Page 4 of Kotori

Kaito

Four-thirty comes without need for alarms. It has for the past twenty years.

I kneel before the family shrine in predawn darkness, hands folded, breathing steady. Incense smoke carries my words to ancestors who built this legacy stone by stone. The same ritual my father performed, his father before him.

"Today the foreign woman arrives," I tell them. "She will serve our purposes well."

Meditation centers my mind, awakens the hunter. By sunset, Paige Williams will be emotionally invested in my daughters' happiness. By week's end, the mere thought of leaving them will tear at her heart.

The bonds forged by our hands hold strongest.

The agency sent her file only days ago. Sleep has eluded me since. The hunt demands focus.

Her photo awakened something primitive in my blood. Beyond the golden hair or wide blue eyes—eyes perfect for filling with tears. Her expression betrayed her—vulnerability hidden behind professional smiles. She has no idea she was born to be conquered.

Others came before her. Foreign women thinking they'd simply teach my daughters and leave with polite recommendations. None lasted beyond a few months before breaking. None satisfied the hunger in me.

This one will be different. This one I'll keep.

Dawn light filters through paper screens as I move to the training grounds. The wooden floor bears scars from centuries of blades. I select my grandfather's katana from the rack—steel folded ten thousand times, edge that cuts through bone.

Forty minutes of forms, muscle memory and meditation combined. Each movement precise, controlled, deadly.

The sword returns to its place with whispered steel against lacquered wood. Everything in order. Everything as it should be.

I prepare with ceremonial attention to detail. Traditional hakama for morning meditation, business attire for the woman's arrival, formal kimono set aside for tonight's family dinner. Each outfit serves its purpose, projects proper authority for different audiences.

Takeshi arrives at seven with morning intelligence reports and coffee prepared exactly as I prefer. Fifteen years of service have taught him to anticipate my needs before I voice them.

" Aniki ." He bows before settling across from me.

"All preparations complete for the gaijin woman's arrival.

Security protocols active, household staff briefed, daughters prepared for introduction.

" He opens briefing materials on the hidden monitor.

Surveillance camera positions, background verification summaries, timeline for integration milestones.

"Her transportation status?"

"Taxi departed central Kyoto at eight-fifteen. ETA nine-forty-five, accounting for mountain road conditions." His fingers dance across the tablet, pulling up route tracking. "Driver was provided appropriate compensation for discretion regarding passenger destination."

Of course. Taxi drivers gossip, and this family's business requires privacy. A generous tip ensures selective memory about fares delivered to mountain compounds.

"Perimeter security?"

"Standard protocols. Guards briefed to treat her as honored guest while maintaining documentation of all interactions." Takeshi's tone holds subtle approval for the careful balance required. "She'll feel welcomed but monitored."

Perfect. The first lesson in how this household operates, with generous hospitality combined with absolute awareness of everyone's location and activities.

I review her employment application one final time, though I've memorized every detail. Bachelor's degree in education, three years teaching experience, excellent references describing her as "dedicated" and "protective of students." Young enough to adapt, experienced enough to be competent.

Her ex-fiancé's digital footprint provided useful intelligence.

The background check revealed messages, emails, social media—all obtained without leaving traces.

David Goldman, corporate lawyer, had written to friends about her "stubborn streak" and "trust issues" after their breakup.

Private messages revealed someone seeking fresh starts and new beginnings.

His digital trail told me more than he realized. How she freezes when truly afraid instead of running. How she responds to firm commands while pretending independence. How she craves a man's approval while denying it. The weakness in her I can smell like blood in water.

I've seen countless women like her. Those raised to believe they equal men while their bodies betray deeper truths. The way they unconsciously bare their throats when confronted with true dominance. The flush spreading across their skin when commanded. The submission they crave but fight against.

What makes her perfect isn't her beauty, though I'll enjoy marking that pale skin. It's the fight in her that hasn't yet met a predator worthy of breaking it. She's spent her life among boys playing at being men. She has no concept of what happens when a woman like her meets a man like me.

Smart, wounded, seeking stability. Perfect for what she'll become.

"Business updates?"

Takeshi transitions smoothly between personal and professional briefings. "The Gion properties generated expected revenue last month. Traditional craft exports exceed projections. American tourism interest in authentic cultural experiences continues growing."

Legitimate income streams fund our lifestyle while providing cover for less traditional activities. Cultural preservation pays remarkably well when properly managed.

"The immigration official's replacement proves more cooperative regarding documentation flexibility. The transition completed without complications affecting family interests."

The old bureaucrat had been asking inconvenient questions about foreign nationals employed by traditional families. His replacement understands the value of reasonable accommodation regarding bureaucratic irregularities.

The morning passes in productive preparation. Business communications requiring responses, security protocols reviewed one final time, household staff coordinated for seamless hospitality.

At nine forty-three, my phone buzzes with an arrival notification.

Perfect timing.

"She's adapting well, Matsumoto-sama." Hayashi kneels across from me in the family receiving room, afternoon tea service arranged between us. "The girls have taken to her immediately."

"Good." Hayashi pours my tea first, then serves herself while I wait for her to continue.

"Aya-chan barely stopped talking about her new sensei during meal time. Kohana-chan asked permission to share her books. Even Mizuki-chan seemed engaged."

My eldest daughter's interest carries more weight than enthusiastic chatter from the younger ones. Mizuki evaluates adults carefully, trusts sparingly.

"Any difficulties?"

"None. She shows proper respect for our customs, genuine care for the children." Hayashi meets my eyes briefly. "She seems grateful to be here, Matsumoto-sama."

"Dinner preparations?"

"Everything arranged according to your specifications. Traditional service, formal setting, appropriate seating establishing her position in the family hierarchy." Hayashi rises. "The girls are excited to have her join us for an evening meal. Aya-chan has selected her best outfit for the occasion."

My youngest daughter's enthusiasm will create social pressure for the foreign woman to participate fully, engage completely, and begin seeing herself as a family member rather than temporary employee.

Emotional manipulation disguised as childhood innocence.

"Inform the girls that dinner conversation will include discussion of extended lessons."

"Hai, Matsumoto-sama." No questions about timeline or termination conditions. Hayashi understands some arrangements become permanent without formal acknowledgment.

She withdraws, leaving me alone with afternoon sunlight and plans proceeding flawlessly.

This compound has been Matsumoto territory for fifteen generations. These walls have witnessed the breaking of enemies, the subjugation of rivals, the claiming of women. Power flows through this place like blood through veins.

Every member of my household knows their place in the hierarchy. From Takeshi, who would die before betraying me, to the youngest servant who trembles when I enter a room. They understand what Westerners have forgotten—order requires authority, and authority requires fear.

The American woman thinks she's entering a simple teaching position. She doesn't understand she's walking into a predator's den.

She'll learn.

I run my fingers over the silk ropes kept in the lacquered box beside my bed. They'll look beautiful against her skin when the time comes. When she's ready for this particular lesson in Japanese culture.

The foreign woman is everything I require—beautiful enough to maintain desire, intelligent enough to interest me, damaged enough to reshape, isolated enough to claim without interference.

Her natural maternal instincts ensure she'll bond with my daughters quickly, creating emotional chains stronger than physical restraints.

Beautiful, willing captivity.

My phone displays live surveillance feeds from throughout the compound. Formal studies have been canceled for today, allowing them to get to know one another.

Paige is currently in the gardens with Aya, helping collect fallen maple leaves while Kohana reads nearby and Mizuki practices calligraphy in the pavilion. Natural family scene, maternal figure surrounded by children who've already claimed her attention and affection.

The afternoon sun catches her blonde hair as she laughs at something Aya says, foreign beauty standing out like a rare flower transplanted to foreign soil. When she bends to examine whatever Aya has discovered, her skirt pulls tight across curves that make my jaw clench with want.

Exotic enough to fascinate, perfect enough to own completely.