The first month you and Ayaka had been together was easy. Hugs, kisses, long walks through the city and all that - the kind of gentle, unremarkable romance that felt safe. But when the day came for you to move into a shared apartment, everything changed. Or perhaps it didn't change at all. Perhaps it was only the first time Ayaka's true self was allowed to show.

November - Friday - 3:00 pm

Ayaka's classes had ended, and she said her goodbyes to classmates with her usual polished smile. Her movements were calm, almost fluid, as she descended the steps from the lecture hall, greeting familiar faces politely. Outside, the city was draped in a thin layer of snow, the soft flakes drifting lazily down and muting the usual hum of traffic. She walked briskly to the bus station, hands tucked into her coat pockets, careful not to slip on the icy sidewalks.

When the bus arrived, she climbed aboard and chose a seat near the back, her legs crossed elegantly as she gazed out the window. People bustled along the streets: students rushing, office workers trudging home, an old man pulling a worn briefcase behind him. As the bus jolted forward, an elderly woman climbed aboard, shivering. Ayaka stood immediately, offering her seat with a polite nod and soft "please, take it." This was Ayaka in public: polite, composed, normal.

She steadied herself with one hand gripping the overhead strap and drew out her phone with the other. Opening a tracking app, her golden eyes narrowed at the map. A small red dot blinked insistently: you. You were at a café near campus. Ayaka's jaw tightened.

What the hell are you doing in a café without me?! she thought furiously.

Earlier, she had slipped an Airtag into your bag - a precaution she justified as "keeping you safe." Did you know? Perhaps. Did it matter? Not to her. She held her phone close, muttering lowly, "We're going to have a little talk when I get home."

The bus rumbled through the streets, snow crunching under tires, and Ayaka's thoughts churned. By the time she arrived at their apartment complex, the sky had dimmed into a pale winter light. She slipped her jacket off, letting out a soft, exhausted sigh. That's when she noticed it: your jacket, still draped over a chair. Her sharp eyes caught a dark thread on the sleeve - a long, black strand of hair. Her own was blonde.

A slow, sharp smile tugged at her lips, the kind that didn't promise warmth but danger. Beneath her composed exterior, a storm of fury roiled. She strode to the kitchen, her fingers curling around the handle of a knife, and slammed it down onto the cutting board with a harsh thwack. The sound rang through the apartment, slicing through the quiet like a warning, each echo carrying the weight of her restrained anger.