July 30th, 2026
At Foxxy's house - 11:36 PM
Ian lay on the bed, his back sinking into the absurd softness of silk sheets and plush pillows that probably cost more than three months' rent at his old apartment. The room was warm, the scent of a vanilla diffuser wafting in from the corner, and yet Ian couldn't rest. It was too quiet. Too peaceful. It didn't feel earned. Not when the world outside had declared him a fugitive. Not when Mr. Kosuke's blood was still fresh in the public eye, and somehow, his face lingered in that witness description like a ghost of a crime he didn't commit.
The bodyguards stationed outside his door were courteous but firm. He wasn't going anywhere, and they made that clear. Their tall silhouettes occasionally shifted outside the frosted glass window, like shadows of executioners keeping time. Ian missed his shift at McDizzle. Not that it mattered. No one from work texted him. Not even a passive-aggressive emoji from his manager. No one cared. He was replaceable.
Maybe he always was.
Ian shifted on the bed, groaning softly, his hand covering his tired eyes. He didn't want to think anymore. But memories don't ask permission. They come crashing like waves.
Six years ago....
Somewhere in Tokyo Bay...
The sand was warm under their feet. The beach at the far end of the park wasn't exactly a tropical paradise, but for two broke college students, it was heaven. The wind carried the scent of salt and grilled meat from a nearby food truck. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting everything in a golden hue. Ian sat shirtless on a tattered towel, his jeans rolled up to his knees. Ruth sat beside him in a floral sundress, her long black hair wild from the breeze.
She wouldn't stop kissing him. His cheek. His jaw. The bridge of his nose. Another on the neck. Another on the cheek again.
"Ruth," Ian laughed, squirming slightly, "come on, give my skin a break. I think I'm already bruised."
"Too bad," she purred, tightening her grip around his torso, arms like vines. "You're mine, remember? Mine, mine, mine."
Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "Is this how you show love? By drowning a guy in kisses and holding him hostage?"
Ruth didn't laugh.
She looked at him with eyes so dark, they could swallow stars. "Yes. That's how I love. I don't share. I don't let go. Ever."
Ian blinked, thrown by the sudden seriousness in her tone. Then she kissed his nose again and leaned her head on his shoulder.
He let it go.
Like always.
"That's… intense," he muttered.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," she murmured.
"No, no," Ian said quickly. "Just unexpected. Back when we first met at the bar near campus, I thought you were, like, super cold and bitchy."
Ruth pulled back slightly and looked at him, feigning offense. "Excuse me?"
"I mean," Ian stammered, laughing awkwardly, "in a cool way! You were like... this fire queen. All sharp stares and zero patience. You roasted that guy who tried to buy you a drink."
"He tried to go under my pants. He deserved it."
"Fair point," Ian agreed. "But you were scary!"
Ruth grinned, leaning back in and nuzzling into his neck. "And now you're stuck with me. Forever."
He laughed again. He always laughed when things got weird. When he didn't know what else to do.
Back in the present, Ian sat up in the bed, heart thudding. That moment on the beach had seemed innocent back then. Cute, even. But now it played differently in his head. The tone in her voice. The grip of her arms. The way her possessiveness wasn't a joke, even if he treated it like one.
How many red flags had he ignored?
Ian stood, pacing the room. The massive TV on the wall was off. The windows were closed. He felt like he was in a golden cage. A prison with velvet curtains. He didn't even know what Foxxy wanted from him. Why she cared. Why she helped.
He missed having control. Even when he was broke, even when he was mocked at work and slept on a park bench, at least his life belonged to him.
Now? He didn't know who held the strings.
Ruth's face invaded his mind again. Her cold beauty. Her perfect smile. The eerie calm she carried. What was she doing now? Did she know he was still alive? Was she looking for him?
Ian shivered. Not from cold.
From memory.
From the realization that maybe, just maybe, Ruth hadn't changed at all.
She just got better at hiding it.
He turned to the window and pulled the curtain aside slightly. The Tokyo skyline glittered in the distance. Neon, electric, alive. Somewhere out there, Ruth was moving pieces. Somewhere out there, the police were searching for him.
Somewhere out there, someone believed Ian Everhart was a murderer.
And yet, he was trapped here, caged in luxury, haunted by a love story that had always had sharp teeth.
"Mine, mine, mine."
Her voice echoed in his mind.
Ian gripped the windowsill tightly.
"I should've seen it coming," he whispered.
But it was too late for should-haves.
It always was.