The sun broke gently through the tall windows, golden light crawling across the edges of Arisa's pressed school uniform. She stood before the mirror, adjusting the hem with quiet precision. A long, sleek ponytail flowed down her back, tight and neat—just the way she'd decided Riven might like it.
Behind her, the bed was still warm. Riven lay on his side, one arm folded under his head, watching in silence.
"You've been staring for five minutes," Arisa said lightly, adjusting her collar for the third time.
"I'm trying to decide if that tie's crooked or if you're just tilting your head."
She turned to face him. "If it's crooked, I'll fix it."
"It's fine. Sit."
She moved to the small breakfast table, opposite him. The two looked like any regular students—maybe even a couple—sharing coffee before school.
But the air between them said otherwise.
He passed her a class schedule. She scanned it quickly, lips parting.
"You've already memorized it," he said before she spoke.
She nodded. "Twice. I'll be sitting to your left. Back row, near the window. You like that seat."
He didn't reply. Just sipped his coffee.
Arisa folded her hands on the table. "Do you want me to play normal?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Cute Arisa? Cold Arisa?" Her voice lowered slightly. "Or the new one?"
Riven smirked. Said nothing.
She nodded, as if that was a complete answer. "Ponytail stays. Voice low. No unnecessary eye contact unless I smile first."
She stood up again, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. "I ironed your blazer."
He watched her for a long moment. "You nervous?"
"No," she said honestly. "I just want to perform within expectations. And if I fail—"
"Don't fail."
A small smile curled her lips. "Understood."
He reached for his phone. She tilted her head.
"I'll text you updates every break."
"Only the important ones."
She nodded again. "Define important."
He looked up at her, gaze unreadable. "You already know."Chapter 16: Just Another Morning
The sun broke gently through the tall windows, golden light crawling across the edges of Arisa's pressed school uniform. She stood before the mirror, adjusting the hem with quiet precision. A long, sleek ponytail flowed down her back, tight and neat—just the way she'd decided Riven might like it.
Behind her, the bed was still warm. Riven lay on his side, one arm folded under his head, watching in silence.
"You've been staring for five minutes," Arisa said lightly, adjusting her collar for the third time.
"I'm trying to decide if that tie's crooked or if you're just tilting your head."
She turned to face him. "If it's crooked, I'll fix it."
"It's fine. Sit."
She moved to the small breakfast table, opposite him. The two looked like any regular students—maybe even a couple—sharing coffee before school.
But the air between them said otherwise.
He passed her a class schedule. She scanned it quickly, lips parting.
"You've already memorized it," he said before she spoke.
She nodded. "Twice. I'll be sitting to your left. Back row, near the window. You like that seat."
He didn't reply. Just sipped his coffee.
Arisa folded her hands on the table. "Do you want me to play normal?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Cute Arisa? Cold Arisa?" Her voice lowered slightly. "Or the new one?"
Riven smirked. Said nothing.
She nodded, as if that was a complete answer. "Ponytail stays. Voice low. No unnecessary eye contact unless I smile first."
She stood up again, brushing invisible lint from her skirt. "I ironed your blazer."
He watched her for a long moment. "You nervous?"
"No," she said honestly. "I just want to perform within expectations. And if I fail—"
"Don't fail."
A small smile curled her lips. "Understood."
He reached for his phone. She tilted her head.
"I'll text you updates every break."
"Only the important ones."
She nodded again. "Define important."
He looked up at her, gaze unreadable. "You already know."
The street was quiet except for the gentle clack of polished loafers against the pavement. Arisa walked half a step behind him, her school bag held with both hands. Her posture was perfect. Her steps, silent.
She wore the uniform with military precision—white blouse pressed, red ribbon tied without a wrinkle, navy blazer buttoned halfway. The charcoal skirt reached just above her knees. Black stockings, flawless. No accessories. No jewelry. No nail paint. Nothing that said "attention."
Just presence.
The long ponytail swayed with every step, tied low and tight. Not for beauty—just order.
She hadn't spoken since they left the apartment.
Riven glanced sideways.
"Cold?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, Riven."
Her voice was gentle. Almost too gentle.
He kept walking.
At the intersection, a boy on a bike passed them, glanced back, slowed for half a second.
"Was that... Arisa?" he whispered to himself.
She heard it. Said nothing.
Before they reached the school gate, she pulled her phone from her blazer pocket—gray wallpaper, zero notifications—and showed him a typed message:
Should I text you during breaks or only after school?
He glanced once.
She deleted it without waiting for an answer.
The school gate loomed. Students gathered in clumps. Uniforms creased. Hair undone. Laughter, noise, chaos.
Arisa walked into it like fog into fire.
Her body moved on muscle memory. She bowed slightly at the gate. Walked straight. Avoided unnecessary eye contact.
People turned.
"Wait... Is that her?"
"She cut her hair?"
"No... it's longer."
"That's Arisa, right? But…"
She kept walking.
At the classroom door, she waited. He entered first. She followed.
Her desk was already beside his. Last row. Window.
She sat. Pulled out her notebook. Folded her hands.
When the teacher walked in, she bowed.
"Good morning," she said.
Her voice was quiet. Clear. Perfect.
The teacher paused. "...Good morning."
From behind, Riven watched. No command. No signal.
She didn't turn.
But her fingers tapped lightly beneath the desk. A rhythm he'd taught her.
He checked his phone.
"Is this soft enough?"
He replied:
"You're learning."
And she smiled—sweet and harmless.
While the classroom forgot everything she used to be.
The cafeteria hummed with noise—cutlery clinking, shoes squeaking on polished tile, and voices raised in manufactured laughter. Vermillion High was back in motion, every student a walking press release, every conversation a social contract.
Arisa walked in like a shadow trimmed in lace.
She wore the uniform perfectly—pressed blazer, sleek long ponytail trailing down her back, pleated skirt sitting just above regulation, but not enough to be punished. It was intentional. Everything about her now was intentional.
She held her tray like it weighed nothing.
Riven followed three steps behind, hands in pockets, expression unreadable. He didn't carry a tray. He didn't need to. He wasn't here to eat. He was here to watch.
The usual noise dampened when they entered.
Whispers flared like wildfire at the edge of hearing.
"That's her. Arisa Kane, right?"
"No way. That's not the same girl who used to run this place."
"I heard he broke her. Like, broke-broke."
Arisa ignored them.
She crossed the room with that smooth, dangerous grace she'd once used to ensnare. But now? It was controlled. Tamed. Like she was walking through her old empire, no longer its ruler—but something far more frightening.
She sat.
Tray down. Back straight. Hands folded.
Across the room, Celeste Moreau leaned toward her circle of overdressed vipers.
"Look at that posture," Celeste purred. "He must've f***ed the rebellion out of her."
Soft laughter followed.
"I'd beg for that kind of discipline," another girl muttered, licking her straw.
"Please. He probably rewards her with a pat on the head and a pill."
"You think she moans when he snaps his fingers?"
"Oh, she does. I'd put money on it."
Riven didn't blink.
He heard every word. He let it sit. Let it rot.
Because none of them understood.
And the moment they did… it would be too late.
Arisa? She didn't flinch. But her fingers trembled once, just under the edge of the tray. Barely.
He noticed.
She didn't speak, didn't look back, didn't retaliate.
Instead, she turned to him—softly.
Voice low. Composed.
"Permission to speak, Riven?"
A pause.
His lips curled at the edge. Just enough.
"Granted."
The cafeteria froze for a second.
They didn't understand the command. But they heard it. Felt it.
And that was enough to set the hierarchy.
The apartment door clicked shut behind her.
Keys dropped. Shoes off. Silence.
Arisa walked in like she had muscle memory of the place — no hesitation, no glancing around. Just fluid grace.
She wasn't performing anymore.
This wasn't an act.
This was home.
She didn't ask him if she could shower.
She didn't wait for a nod.
She disappeared down the hallway, soft footsteps swallowed by steam.
Thirty minutes later, she returned, towel-drying her hair with one hand, the other adjusting the hem of his oversized black T-shirt — the one she always stole when he didn't stop her.
Riven was on the sofa, half-leaned back, scrolling through his tablet.
Minimal lighting.
The soft hum of low jazz played through invisible speakers.
She didn't say a word.
She just walked up, climbed over him, and sat.
Casually. Naturally.
Straddling his lap like it was her rightful seat.
His eyes flicked up — just once.
She leaned forward, arms resting on his shoulders, her damp hair brushing the side of his neck.
"I behaved today," she said softly, chin tilted slightly with quiet pride.
Riven didn't speak.
Didn't smile.
Just tapped once on the screen before setting the tablet down beside them.
That was her cue.
"I didn't talk to any of the boys," she began.
"Smiled three times. Never laughed. Sat still through every period. Adjusted my skirt when the wind blew too much. I made eye contact with the VP for exactly three seconds. You said three was ideal."
"Lunch was quiet. I stayed in the inner corridor, not near the windows. I took notes. I corrected my posture. The junior girl from 2-B tried to follow me again. I ignored her."
Her voice was light. Calm.
Not a report.
A ritual.
Riven's hand slid up her side, thumb brushing the edge of the T-shirt.
"You remembered everything?"
"Of course."
"Then don't ask for praise," he murmured. "Act like it's expected."
She smiled, slow and small — like she was proud of the correction.
"Yes, Riven."
His hand stopped at her waist. Holding her there.
No lust.
No threat.
Just silent control.
Her head dipped until her forehead met his.
"You're the only one I want to please," she whispered.
"Say the word and I'll erase myself again. Piece by piece. Just to fit better."
He didn't answer.
But his fingers flexed slightly.
That was enough.
She exhaled, soft and pleased, like a girl who just passed her favorite exam.
And then they just sat.
Breathing in sync.
This isn't freedom, she thought. It's better.
No decisions. No chaos. Just a path, and someone who built it for me.