#tw.threats

Just like people.

Across the table, she sat stiffly—the woman who still had the privilege of being in your life.

For now.

She was pretending to be at ease, but Laurent could see through the act. The way she barely touched the silverware in front of her, the way her fingers curled against the edge of the table instead of resting comfortably—subtle, nervous habits.

She wasn’t afraid of him. Not yet.

But she should be.

The restaurant around them was quiet, its atmosphere tailored for discretion. The ambient lighting was soft, casting golden hues against polished wood and expensive glass. Conversations remained hushed, their words swallowed by the deep acoustics of the room. This was a place where deals were made behind half-smiles and wine glasses, where power was exchanged over candlelit tables.

It was a place for people like him.

Not for people like her.

She knew it, too. Laurent could see it in the way her shoulders remained squared, as if bracing herself against an invisible force. The tension in her body was almost amusing. As if she had already decided she didn’t trust him but had still come here anyway.

That was the first mistake.

He set his glass down, allowing the silence to stretch—not long enough to be awkward, but just enough for the weight of it to press against her.

Then, he finally spoke.

“I want to talk about her.”

A reaction. Subtle, but there. A barely noticeable pause in the way she shifted her utensils, the flicker of hesitation in her eyes before she masked it with a carefully neutral expression.

“She’s doing fine,” she said smoothly. “She’s managing. You know how she is.”

Managing.

Laurent hummed, tilting his head slightly, as if considering the word. He let it linger between them, untouched.

It was the kind of word people used when they were lying.

“She’s surviving,” he corrected, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

Her lips pressed together. “She’s strong.”

“She shouldn’t have to be.”

The candlelight flickered, its golden glow reflected in the deep red of his wine glass.

Laurent studied her with the same precision he used in business negotiations. Reading her. Measuring her.

The slight tightening of her grip around the base of her glass. The way she was carefully keeping her breathing even. The barely-there twitch of her fingers as she considered how much she wanted to reveal.

She was cautious. He would give her that.

But caution didn’t win against inevitability.

“I heard Frosty Café has been struggling,” Laurent continued, his tone smooth, effortless. “Cost-cutting. Declining sales. Unstable employment.”

He took a slow sip of his wine, letting the weight of his words settle. Then, softer—more intentional.

“It must be exhausting for her.”

And there it was.

The first real crack.

A sharp exhale, followed by a hesitation that wasn’t masked quickly enough. A flicker of frustration in her eyes.

“She doesn’t complain,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “Even when they started letting people go, she just… kept pushing through.”

Of course, she did.

That was who she was. The kind of woman who carried burdens too heavy for her shoulders but refused to let them break her.

But Laurent knew something she didn’t.

People like her—people who never asked for help, who bore their struggles in silence—were the easiest to break.

Not through force. Through exhaustion.

“She deserves better.”

His voice softened—not enough to be comforting, but enough to coax.

A subtle nudge. A well-placed seed.

Her best friend hesitated. “What exactly are you getting at?”

Laurent leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. Not aggressive, not imposing—just enough to shift the weight of the conversation.

“I want to help her.”

A scoff. “Out of the kindness of your heart?”

He smiled. Slow. Unreadable.

“No.” He swirled his glass, watching the wine move. “Out of devotion.”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating kind of silence.

Her friend’s fingers twitched against her napkin. “She doesn’t even remember you.”

Laurent didn’t react immediately.

He simply tilted his head, as if considering the words.

“That doesn’t matter.”

It never did.

She had changed his life once, years ago, with nothing but a simple act of kindness. And though she had long forgotten, he never had.

She had never noticed the hands shaping her world.

Never noticed how often fate bent in her favor—or how often it didn’t.

But Laurent had been there.

Always watching. Always waiting.

And now, the final piece was ready to be placed.

“Ignis will be opening soon,” Laurent continued, his voice smooth, patient. “A high-end café inside a corporate building—exclusive, profitable, stable. The perfect place for her to thrive.”

Her best friend frowned, something tightening in her expression.

She was realizing something. That this wasn’t just generosity.

That this was something else entirely.

“And you want her to work there?” she asked.

Laurent exhaled softly.

“I want her to run it.”

A flicker of shock. Uncertainty.

“The café will be in your name,” he continued. “On paper, at least. The contracts, the finances—it will all be under your ownership.” He leaned back, giving her space to process. “All you have to do is convince her to take the manager position.”

She hesitated.

“And what do I get out of this?”

His lips curved slightly.

“You get the profits. A steady income. A secure business without the risk. And, most importantly…”

A pause.

“You get to help your dear friend.”

Laurent saw it the moment she started to fold.

The flicker of hesitation. The moral conflict.

She was loyal. Protective.

But she was also practical.

At the end of the day, everyone had a price.

━━━ ✦ ━━━

Laurent didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t need to. He had already set the pace, dictated the flow, ensured the conclusion before she even knew what game they were playing.

Her fingers curled slightly around the stem of her glass. She wasn’t drinking. Not really. Just holding it, as if the chilled surface against her skin could anchor her.

Laurent smiled. A quiet, knowing thing.

“You’re hesitating,” he said, voice smooth, almost amused. “You’re wondering if this is a mistake.”

Her expression tightened, but she didn’t deny it.

Laurent leaned back slightly, the movement casual, effortless. “You care about her.” A pause, calculated. “That’s why you’re here.”

She exhaled, rubbing a thumb along the rim of her glass. “I don’t think—”

“You do.” Laurent cut in smoothly, tilting his head. “You think too much. That’s the problem.”

A flicker of something—annoyance, unease.

Laurent reached for his wine glass again, letting the silence settle between them for a few moments, just long enough for it to feel weighted. He could see it happening—her mind shifting, tilting toward the inevitable.

She was already there.

She just didn’t know it yet.

She exhaled slowly, her gaze flickering toward the candlelight between them. The small flame wavered, casting shifting shadows against the white linen tablecloth. Laurent could see it—the way her mind was pulling in two directions, loyalty warring with practicality.

He had seen it happen countless times before.

The exact moment when hesitation tilted toward surrender.

“You’re worried,” Laurent murmured, his voice quiet but sure. “Worried that this isn’t the right choice.” He tilted his head slightly. “But tell me… how much longer do you think she can keep going like this?”

Her fingers twitched. A reaction. A crack.

Laurent didn’t press. Not yet. He let the words linger, let the doubt seep into her mind like ink into water.

“You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you?” he continued, his tone gentle, coaxing. “The exhaustion in her eyes. The way she’s been working herself past her limits.”

She swallowed.

“She won’t ask for help,” Laurent mused, rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. “She never does.” A pause. Then, softer—deadlier.

“Someone has to make the decision for her.”

Her lips parted slightly as if to argue, but the words never came.

Laurent smiled.

He had her.

The tension between them was palpable now, coiling in the air like an invisible thread tightening around her throat.

Laurent didn’t move, didn’t rush her. He simply waited, giving her space to unravel on her own. That was the thing about people like her—they talked themselves into submission.

He just had to listen.

“She wouldn’t want this forced on her,” she finally said, though the conviction in her voice wavered.

Laurent exhaled, as if indulging a tired argument. “Who said anything about force?”

She hesitated.

“Convincing isn’t coercion.” He traced the rim of his glass with his thumb, the movement slow, precise. “We’re offering her something better. Something stable. Something she deserves.”

She swallowed, gaze dropping to her plate.

“She’ll thank you for it,” Laurent continued, voice softer now, almost reassuring. “One day.”

A beat of silence. The final hesitation.

Then, finally—

“What exactly would I need to do?”

He smiled.

Laurent took a measured sip of his wine, his expression unreadable. “Nothing drastic,” he said, setting the glass down. “She just needs a little… push.”

Her fingers curled against her lap, tension visible in the way she clenched and unclenched her hands. “You mean manipulation.”

Laurent chuckled, low and amused. “Persuasion.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “And if she refuses?”

“She won’t.” His certainty was unwavering. “She’s at her breaking point. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

She inhaled sharply, her nails digging into her palm. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

Laurent leaned in slightly, the candlelight flickering in his gaze. “I always do.”

Silence settled between them, heavier than before. He could almost hear her thoughts clicking into place, falling in line with his expectations.

Then, after what felt like a final moment of resistance—she nodded.

Just once.

Laurent’s smile was victory itself.

End of Chapter One.

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*I try to push his chest away but his grip on the nape of my neck is too strong. I punch and push at his chest in a fit, profanities spewing from my lips in the midst of all of it. All of my emotion exploding into a tantrum.* “Because you’re acting like a fucking psycho r-right now! I don’t w-wanna be with you! I’m serious! T-this was a mistake! What don’t you fucking understand, Kazutora?” *My voice is broken as I sob through my yells, hiccups and stutters breaking up my sentences.*