AT HER SERVICE
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thanks so much for clicking to read this story. Please be mindful that this story will discuss heavy themes including but not limited to; abusive relationships, domestic violence, sexual assault, intimidation & cheating.
A huge thank you to my friends Taq and Bigbadw0lf for being my betas for this first chapter.
CHAPTER 1: Grievous Offences
A harsh slap echoes across the room, cutting through the air like a warm knife through butter. It is disturbing how natural his abusive nature and taunts feel at this point. It is all she has come to expect from their twisted marriage, born out of convenience for him and him alone.
Silence fills the room as Momo's hand slides up to cup her throbbing cheek, her skin raw to her touch as her trembling palm engulfed it whole. None of it is new, nor is it unexpected. This is his true nature. Dark eyes narrow as she stubbornly looks up at her husband's handsome face, his eyes shaking with relentless rage as he towers above her. Hands slam back down on the table, porcelain plates and teacups chattering in response.
At first glance, he was quite handsome. His blond hair slicked back into an old fashioned hairstyle, blue eyes that were as deep as the ocean, and a solid frame that instantly made any woman feel safe; all topped off with an amazing career as a rising politician. But his heart was rotten to the core, there was no doubt about it. His exterior was but a tantalising outer coating its sole purpose being to lure in his prey. They had only been married for two months but she had seen and experienced more than enough to know this fact. His behaviour around others was a toxic performance focused on normalcy, carried out by the psychopath her father married her off to without so much as a second thought.
It wasn't only him. Gone were the days of her father's protection or the illusion of such a thing. The days when he held her tight, vowing to always love and shelter her. She was but a pawn on a chessboard. Expendable and only useful in his eyes for one thing. An exchange of power. That one truth had shattered her to the very core.
It hadn't taken long for her new husband, Kenichi, to show his true colours post-nuptials. At first, it was the odd harsh reaction, something easily brushed aside and justified as an occurrence due to a stressful day at work. But then he started to force himself on her and to sexually harass the maids, slapping their rears and making inappropriate comments about their bodies, and if they protested? They were told to tend to him in the baths later that night. Their cries echoed through the halls of their sizable estate.
Every part of her screamed out to play the hero when she heard their cries. To save those poor women from his touch, yet time and time again she froze up, unable to turn the doorknob and enter the godforsaken room. What would he do to her if she interfered, and what could she do to stop him anyway? She was quirkless and powerless to boot.
Exhaling heavily, Momo slides her hand from her cheek, her gaze softening as she goes instinctively into survival mode.
"Next time I'll wear something more suitable," she responds, hands slipping down into her lap as she forces a well-rehearsed, remorseful expression. If their short marriage has taught her anything, it is how to stroke his ego. At times, she wonders if her ability to manipulate him a little is all that keeps him from being more physically violent than he has been thus far.
"I don't want to do this to you my darling, Momo," he whispers in response as he leans down to cup her throbbing cheek, his thumb stroking her cheekbone as he spoke. "You know I never want to. But you force my hand, your disobedience must be punished or you will never learn," he explains, the words tumbling carelessly from his lips as he tilts his head in false sympathy. His remorseless eyes search her gaze for long moments before he leans in, pressing his lips tenderly against her forehead, attempting to brush over his actions with a pitiful act of affection. "I'll see you in our room at nine o'clock," Kenichi adds as he pulls back, a dark smile clinging to his lips as he turns and proceeds to leave the room.
It was hard to know if he took her for a fool, or if he simply was so cocky that he was under the impression that such tactics would go unnoticed. That she was simply a rich young woman that was so desperate for love that she would fall for his act. Did he believe that she would fall victim to Stockholm Syndrome, and become putty in his hands over the slightest glimmer of affection? That she would simply choose to ignore the grievous offences he committed against her and those around her like they were nothing?
To take my body without consent like you always do? Call it what it is husband. It's rape. Don't act like it's a romantic engagement of sorts. It's torture, Momo notes bitterly to herself, eyes narrowing as she replays his last comment in her mind. She was just a possession. A trophy wife he thought he had the liberty to violate and torment at his pleasure, her feelings be damned.
The sound of the door locking behind her echoes through the room. Her shoulders slacken, nerves soothing in an instant as she relaxes into her chair at long last. Throat tightening, Momo squeezes her eyes shut. Her heart rate skyrockets as she wraps her hands tightly around her shoulders, hugging herself tight. Momo's eyelids quiver as she fights desperately to maintain the ladylike composure that had been drummed into her from a young age. Tears were weak and manipulative in the eyes of men of her stature. They had no place leaking from her eyes, and in the words of her father, 'no one wants a weak woman.'
Another click sounds through the air as the door swings open before locking once more, heavy footsteps echoing through the room causing the tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end in anticipation.
"Madame, he is not worthy of your tears," comes a soothing male voice from over Momo's shoulder; the warmth of his nurturing tone cutting through the thick, dispiriting fog that clouded her mind in an instant. Suddenly, without warning, a thick woollen blanket envelops her delicate frame. A pair of hands gently stroke her arms.
Eyes widening, the heiress bolts upright in her chair, her gaze drifting over her shoulder until they locked with her beloved childhood friend looming over her.
"Shoto," Momo whispers simply, lips trembling. She stares deep into his dual-toned eyes, as always they were overflowing with kindness and a hint of pity. "I am not crying. I do not cry Shoto," she retorts at last, hands tugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she tries to regain her composure.
A sigh rolls from his lips as he strides onwards, silently noting the sizable mark on her cheek as he passes her. Fists clench as he double-takes for a moment, eyes narrowing as he eyes her carefully for a moment before dragging his gaze back to the task at hand. Yet again her husband had the nerve to lay his hands on her, his Momo; and yet again she was left shaken. It wasn't his place to insist that she reports Kenichi to the authorities, even the maids refused to do so. To be frank, he feared for her safety if she chose to do so given his political influence. But she was unquestionably intelligent, there was no doubt she had a plan of sorts.
It wasn't the first time his employer had left evidence in wake of his grievous offences towards members of the household, and Shoto was positive it wouldn't be the last. Kenichi was a cruel man, a dangerous one that he desired to avoid entangling within a negative light unless it was unavoidable. Not that he was yet to bear witness to his acts of cruelty to date, only the aftermath. He wasn't stupid. It was always when only the women were present, none of which had the strength or the resolve to stand up to him.
Weathered hands slowly reach across the table, cleaning up the mess his master had made of the high tea that had been carefully assembled for them. Thankfully, nothing had been physically broken on this occasion.
"There is no shame in crying Madame," Shoto states thoughtfully, eyes fixed on the task at hand as his mind wandered to the woman sitting quietly to his left.
Of course, he saw right through her. He always did. One of the many benefits of knowing her for as long as she could remember. Yet, as always, she would act independent, dismissing any signs of weakness he bore witness to. Lips press together stubbornly as she tears her eyes from his handsome face, instead choosing to stare across at the dishevelled antique tea set and appetisers strewn across the table before her. All this because I didn't wear that inappropriate gown he had laid out for me, she notes silently, as their discussion replays through her mind.
Shoto carefully places the porcelain tableware and leftover food to one side, eyes flicking in her direction. There is an unsettling void present in her gaze, an emptiness that says all he needs to know about what had taken place. Throat tightening, his eyes narrow; anger bubbles away inside his chest as he stares in silence at the shaken woman before him. There was no doubt she was strong, but watching the woman he cares for enduring anything her pig of a husband had the nerve to throw at her was heart-wrenching. No one should experience such cruelty.
Without thinking, he extends an arm in her direction, fingertips uncoiling as they near her visage only to witness her eyes widen in terror as she flinches and sinks back into the curve of her seat. It is hard to not take such an action personally and yet, he understands that knee jerk reaction; perhaps better than most people.
"Madame I di-" he starts to explain only to be cut off.
"I've told you for years now, please call me Momo, Shoto," she corrects him, her heart racing once more as she tugs the blanket tighter to her figure, a shiver rushing down her spine.
Shoto forces a half-hearted smile, silently acknowledging her kind request despite the distressed state she was clearly in. Her eyes keenly scan his face as he tries his best to decide how best to proceed. For years he declined her offer. After all, it feels wrong to call such a beautiful woman her first name so flippantly let alone the lady of the house; the duration of their relationship couldn't change that fact.
"Lady Momo," he whispers in a hushed tone, the juxtaposition of his rough voice and her elegant name ringing through his ears. "I would never harm you. You know that, don't you?" The question tumbles carelessly from his lips, his gaze fixed on her dark hypnotic gaze.
Silence clings to the air as Momo stares back at the handsome man towering above her. The concern and love present in Shoto's gaze should've been comforting, but instead, it makes her chest ache. There is no questioning it, the feelings he has for her exceeded that of his station as both a friend and employee. She is no stranger to that fact, and yet it is a topic neither of them sought to bring attention to.
Plump lips tremble as they part, no words escaping her for long moments as she attempts to gather herself; exhaling with defeat as she pieces together a coherent response. "I'm aware," Momo responds, at last, her eyes quivering as she gazes up at her childhood friend. "I didn't mean to move. I just.." she starts to explain, stopping short of finishing her sentence as she gazes down at her lap, teeth piercing into her lower lip.
I need to be stronger than this. Fearing the touch of someone who I feel safe around is pitiful. I don't want to live like this, Momo notes silently, tears stinging at the corners of her stubborn eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Momo blinks back the tears that threaten to roll down her cheeks; a scorching heat racing up her throat as she holds back the overwhelming urge to completely fall to pieces. Now was not the time.
"I just got caught by surprise, that's all," she responds dismissively in an attempt to sway the topic of conversation.
Shoto sighs heavily, his expression softening as he twists his lips into a soft knowing smile. "My apologies," comes his simple response, a hand combing through his thick white locks. If she didn't feel ready for the comfort of another, that was her choice; he respects that. "I will be here when you need an ally, Lady Momo," Shoto responds calmly, straightening his posture as he extended his right hand in her direction; "Just know, I will not hesitate to do anything required if it means taking away your pain. I will stop at nothing when you are ready to receive my protection."
Hot breath catches in the back of Momo's throat as her heart pounds away wildly in her chest. His words ring through her mind like wildfire, setting all fear that plagued her mind alight decimating it to ashes. There was no questioning his sincerity.
Swallowing hard, she stares down at his weathered hand that was extended in her direction; eyes quickly flick up to his face as she leans forward, her hand slipping up and locking with his as she carefully rises. The blanket slides from her shoulders, immediately pooling at her feet as she stands face to face with him, eyes trembling under the weight of his intense gaze.
How is it that although I feel like a hollow shell of a girl I once was, he manages to lend me to hope? She muses silently, cheeks flushing as she releases her grip of his hand and takes a step towards the door, putting some space between them. A slender hand slips up to comb a section of her bangs behind her left ear, her cheeks slightly flushed as she averts her gaze.
"T-Thank you Shoto," she stutters under her breath before turning to make her exit.
The tap of her heels echoes through the large room until she reaches the door and proceeds to slip out of the room, clicking it behind her without so much as a look back over her shoulder.
Sighing heavily, she presses her back up against the cold wooden door, a hand still lingering on the door handle as she squeezed her eyes shut.
It means more than I can express, she notes silently, her other forearm slipping up over her eyes as hot tears cascade down her flawless cheeks.
Somehow, despite how bleak her current circumstances were; he managed to make the future look a tiny bit brighter. To some that might seem trivial, but to Momo, it was enough to encourage her to press onwards.
Momo straightens her posture, slender shoulders rolling back as she lowered her forearm that was shielding her eyes, hands promptly dabbing away any evidence of tears. Kenichi doesn't deserve the pleasure of knowing how much he had affected her. Gaze narrowing, she clenches her fists at her sides, long nails digging into her palm as a faint sting emanates from her hands; frustration growing.
One day I'll break free from this hellish nightmare, the heiress notes silently to herself as she struts irritatedly down the long decadent hallway, heels clicking rhythmically across the tiles.
"Soon," Momo whispers to herself, inhaling heavily as she tries to calm her need for retribution; fists uncurling as she forcibly relaxes her shoulders.
I'll make you atone for your crimes, Husband, she vows silently, aching to permit her fighting words to slip past the threshold of her lips; but now isn't the time. She needs to time it perfectly if she wished to have any chance of making it out of the situation relatively unscathed.
Thanks so much for reading the first chapter!
I hope you are intrigued by the storyline and the journey that lies ahead. If you have a moment please consider leaving a review as I'd love to hear your feedback and thoughts on this story.