by Ally Vance
When the door finally opened, I saw the first thing that happened. One of the two bodyguards entered the room and looked around. After that, he retained again and gave way to his boss, who ignored me as usual.
I was in no way prepared for the person who followed him.
Usually, the interpreter followed right behind Mr. Tanaka. Still, the person who came through the door second was someone I had never seen before.
He was more of the same age as the two bodyguards and of the same ethnicity. His black hair was cut very short at the sides and long on the head but so coiffed that it would not fall into his face under any circumstances. His eyes were so bright that they looked almost like amber. His features were sharp and distinctive, but in a way that made him look incredibly handsome and just as dangerous as a predator.
He wore a tailor-made suit, and yet I could see the end of a tattoo on his neck that had to be much bigger: he, too, was a Yakuza.
His gaze fell on me, only for a fraction of a second, and yet he hit me in my marrow and leg. I became hot and then cold.
I didn’t even notice the rest of the participants who entered the room and only came back to my senses when Mr. Tanaka started talking. The new interpreter translated the spoken words and added, “I am Hiroshi Tanaka, Yoshihihiro Tanaka’s son, and I will be attending and translating these meetings from now on. It is an honor to meet you.”
I almost missed my cue.
Just in time, I set off to fill the water in the two glasses in front of Mr. Tanaka and his son. I took great care not to look at anyone in the eye and quickly disappeared back to my seat.
Throughout the entire meeting, I had to keep myself from looking at Hiroshi Tanaka by chaining my gaze to the floor. Only in between, I had to check briefly if the glasses on the table were empty. That was the most challenging moment. Because the temptation to look to the side for only a very short time was unbearable.
Something about him attracted me like a moth to light. Was it the brief gush of his aftershave that enveloped me as he passed me by?
Was it the way he moved? The dark tone of his voice? Or was it just the quick eye contact that catapulted me into the sky for a moment? Or had it been hell?
When the meeting was over, I almost froze into a pillar of salt. Instinctively I bowed, as I always did. This time before I had the chance to make eye contact with him again. Had he looked at me one more time?
You belong to the Yakuza, I warned myself. The best thing was to give the Tanakas a wide berth, and yet I was overcome by an obsessive urge to follow Hiroshi Tanaka outside.
I wanted to follow him everywhere, but I couldn’t. At least, not now.
Hiroshi Tanaka’s face haunted my dreams, and the scent of his aftershave hung in my nose as if he had spent every night in my bed. I longed for the next meeting with the Tanakas. My life began to revolve around that day as if the sun was my earth. Everything else receded into the darkness of the universe that was my life.
It was crazy, but it made me happy.
As I waited in my sheath dress for Tanaka-san for the second time, my heart was beating up to my throat. Suddenly, I was overcome with a terrible fear that as soon as I see Hiroshi Tanaka again, that magic would suddenly vanish. But it had the opposite effect. My breath caught and my entire body tingled. At the same time, he did not dignify me with a glance. But that didn’t bother me. Hiroshi was even more handsome than I remembered, even if I could not look at him.
Two more times, I saw him. The last time was on a Friday, and James-san had given me time off early after reporting to him.
My heart fluttered with euphoria as I walked home and still as I walked to the laundromat across the street armed with my workout bag.
While waiting for my laundry to be done, I stared at my phone and saw nothing but him.
For some reason, the sound of a car door slamming snapped me out of my trance. I looked up. My heart stopped.
There he was. Right in front of me, separated only by three steps and a glass front was Hiroshi Tanaka. He was standing next to a black luxury sedan, glancing at his cell phone himself.
What was he doing here?
Was this important?
Somewhere in my mind, I remembered that the Tanakas owned a series of laundromats. Clearly, these served to launder money.
Was this laundromat one of them? Or was it a coincidence? I didn’t care.
When he started moving, I was already on my feet, even before I consciously decided to follow him. It was as if he had his own gravity, pulling me along with him.
I paid no attention to where we were going, only to keep glancing at my phone myself so it wouldn’t be obvious I was following him. Part of me wondered what Hiroshi Tanaka was doing in a neighborhood like this. A community that was dominated by cheap apartment buildings and affordable stores.
It was probably an attempt of my mind to warn me. In the end, though, I didn’t care.
I followed the man of my dreams two streets away, where the sidewalks were lined with cars.
There, he entered a restaurant that seemed to have opened recently. It was called Takahashi, which meant “high bridge” and was a common family name in Japan.
I had never been to this corner before. My life had revolved around the office and the strip of streets around my apartment building, as I found everything I needed there. All I knew was that this restaurant had to be new because the entire building looked like it had been basically renovated.
With my mouth open, I stared at the restaurant from across the street. I couldn’t follow Hiroshi there because I was wearing sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt. Part of me wanted to wait for him outside and see what he did next. He would probably be there longer than it took to do my laundry. In the end, my common sense won out, but just for this once.
The next Friday, I went to do my laundry again at the exact same time, hoping Hiroshi would show up once more. This time I wore jeans and a new T-shirt. My heart was pounding so wildly that I felt sick the entire time. When the same car pulled up in front of the laundromat again, I almost threw up.
The following week, I postponed my laundry day until Saturday and had snagged a small single table at the restaurant. I was so nervous I couldn’t read the menu, and took the recommendation of the day.
When he appeared, I was briefly overcome with panic that he would see me in the corner, but he did not. He was sitting at the other end of the room and so far away that I could not easily see or hear him. This was because every single seat was enclosed with medium-height dark wood walls to give diners some privacy.
The restaurant was quite expensive. So expensive, in fact, that I wouldn’t be able to save a good chunk of the usual amount I set aside should I eat here every Friday. But I didn’t care.
The following Friday, I had a table assigned to me, which was on the backside of where he had sat the last time. Even the ends of my hair seemed to tingle as I recognized his voice. I could smell his aftershave as he took a seat at his table. We spent our dinner back to back. Again, I was barely able to eat, but I hadn’t ordered very much anyway. I was too spellbound by the fact that only a few millimeters of wood separated us. I imagined that I could feel the heat of his body against my back.
For weeks, no, months, that Friday night became my lifeblood; it made my life bearable. I forgot about my money problems or what circumstances I was living in. I even bought an expensive dress with which I would fit better in this restaurant.
And then it was over.
It felt worse than just being stood up when Hiroshi didn’t show up that Friday night.
I quickly had a plethora of explanations as to why he was late.
When it reached the time he usually left, I started finding excuses for why he wasn’t coming this time.
When Hiroshi also didn’t show up at the restaurant the following Friday, my doubts grew drastically. At first, I looked on the bright side. Because for the first time, I really tasted the food I was eating. It was delicious and m
ore than worthy of its price. But when it became clear that he would not show up this time either, I suddenly felt sick.
It felt so much more painful than a simple disappointment or rejection. It was worse than the many times I learned that the people who had come to adopt a child had decided against me. It was so much more terrifying than the one time when the couple, who would have wanted me, took me back, like an animal you don’t like after all.
The third Friday when he didn’t come, I didn’t know what I felt anymore. Was I still hoping? Or was I already making excuses for him?
I didn’t wait for him when I was served my food because I told myself that I was an adult and strong. I didn’t need anyone. It was stupid to let my life revolve around a stranger.
I started to go numb again.
At least, that was how I convinced myself. Simply because I wanted it so much. But my inner torment was unbearable as if I were sore inside.
On the way back to my apartment, I paid no attention to my surroundings.
I didn’t care that it was already dark. It was my normal path, on which I usually encountered no one. It seemed as if there was an invisible border between the two neighborhoods. It separated the one where the restaurant was from the one where I lived.
Again and again, I swallowed forgivingly against the lump in my throat. At that moment, I deeply regretted not having accepted the nightcap that always came free with the bill. For a moment, I felt the temptation to go past the small supermarket and get something strong to drink.
Suddenly I froze, like a rabbit in front of a snake. In a flash, two strong arms had wrapped themselves around me, and a cloth with a strange smell was pressed over my nose and mouth. I was so frightened that I took a deep breath.
This was my last moment of freedom.
Chapter Two
Hiro
The first time I saw Kate Smith, I knew I had to have her. It’s hard to put this need into the right words because they make it sound simpler than it really is. And that would diminish her to an object, like a car, a house, or a gun.
It wouldn’t do her justice.
Her sadness called to me, and that’s the only reason I let her watch me. And the only reason she was allowed to see me.
I had to give in to that temptation. You don’t leave a starved kitten calling for you in the wet cold of winter, either. I may be a cold-blooded enforcer of my father’s family, but I am not a monster.
The day, six months ago, when I first saw Kate Smith, her fate was sealed.
I didn’t really have a choice about that, because I can’t decide if the sun rises in the west either.
My father had told me about Kate Smith.
She was the second assistant to his lawyer, Rory James, whose only job seemed to be entertaining the meeting attendees. He wasn’t sure if Mr. James was just trying to give the meetings some sort of Asian flair or that there was more to the young woman. So he tasked me with finding out more about Kate Smith to make sure this lawyer was just trying to be respectful.
I had met Rory James a few times before he hired Kate and was immediately sure it wasn’t just that. At the end of my research, I hoped he would be more thorough in his work.
Kate Smith was an orphan. She was found in a traffic accident as the sole survivor of two occupants. Her mother had died by the time the ambulance arrived. There was no paperwork, and the police had not investigated further after the child was turned over to the orphanage. The only thing they knew about Kate was her name, since she knew it herself, and her birthday. This was not enough to find out who she was. At that time, she had been five years old, and I had started my senior year in high school. She spent the rest of her life in an orphanage. She was never adopted. Probably that was because she was damaged goods.
At least that was the entry in her file. As a child with terrible trauma who had nightmares almost every night, she had been challenging to place. She had even been returned once by the people who wanted to adopt her. Her nightmares had also been the reason why the other children avoided her.
For this reason, the orphanage tolerated Kate spending a lot of time with the janitor: a man named Watanabe, who taught her Japanese.
When I presented my results to my father, a smile appeared on his face. He even seemed pleased, if not impressed, with Rory James’ ingenuity.
However, the girl had to disappear, since spying on us would never be tolerated, no matter what. When my father made this decision regarding Kate, I had never met her before. Nevertheless, my father’s order hit me deeper than I had expected. The head of my family did not miss my hesitation.
“Do you disapprove of my decision, son?” he asked me, and I begged forgiveness, for hesitation was tantamount to disobeying orders.
“She is an innocent child, father,” I replied. “Moreover, she might prove useful. A white woman who knows Japanese is a trump card. James has correctly identified this.”
Scrutinizingly, my father, looked at me, and I could tell he recognized my true motives.
With a sharp nod, he gave me permission to do whatever I saw fit. This only showed me how much he valued me and my abilities. It wasn’t until that moment that I allowed myself to feel more for Kate Smith, and I realized how strong my interest in the lonely girl with the sun-kissed hair already was.
I didn’t just have to have her. I wanted her. The realization that I could have her was like a rush unknown until that moment.
But Kate Smith could not be mine until I would be absolutely sure her loyalty was all mine.
Still, I did my best to let my mind guide me.
Since my father wanted me to be his deputy and heir, it went without saying that I would attend all of his appointments as soon as possible. Besides, I had grown up bilingual, and my English was nearly impeccable. No one in the office would suspect anything.
When the day came that I would see Kate for the first time, I was actually a little nervous. It was a mixture of anticipation, curiosity, and hope.
Would she live up to the image I had formed from her file, testimonials, photos, and social media?
Or would I be disappointed? If that was the case, my task of breaking her would be much more challenging—at least that’s what I thought at that time.
However, it was the other way around.
When I entered the meeting room, I already knew where she would be standing. Still, I couldn’t just walk past her without a quick glance at her and a brief eye contact. That would be all I needed to determine if I was correct in my assessment.
I could feel her gaze in my bones. Sadness surrounded her like a fading perfume. Kate Smith was so young; she seemed so innocent. Yet it was her eyes that broke my heart. The blue in her eyes looked to me like a raging sea that reigned beneath Kate’s surface. I just knew it.
At that moment, as we looked at each other, I knew there was no way back for me.
And yet, I had to control myself because I had a net to cast I couldn’t let her notice. I took a month to ensure there would be two meetings. Within those four weeks, I became her unnoticed shadow. I followed her to work in the morning and during her morning chores as well as her errand for lunch.
Kate Smith functioned like clockwork. After a week, I already knew her daily routines, so the second week, I took advantage of the time to look around her apartment. She lived in a cheap apartment complex that my family had just purchased. We were going to redesign the whole neighborhood bit by bit.
Kate had one of the smallest apartments, but it was furnished. It was very worn, but she kept it extremely clean and tidy. Her clothes seemed too big for her, which made me suspect that she must have gotten most of them from the thrift store.
Although extremely successful, this firm seemed to pay her a downright pittance. For some reason, this made me angry. Before I knew it, I found myself sniffing a blouse of hers that Kate had hung to dry in the bathroom, which barely fit the shower, toilet, and sink. She had collected a considerable number of samples in the small mirr
ored cabinet. Except for deodorant, she didn’t seem to spend anything on cosmetics.
Her life was in stark contrast to mine.
I was lucky. My family was influential, successful, and wealthy. I had a younger brother and sister, and my parents loved each other. I had gotten a good education. My life was spent serving the family I loved and who loved me back. There was nothing I seemed to lack, and I enjoyed my work.
Kate had nothing. No family, no money, and no job that fulfilled her.
We had absolutely nothing in common except a sense of order, a need for structure, an appreciation of discipline, and a fascination with each other that bordered on obsession.
The Friday night she followed me was only a confirmation of what I already knew.
At this point, I knew everything about her, and every detail was calculated to the letter. In the office, I walked deliberately, close to her, so that she couldn’t help but look at me and smell my aftershave.
Every time she was out, I was close to making sure that she perceived the scent again or felt that she had seen me. I did all of this to make her think of me and then withdraw from her entirely.
I, thereby, only became as addicted to Kate as she was to me, and I gladly accepted that fact. Slowly but surely, I lured her deeper into my net. The moment she stood up in the laundromat and stepped outside to follow me, I knew she would not escape me. I wonder if Kate really realized she was becoming a stalker. Was she even, if I was the one who had seduced her into it?
I watched her via the camera hidden in my collar at the back of my neck, trying to figure out where I was going as inconspicuously as possible.
She didn’t dare enter my restaurant. The waitress would probably have kindly escorted her back out anyway.
The second time, Kate did better. Probably because she had gotten used to it. However, she stopped again on the other side of the street. The fact that Kate was not at the laundromat on third Friday did not unsettle me. I was sure she would be waiting for me at the restaurant, and she was. Kate was sitting way in the back of the restaurant. I saw her before I opened the door and caught her attention. How would she feel when she realized I would be sitting at the other end of the room where she couldn’t see me or even hear me?
