his temples. His body wanted to go back to bed, but the thought of doing so filled him with anxiety-induced nausea. He knew what waited for him when he closed his eyes. He wouldn't let himself go back there.

Not today, anyway.

It was almost six when there was a knock on his door.

"Seto?" A voice called. "You in there?"

Seto had switched from his blueprints to checking through the company budgets for the next quarter long ago. Everything was in the black again.

Seto didn't look up from his monitor. "Come in."

Mokuba was five years younger, almost seventeen, with long black hair and large grey eyes. He was short for his age and thin. The top buttons of his uniform shirt were unbuttoned and his tie was knotted loosely around his neck. Against his collarbone was a tangle of black cords, from which a steel peace sign hung. His cell phone was in his hand, as it seemed to always be, thumbs flying across the screen. Though who he could be texting so early in the morning was a mystery.

"Straighten your clothes," Seto said, "I'm not getting another call from your teachers today."

"So what?" Mokuba still hadn't looked up at him. "You should see what some of the girls get away with."

"You're not a girl. Do what I say."

Mokuba snorted but made no other movements.

Seto turned off his monitor before getting up and crossing the room to his brother. He pushed past Mokuba's phone to fix his tie himself.

Mokuba pushed his hands away. "Lay off."

"You're a Kaiba. You need to look the part."

"Right." Mokuba crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't want me embarrassing you. Can't have your little brother lookin like a slob."

"That's not true, and you know that."

"Whatever." Mokuba turned and walked out. "Breakfast's ready."

The Kaiba Estate was far larger than the two of them needed. There were more than a dozen bedrooms, all with their own bathrooms. There was a ballroom, an indoor pool, a tennis court, sprawling gardens, and a five-car garage. There were teams of staff to go along with it. Gardeners, housekeepers, cooks, and attendants. Though they were rarely seen, as Seto preferred. It would have been tiring otherwise.

The two brothers sat at the end of their long dining table. Mokuba with his full breakfast and Seto with that morning's paper over crossed legs. He had coffee and a croissant, though he barely touched it. A buzz brought his eyes up from the headline article in time to see Mokuba pick up his phone.

The teen grinned, laughed, then typed out a response. He had barely set it down to resume shoveling eggs and bacon into his mouth when it buzzed again. Seto watched with growing irritation as Mokuba picked it up, but there was no laughter this time. His brother glanced in his direction, saw he was being watched, and put it down.

Seto raised a brow. "What?"

"I don't need anyone to pick me up today. I'm going out with friends after practice."

"Have you started your homework?" Seto picked up his coffee.

Mokuba's eyes rolled. "Oh, come on. I'm not stupid."

"That is obvious, but it doesn't answer my question."

"Yes, okay?" Though the pink tinge to Mokuba's cheeks said otherwise. "I started it last night."

"Which thing?"

Mokuba jerked a shoulder. "I don't know, the stupid reading."

"Then you'll come home directly after practice and continue the 'stupid reading'." Seto drank, fully aware of Mokuba's outraged expression. "And once that's done, you will do the essay questions your English teacher assigned to go with it."

"How d'you know about that?"

"She told me."

"You've been talking to my teachers?!"

Seto's headache, which had been starting to subside, flared again. "Of course I have. I had to meet with them at the end of the previous semester regarding your grades. Why else do you think you were given extra homework? You keep this up and you'll get kicked from the soccer team."

"I'll do it when I get back. Richie's mom wants to take us to the arcade for winning that game last weekend. Not that you'd know anything about it."

"I was working."

"On a Saturday."

"I have a company to run, Mokuba. I don't get time off."

"Bet you won't take off for my birthday."

"Of course I will."

"Yeah right."

"Enough." Coffee sloshed over the rim of his mug when Seto put it down. "We'll talk about this later."

"It's always later." Mokuba threw up his arms. "Whatever. I'm going out with my friends."

"We're not negotiating."

"Maybe I wanna actually do something with my life."

"Mokuba."

Mokuba pushed away from the table, his chair screeching across the floor. "I'm gonna wait outside."

Seto twisted in his chair as his brother breezed past. "Get back here. We're not done."

The only answer he received was the slamming of the front door.

Tension skittered along his arms. His pulse thumped in his head. He turned back to the table and looked down at his half-eaten croissant and the splash of coffee slowly staining the wood.

He had only spilled something on his father's dining table once before. Never again.

Gritting his teeth, Seto folded the newspaper and slammed it down on the table before getting up to join Mokuba outside.

A black sedan was waiting at the bottom of the steps. One of three Seto owned, but not one of the two he'd inherited. This one was purely his. Mokuba had already sat in the passenger's seat, arms folded, staring out the windshield at nothing. Standing at the driver's side, holding open the door for Seto, was one of his valets. It was a plain-looking man in a plain black uniform, but Seto couldn't be bothered to remember his name. He was looking up at Seto, both brows raised high on his forehead. Seto took his place in the driver's seat without a word.

"Have a pleasant day Mr. Kaiba, Mr. Mokuba." The valet shut the door.

Mokuba muttered as Seto maneuvered them through the circle and onto the driveway. "I wish you'd just let me learn how to drive. Then I'd be able to drive myself to school. This's so lame."

"Once you can prove yourself responsible enough, then maybe I'll consider it."

Mokuba huffed but said no more on the topic. It was a long twenty-minute drive to the school in near-complete silence.

Seto pulled through the gate at a crawl, yielding to teenagers passing from the parking lot to the main building. Domino High was not the largest school in the city, not even the most prestigious, but Mokuba had been adamant about attending. All his friends were going there, he'd said, and wouldn't budge when Seto insisted on a better, more private, school.

Mokuba opened his door and put one foot on the pavement. He looked back. The heat in his eyes seemed to have cooled a little. "No bodyguards, 'kay?"

"Mokuba-"

"I won't do anything stupid, and I'll do my homework when I get back. I promise."

Seto drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with two fingers. "Fine, but be home by eight."

The way his brother brightened was worth the leniency. The wide smile, the way he all but bounded out of the car, it was as if he was twelve again. It was enough to make Seto smile, if only slightly.

Mokuba went to close the door, paused, and leaned back in. "Can I have some money? For the machines."

Seto pulled out his wallet and handed him a twenty.

"Thanks! Love you! Bye!" Mokuba slammed the door shut and, stuffing the bill into a pocket, hurried up the steps and into the school

Seto watched him go, a dull ache clenching at his chest. His throat felt gummed up. She swallowed, stiffened his shoulders, and maneuvered his car away from the school. He waited until he was back on the street before pulling out his phone and speed dialing one of his security guards.

The man picked up on the first ring. "Yes, Mr. Kaiba."

"Mokuba is going out after practice tonight. Keep an eye on him, but-"

"Don't be seen. Got it."

"Exactly. If you are…" Seto let the sentence hang there unfinished.

"O-of course, sir. I'll be discreet."

"Good."

Kaiba Corporation was thirty floors of paned glass at the heart of Domino City. The structure was tapered, wider at the base, with a domed effigy at the top. Stone dragons flanked a pair of automatic doors, over which the logo was mounted. After leaving his car with the company valet, Seto went inside. The main lobby was almost sterile. White walls and linoleum floors tastefully arranged faux plants and artwork. There was a waiting area in the center lined with cushy armchairs and tables. Seto passed glass-enclosed offices on his way to the elevators behind the reception desk. The girl seated there greeted him, but he didn't respond. There was a crowd of technicians at the elevators. All it took was for one to spot Seto approaching for them all to move out of his way.

No one dared ride the elevator with the boss.

Seto's executive office was on the highest accessible floor. Off the elevator was a small waiting area, including a handful of chairs and a desk for his private secretary. Beyond them was a pair of wide wooden doors, on which had been installed a brass plate engraved with his name and the words 'President and CEO'. The desk was empty, but that was no cause for worry. His secretary would be in the break room downstairs at this time, preparing his coffee.

The office itself was like the rest of the building. Clean. Modern. There was a glass top desk by the windows overlooking the city and a line of file cabinets off to the side. On the opposite side of the room was a couch and a television, not unlike the ones in his office at home, for the days when Mokuba came to the office with him.

Not that he did that much anymore.

That morning's mail was in his inbox and his monitor was already on. He sifted through the pile as he waited for his secretary. Nothing pertinent. He moved to his emails just as the office door opened and his secretary stepped inside, a clipboard under her arm and a plain white mug in her hand.

Tomoko Shiratori is a small woman, with short brown hair and grey eyes. Her face was round, cherubic, with a small nose and a wide smile. She was pretty and seemed to grow prettier as her pregnancy progressed and a healthy glow took residence on her cheeks. She was fifteen years older than Seto and had been with the company since before he took it over. She'd been invaluable during the early days of his management.

Seto stood as she approached and reached to take the mug from her. "I trust you received my gift yesterday."

An attractive flush crept up to her ears. "We did, but it's a bit much. He won't even be able to use it for a good six months."

"Nonsense." Seto settled back in his chair. "If need be, think of it being able to transition to a bed as a bonus."

She shook her head as she laughed. "You can be so kind sometimes. I wish everyone else could see that."

Seto looked at his monitor, unable to keep eye contact. "Everything going as planned?"

"Sota has all your numbers, so he'll call you when I go into labor."

"Good." Though from what he had seen of Sota Shiratori, Seto was expecting the call to come a few hours, if not a day, late. "You're still fine with two months of leave? I can increase it if you think you'll need it."

"We should be fine. I'm afraid if I left you for too long you'd become a terror." She cupped a cheek. "Just think of all those two-week notices."

Seto almost laughed. "Fine, have it your way." He took a drink of his coffee. "Anything unusual on my schedule?"

Mrs. Shiratori pulled the clipboard from under her arm and read from it, hips swaying from side to side. "Let's see… you have a meeting with Research and Development at ten. Oh," she looked up, "there was a message from Hoffman Enterprises on the machine this morning."

"Never heard of them."

"I did a little looking. They're this big construction company in Berlin. They were kind of hard to understand, but I think they mentioned sending you an email as well."

Seto scanned his inbox. He found the email in question and opened it. He wrinkled his nose. "They must not have a translator on staff."

"What does it say?"

After a moment of deciphering the words, Seto said, "They're requesting my assistance with an amusement park expansion they were hired for. One of my investors mentioned me." He leaned against one armrest, a hand coming up to cup his jaw. "Interesting."

"You've got that look." Her head was cocked to one side, a knowing smile on her lips.

He cleared his throat. "Anything else?"

"Mokuba logged into your system from home last night and added his birthday to your calendar… and the finals of summer regionals."

Seto's lips tightened into a grimace. "Anything else?"

Mrs. Shiratori sighed. "No, but I'll keep you posted." She turned to leave, but stopped at the door and looked back. "Actually… I didn't want to bring it up, but some of the girls downstairs were wondering if you'd be interested in joining them for drinks after work."

Seto stared at her until she shrugged. "Tell them what I said the last time they asked."

"'That you don't have the leisure of wasting your time'. I think that's how you put it?"

"Close enough."

"Seto, maybe you should. It's been a long time since… you know. It wouldn't hurt to try again, maybe with someone your age."

"People my age don't have hundreds of employees to manage."

That gave her pause. "I worry about you."

"Which is appreciated, but I can take care of myself."

Mrs. Shiratori chuckled. "I think you said something like that a few years ago. You were, what, fourteen?"

He had been. She had looked at him with such good-natured intentions, like the ones he had grown used to until his father had adopted him. He had brushed them off then like any teenager would have. Nowadays he couldn't help but feel those concerns misplaced.

"You make me sound like Mokuba," he said.

"He's still a terror?"

"He doesn't want to listen." Seto lifted a hand. "He's shirking his homework, goes against my instructions. One of the guards even caught him sneaking out one night."

"Sounds like typical teenage boy behavior to me. I grew up with three of them. It's a phase. He'll grow out of it."

Seto let his hand fall back to the armrest. "You're sure?"

"They usually do. You should talk to him. You were a teenager once, I'm sure he'd appreciate it if you approached him from that perspective."

Seto looked down at the picture frame sitting next to his monitor, the only one he had from their time at the orphanage. The playroom had been crowded the day it was taken, and a small group had gathered around their table as Seto tried to teach a then six-year-old Mokuba how to play chess.

"No," he said. "I think we can both agree that my teen years were atypical. There's nothing there he needs to know."

"True." From the corner of his eye, he saw her rub a hand over her belly. "Well, let me know if you need anything."

Seto waited until the door was shut behind her before picking up the photograph. The once polished dark wood frame was worn at the corners where his thumbs had rubbed away the varnish. Those had been good times, simpler times.

He missed them.

The offices closed at five, but he stayed until six, answering the last few emails from overseas clients. Hoffmann Enterprises had not opened until three Domino time, so the last few hours of his day had been spent in a back and forth with their President, Vinzent Hoffmann. By the time he headed for home he had a teleconference with him scheduled for Monday. But even though office hours were over Seto spent the next few hours working from home, preparing the job posting for a temporary executive secretary, and processing payroll.

At eight on the dot, there was an awful racket in the hall. A door slammed somewhere. From Seto's bedroom, judging from the proximity.

Mokuba was home, and he was angry.

Seto steeled himself, pushing away his keyboard and drawing himself up into his most professional stance while trying to ignore the way his stomach tightened. The office door flung open. It crashed into the wall, shaking the shelf next to it and sending the objects displayed there toppling to the floor. There was the sharp snap of something breaking.

Mokuba, red-faced and shaking, pointed a finger at him. "You! You lied to me!"

Seto folded his hands together on the desk. "I did no such thing."

"I heard you. No bodyguards."

"What I agreed to was you going out with your friends. I said nothing about-"

"You made me look like a fucking joke!"

Seto's head jerked back as if he had been slapped. "Mokuba-"

Mokuba stormed up to his desk. "I'm not a kid anymore. It's creepy! Everyone's gonna talk about it. Poor little Mokuba. His brother doesn't trust him, treats him like a baby. Can't do anything without his brother's permission."

"You know that's not true."

"Isn't it?" Mokuba started to pace, from one corner of the desk to the other. "You can't even leave me alone with my friends for a few hours. Not that you'd know about that. You've never had any."

Heat rose into Seto's face. "I never needed any. There's a difference."

"Yeah right." Mokuba gave a bitter laugh that twisted Seto's insides. "Most popular guy in your graduating class and you didn't even have friends. You're gonna spend your whole life bitter and alone cause you can't trust anyone. Not even me!" Mokuba stopped and turned to face him. "Just 'cause one bimbo makes you look stupid doesn't mean everyone's out to get you."

"Shut up!"

Mokuba stepped back, eyes wide. Seto covered his mouth with a trembling hand.

Now you've done it.

Seto took a deep breath and pulled his hand away, balling it into a fist to stop the shaking. "I do trust you, but there are people out there who would hurt you if given the chance. I won't let that happen. I promised you I would keep you safe and I intend to keep that promise."

"I don't want protection." Mokuba clenched his fists at his sides. "I wanna live."

He turned and ran. Seto jumped to his feet, his arm outstretched. His legs were heavy, weak. Mokuba's footsteps echoed down the hall and disappeared behind a slamming door.

You're never going to get obedience that way.

He collapsed into his chair. His elbows landed on the desk, hands clenched in his hair, nails digging into his scalp.

Grow up, boy. People are going to get hurt. It's part of the job.

He clenched his eyes shut. "Go away. I kept my promise. I kept him safe."

Oh, you'll keep him safe. I assure you that.

The humming of the computer was a jet engine in the silence. He tried to focus on it, on his breathing. It would have been easy to give in, to let that old familiar voice taunt him into spending the rest of the night curled in the dark behind a locked door. His eyes stung with old tears he refused to shed. Old memories. Old pains. His back ached.

When he could breathe again, he got up and went over to the shelf of fallen items to put everything back. Most of the knick-knacks were unharmed, save for one. The chess tournament trophy was cast in bronze, with a varnished hardwood base and his name engraved on the little plaque nailed to it. Where before the base held the effigy of a knight on the back of a rearing horse, now the horse's legs were snapped at the knees. He held the two pieces in his hands, cradled them for the length of several heartbeats, before taking them to his desk and throwing them in the trash can.

The phone rang, shrill in his ears.

Seto picked it up. "Kaiba."

"M-Mr. Kaiba, this is S-Sota Shiratori. Tomoko's husband."