The train doors closed with a mechanical sigh, sealing her inside. Ayaka found an empty window seat, slid into it, and set her purse beside her. Outside, Kamakura's small streets blurred past, the rooftops receding like memories trying to escape her grasp.
Her body felt heavy, but it wasn't from the weight of her purse or the money still inside. It was something deeper, a pressure in her chest that made her shoulders sag.
She leaned her head against the cold glass. The rhythm of the train—steady, unhurried—was almost mocking. Every few seconds, the reflection of her own face flickered in the glass, ghostlike in the daylight.
She hated what she saw.
What am I even doing?
Her fingers curled around her knees, clutching the fabric of her jeans. She could still smell him—not the faint cologne he sometimes wore, but that raw, animal scent that clung to her skin after he touched her. She'd scrubbed herself that morning, but her body still remembered.
She could feel it.
She had told herself so many times that she would stop. She had prayed at shrines, avoided his calls, even ignored the twisting in her stomach when she walked past places they had been together. Yet, she was here again. She had invited him to meet her.
And for what? To end it? She almost laughed aloud. She knew better now.
Riku was like a stain that wouldn't wash out—every time she tried, it just spread wider.
The train swayed gently, sunlight slipping through the windows in warm streaks. Ayaka pulled her purse onto her lap and opened it slightly. The stack of 500,000 yen sat there, wrapped neatly. It was supposed to be her shield today, her bargaining chip. Now, it was just another reminder of her failure.
She could still hear his voice in the back of her mind—mocking, confident, unshakable.Two and a half million more.
Her nails dug into her palm. Where could she possibly find that much money? She was a housewife, living off her husband's salary. The savings they had were for emergencies—family emergencies. Not for paying off a man to leave her alone.
But it wasn't just the money. It was the way he had said it. Like she was property. Like he could price her, like one of those women he bragged about.
Ayaka closed her eyes. She tried to remember Minato's face this morning, the gentle way he had touched her shoulder, even in half-sleep. She wanted that image to be her anchor, something pure, something she could still cling to.
But instead, Riku's smirk pushed its way into her mind. The way he had leaned back in his seat at the bakery, perfectly at ease, as if her pleading was entertainment for him.
The memory made her stomach turn.
She thought about last night—his voice outside her house, the way he had pushed her, touched her, refused to listen. The storeroom floor. The dust. The smell of him afterward. The way she had called him again.
Why had she done that?
Her hand trembled against her thigh. She told herself she had wanted to end it. That she needed to face him in person to make him stop. But a darker voice inside whispered another possibility—maybe part of her had known he wouldn't stop. Maybe part of her hadn't wanted him to.
She bit her lip hard, tasting a faint trace of blood.
No. That wasn't true. She hated him. She hated what he made her do.
Didn't she?
Her mind shifted back to the train's motion, the slow rocking that always made her drowsy. Stations passed—Fujisawa, then Ofuna—names blurring together. She thought about how many people on this train had their own secrets, their own private disasters, invisible in the morning calm.
Her phone buzzed in her purse. She didn't need to look to know who it was. She let it ring. Then it buzzed again.
Ayaka stared out at the scenery, the wires and houses rushing past. She imagined throwing her phone out the window, watching it shatter on the tracks, cutting the last thread between them.
But she knew she wouldn't. She never did.
She imagined going home instead—Minato smiling faintly as he returned from work, the girls talking about their day at school. She imagined cooking dinner, cleaning up, pretending to be the same Ayaka they all knew. Pretending nothing was wrong.
Could she keep doing that?
Her eyes drifted back to the money in her purse. Maybe she could find a way to get the rest. Sell some jewelry, ask her parents for a "loan," tell Minato they needed the money for something urgent. Maybe if she paid him, this nightmare would finally end.
But another thought came—what if it didn't? What if after the 2.5 million, he just asked for more?
The train jolted slightly as it slowed into the next station. Ayaka adjusted her purse strap, watching a young couple step in and take seats across from her. The girl was laughing at something the boy had said, their knees brushing, hands brushing against each other shyly.
Ayaka looked away.
She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed with Minato like that.
The tracks curved, giving her a sudden view of the sea—blue and calm under the sun. Kamakura was behind her now, but it didn't feel like she was leaving anything behind. It was all still with her, stitched into her skin.
She thought again of the shrine she had visited days ago. The soft rattle of the omikuji in the wind. The fortune she had drawn—half-blessing, half-warning. She had tied it to the rack, hoping to leave her troubles there.
Maybe the gods didn't listen to women like her.
Her phone buzzed a third time. This time she pulled it out.
A single message from Riku.
"One week, Ayaka-chan. I'm looking forward to it."
She locked the screen without replying, sliding the phone back into her bag. Her hands were cold now, her breathing shallow. She tried to focus on the sound of the train instead—the steady click-clack of the wheels on the track.
It was strange how something so repetitive, so predictable, could still carry her somewhere she didn't want to go.
Ayaka leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. She told herself she would think of a plan tomorrow. She told herself she still had time.
But deep down, she knew—tomorrow would come too fast.